There were sixteen of them—including the little boy, Bruno.
We passed basic information on to the FBI and handed them off to the agents we’re working with. Meanwhile, my men torched the house and warehouse, erasing every trace we’d been there.
Of course, we collected evidence first—enough to hopefully help bring some of those pedophiles to justice later.
Still, we found nothing that pointed to Maria and Jonathan. They’re slippery snakes, always a step ahead.
This wasn’t the first child-trafficking house we’ve uncovered—it’s more like the ninth or tenth. But unlike the others, this time I couldn’t keep my emotional distance.
I can’t walk away from that boy. Something in his eyes pulls me in.
“You sure you want to do this?” I know Blood is talking about stopping by to see Bruno at the clinic.
“I need to check that he’s okay.”
“Why him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because when I look at him, I see myself. He looks like he doesn’t feel anything—and it’s exactly why I know he feels too much.”
Chapter 29
I left someone at the clinic to look after him specifically—and I have no idea why I did that. Before Lilly, not to mention Ethan, I didn’t really care about people in general. But now, the only thing I know is that I can’t get Bruno out of my head.
Unlike the other children, who’ve already been identified in the national missing persons database—which means they were kidnapped—he came from an orphanage, just like I did.
The social worker said he’s around four and a half, maybe five, and that he doesn’t talk to anyone. But he spoke to me on the phone when I asked the nurse to pass it to him.
Still, she told me he doesn’t engage with anyone at the clinic. He spends the whole day lying in bed, even though his tests show there’s nothing physically wrong with him.
I found out he hadn’t been in the house we raided for very long. According to the date he was taken from the orphanage, it had only been a week. Bruno is one of the “lucky” ones—if that word can even apply to children taken by monsters.
He was still in what they call thebreakingphase—the period they use to crush a child’s mind, teach them to obey, to fear, to never resist or try to run.
That means he was probably beaten, starved, but not yet used in a more vile way.
Even so, he must’ve witnessed things no child should ever have to see. No wonder he doesn’t trust adults or want to connect.
At five, kids are usually chatterboxes. I remember the ones that age from my orphanage. They talked nonstop—asking so many questions it drove the older kids crazy.
I stop in front of his door, bracing myself for our meeting.
I walk in and see him exactly as the nurse described—sitting on the bed, staring out the window.
“Bruno,” I say.
He turns to look at me. Even though I can tell he remembers me—I told him I’d come see him—he doesn’t hold eye contact.
His body is fragile, more bone than flesh. But his eyes—his eyes are sharp. The only thing that seems alive in his small frame.
After I was adopted for good, I never spent time around children again, except at school, and even then, I kept to myself. I’ve always been fine alone. If Ethan hadn’t forced our friendship back in boarding school, we probably wouldn’t have gotten close.
I’m not the kind of guy who forms bonds, so I don’t know how to approach the kid in front of me. But I do know loneliness—and I don’t want him to feel that. I need him to know he’s safe now.
“You don’t want to talk?”
“Can you sit on my bed, Amos?” he asks, catching me off-guard.
“I can . . .but why?”
