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It was pitch-black as we drove up the winding dirt drive off the country road. Our headlights cut through the blackness, finally illuminating the dingy metal side of an old trailer home. I was swinging open the passenger door of the SUV before August put it into park, my feet hitting the ground hard.
August cursed, not even cutting off the engine before he jumped out himself. “Wait,” he barked. “You can’t go in there alone. You need the team.”
My muscles strained to a stop, my gaze boring into the side of the trailer. Lark was inside. I felt her.
August approached and took the lead, holding his flashlight and gun at the ready. Roman and Graham came up behind me. I tensed as Roman cursed.
I shone my flashlight at him. “What is it?”
His expression hardened, and a flicker of worry passed over his eyes. “I smell gasoline.”
My stomach dropped, and I looked back at August.
His mouth tightened. “We’ll have to be careful.” He sent a pointed look at me. “Let’s go. Follow my lead.”
Much too slowly for my liking, we approached the trailer. It was as quiet as it was dark, and I tried not to let the panic sink in more. August peeked in through the front window, then shook his head. He couldn’t see anything.
We cautiously made it up to the door: August at the head, Graham behind me, and Roman bringing up the rear.
August tried the handle. The door was unlocked. All of us gripped our weapons, holding them up at the ready. There was no noise. Silence.
August used the door as a shield as he cautiously opened it and glimpsed inside. As his flashlight flitted around, his jaw hardened, sending a spike of adrenaline through me.
“Clear,” he called, rushing inside.
I was right on his heels, the inside of the trailer revealing itself to me in small flashes of light.
I wasn’t prepared. My pulse soared, pumping the terror and confusion through me as the beam from my flashlight illuminated a large body sprawled out on the floor. He was staring straight up at the sky, his throat bloody.
Xander.
I gagged on the stench of gasoline and the sight of my friend lying in a pool of his own blood, but I forced my brain to only focus on one thing.
Lark.
I moved as if my body were on autopilot. I searched the place frantically, my flashlight hitting furniture covered in garbage until finally, there she was.
My entire body went numb. My legs brought me to her as fast as they could, and my heart screamed in my chest.
She was tied to a chair, her head bleeding and slumped forward. Her eyes were closed.
“Lark!” Her name was a broken cry on my lips. “Lark, baby, open your eyes.”
My knees hit the floor hard in front of her. I dropped my gun and my flashlight. Her wrists and ankles were zip-tied to the damn chair, and a growl tore from my throat. “I need a knife!” I yelled.
I wasn’t sure which of my brothers obliged, but a pocketknife was thrust into my hand and I cut her free.
Her body was limp as I scooped her up into my arms. She was still warm, and I clung to that fact. She was going to be okay. She had to be okay.
“Lark,” I begged, burying my head in the crook of her neck. Her scent surrounded me. “I love you. I need you to wake up, sweet butterfly.”
At that, her head jerked. My heart leapt and I pulled back, keeping her body cradled in my arms as I studied her face. Her eyes fluttered a few times before they opened. Dried blood was crusted on the right side of her face but she was alive. She blinked at me.
“Reid?” she rasped, her voice like sandpaper.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Her lips wobbled. “Is he gone?”
