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The image of her, tied to a wooden chair in what looked like a fucking dungeon on Corvus’ phone was seared into my retinas and would probably live there for as long as it took to get her back. Maybe longer. Maybe forever.
I’d hoped his phone would be able to give me something my brother couldn’t anymore, but I’d already tried to work with the calls and phone numbers Drake used to call Corvus as a means of tracking him, but like I already figured, it was a complete waste of time. He’d covered his tracks too well, but I had one ace in the hole. Well, Diesel’s Ace, actually. Someone in the bureau owed him a favor. He’d been saving that favor for years. Today, I asked him to use it, and he agreed.
There was no telling if the agent would do it, or if it would help, but it was worth trying. The last cell tower Drake’s burner phone pinged off of to make a call would narrow down the area. And if it didn’t, then I was fuckingprayingsomething in this footage would.
I lifted my gaze to Becca lying in her hospital bed, a machine assisting her to breathe with a tube jammed down her throat.
Or if you’d just do me a solid and wake up…
If she did, there might be something she could tell us. All I needed was a single thread to follow. To unravel it all. And I could find her. I could make this right before we lost anyone else.
I wouldn’t lose anyone else.
I grimaced as a sharp pain stabbed into my chest and I hunched over the laptop propped on my lap, swallowing past the burn in my throat.
Everything hurt. My head throbbed in time with my pulse, each labored beating a hammer against my skull, but I wouldn’t give in to the need to rest.
I’d rest when I was dead.
Or whenhewas.
My hand vibrated over the mousepad as I toggled over to another folder the owner of the gas station sent over at my ‘request,’ and I clenched my fist to stop it.
I wanted to beout there. Tearing down every building in search of her. Like Corvus would be. But I was better at this.Thiswas where my talents were best put to use. Sitting here in this fucking chair, on this fucking laptop, batting my head against a proverbial wall.
“Just give mesomething,” I growled at the screen, resisting the urge to throw the damned thing across the room.
A soft double rap at the door preceded my uncle’s entry into the room. He took one look at me and all the paper cups littering the floor around me and set his jaw. “Nephew,” he said, stepping in quietly, shutting the door behind him.
I nodded before going back to the video files filling my screen with small dark checkered images. I clicked on the first one, playing it with fast forward enabled to get through them quicker.
It would help if I knew what the bastard was driving.
Damien St. Vincent lifted the clipboard from the end of Becca’s bed, flipping a page.
“No change,” I said, saving him the trouble.
“But everything’s stable,” he argued. “She should’ve woken up by now.”
He shoved the clipboard back into the slip and put his palm to his mouth, inhaling deeply.
He was right. She should’ve, and it wasn’t a good sign that she hadn’t. The longer she stayed in this coma, the less likely she was to wake up at all. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. We’d suffered enough loss this week.
“How are you holding up?” my uncle asked, and I tensed, the knee-jerk reaction to tear a strip off him and shove him out the door making my eye twitch.
Or maybe that was just the abundance of terrible hospital coffee in my veins.
“How the fuck do you think?”
“It seems my brother wasn’t entirely honest about the situation here. He said it was handled.”
I laughed darkly. “Diesel doesn’t ask for help.”
I didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it just as well or better than I did. Diesel handled his own shit. There were three chapters of this gang. His, Uncle Damien’s and Uncle Ransom’s, and they all operated fully independent of one another. None of them had ever asked him for aid, and he wasn’t going to be the first to break that unspoken rule of doing business.
“No. He doesn’t. But I wish he would’ve.”
He paused, moving to perch on the edge of Becca’s bed in front of me. His ringed fingers clasped in front of him but that was as far as I would look. I couldn’t meet his stare. Not right now. I needed to fucking focus.
