“I could have lived the rest of my life without knowing that, but good for you guys, I guess.”
The joke hits me finally, and I join in his laughter. Maybe it’s overly optimistic of me, but I swear I can feel some of the damage in my soul from the last few weeks stitching itself over just with the simple act of spending quality time with my best friend. Everything has been so heavy lately—opening up old wounds, the constant worry, mending all the things I broke. Including myself.
It all feels a little more manageable. Like maybe we stand a chance of getting through this with everyone alive and all limbs intact.
~~~
The air has shifted when we walk in. Wordlessly, Brady asks if I feel it too with a lift of his eyebrow. I nod. The environment was filled with quiet determination just hours ago. Easton painting his heart out, and Blakely working away on her computer. They were fine. Good, even. My heartbeat grows in volume until it’s thudding loudly in my ears.
Our steps are slow and cautious, like something too drastic will send everything into a rapid spiral. “Hello? Guys?”
When I hear Blake’s voice, three years get added back to my life expectancy. “We’re in here,” she calls.
“In here” turns out to be huddled in the corner of the living room like a couple of abandoned puppies. “What the fuck?” Brady asks.
Blakely lays down the kitchen knife that she had prepared to go in someone’s ribcage and hops up before pulling Easton up with her. “We’re fine,” she says to combat our immediate concern. “We got another delivery, and it was better safe than sorry to wait until you guys got back.”
I gape at her. “And you didn’t think to fucking call us?”
Easton ducks his head. “I told her not to. I wanted y’all to have fun for a little bit, just for a while. And it’s not like there’s anything you could have done if you’d been here. Aaron knows where we are. That’s not new. We got spooked, but nothing else happened.”
My eyes roll hard before I pull him to me and kiss his hair. “You scare the shit out of me sometimes, sweetheart. You okay?”
He nods, relaxing into the embrace and breathing deeply. “He’s hurting him to get to me,” he admits softly.
Brady makes a horrified noise, prompting me to look up. He hands me a small stack of photos. Even the one on top is grim. “He’s chaining him to a fucking bed? Look at his wrists. They’re raw. This isn’t just for the pictures.”
“Keep going,” Blakely encourages.
My lip curls in disgust, but I do. That evil motherfucker is doing a damn good job of making us feel unsettled. There’s no peace when somewhere nearby, someone’s baby is chained to a bed and beaten within an inch of his life. I toss them on the nearby coffee table when I’ve reached the end, eager to never see them again.
It’s haunting to think about what that poor kid is going through. Between the real life knowledge that he’s suffering and being constantly reminded how easily it could have been Easton—and would be him again if we slip up—is going to leave a mark behind long after this is over.
I’m slow to release Easton, too comforted by his steady heartbeat against mine. It’s not something I’ll take for granted again. “Asher is still alive for now. If we want him to stay that way, this needs to end soon.”
Grim agreements come from the rest of the group, and Blakely says she’ll tell the police to look into this with discretion. This predator is encroaching on the walls of our home, threatening the pack we’ve built to protect each other. If only he knew how far we were willing to go for our own.
CHAPTER 24
EASTON
I’m trying so hard to stay determined. I really am. To keep my eyes on why all of this matters—that poor boy who isn’t lucky enough to have a small army protecting him. Asher needs me to stay dedicated to finding him, even when it’s hard. Hell, especially then. But how the fuck am I supposed to do that when I know what is happening to him BECAUSE OF ME?
I can’t fucking deal with this. Aaron used to threaten to chain me to the bed, but I didn’t think he’d ever do it. My bad, I suppose, for assuming he has a single shred of humanity left. If he ever had any at all, that is. I can’t stop thinking that if I keep pushing him, the next thing I’ll get is a body part delivered to the front door. My remaining faith in his inability to deviate from his routine is hanging on by a thread. I repeat to myself a thousand times a day that he won’t kill Asher because I’ve got to be first in his head.
It’s not enough.
All I can do is pour all the fear, pain, and everything in between into my creations.
It’s still not enough.
Blakely assures me that she’s in communication with the police. Everything is being reported and analyzed down to the nearest millimeter.
Nothing is enough.
None of it fucking matters if Asher dies. I’ll have put everyone I love in the line of fire—literally, not metaphorically—for nothing. I’ve been the one pushing this to where it is now—this evil world where I’m forced to participate in a sick game of chicken with the life of a seventeen-year-old boy in the balance. I don’t want to play anymore. I never did, not like this. All I ever wanted was to know that Aaron couldn’t hurt me or anyone else again. Try being in love without a dark cloud of danger lingering in the corners of every special moment. Sleep peacefully at night knowing that both of us are allowed an opportunity to live whatever life comes after.
I want both of us to live long enough to get to the point where we can be ourselves. See who we are when the worst days of our lives are a distant memory. Maybe he’d be able to get back to the piano like I did with art. Maybe the precious dreams of a child are still on the horizon for him. How would anyone even know if he dies before he has a chance to figure it out?
