I follow them up to the porch, my heart pounding with each step. Up close, the house doesn’t look as perfect as it did from the road. The wood is weathered, the paint peeling in places where the sun has beaten it raw. The screen door groans whenCody pushes it open, and inside, the air is stale, thick with the acrid scent of something burnt. Charred wood. Scorched fabric.
I step in slowly. The place feels lived in but worn; scuffed floors, a sagging couch with an old throw draped over the back, a pair of slippers kicked off near the door. The kitchen counter is cluttered with mismatched mugs, an open bag of coffee, and a few empty beer bottles pushed to the side.
But then my gaze catches on something that doesn’t fit.
A row of framed photos on a narrow shelf.
I move closer, my mouth dropping open as I take them in.
One of them shows Damian, Bridger, and Cody seated around a worn wooden table, beers in hand, caught mid-conversation. Another shows them standing around an older woman, maybe in her early sixties, her expression warm, happy.
Then, another. The three of them, younger, shirtless, sitting on motorcycles, laughing, sun on their bare skin, muscles leaner but already strong. No worries. Just reckless, untouchable youth frozen in time.
Warmth rises to my cheeks as my eyes land on the last set of photos. High school graduation pictures. One of each of them, standing stiffly in their caps and gowns, the same unmistakable sharpness in their eyes, even back then.
Oh my God. Are they brothers? Is this where Damian grew up? What the hell is going on? Why am I here?
Before I can ask, the brothers split off in separate directions.
“I’ll check the basement,” Cody mutters.
“I’ll take out back,” Damian replies.
“I’ve got this floor,” Bridge says.
And then they’re gone. The door to the basement creaks open, swallowing Cody in darkness. Damian disappears through the back entrance without a glance in my direction. I don’t see where Bridger goes.
And I’m just… standing here. No explanation. No orders. No idea what the hell is happening. Worst kidnappers ever.
A slow, uneasy chill creeps up my spine.
They’re looking for something.
Orsomeone.
I don’t know how long I stand there staring at those photos, my mind racing, trying to piece together what it all means. But when they all step back inside, I know something is very wrong.
Cody wipes a hand down his face, his mouth pressed into a thin, grim line. Bridger’s shoulders are tight, his expression lost. And Damian, Damian lookspissed. His jaw is set, fists clenched at his sides, frustration radiating off him in waves.
I don’t like this. My pulse kicks up, an uneasy chill creeping along my spine.What the hell is going on?I take a step forward. “What are you looking for?” I ask, my voice cracking. “What’s happening?”
Damian doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at me.
“Damian.”
Nothing. His fingers twitch, his nostrils flare, but he keeps his eyes locked on the floor like if he acknowledges me, he’ll snap.
That only makes my stomach sink further.
He’s not just angry. He’s something else. Frustrated, yes. But there’s something beneath it, something tighter, something like… fear? A cold rush of anxiety spreads through me, coiling low and sharp. “What thefuckis going on?”
Silence.
I clench my teeth, frustration bubbling up fast and volatile, a live wire ready to snap. They dragged me out here, blindfolded me with their secrets, and now I’m just supposed to stand here, waiting, while they stomp around searching for something… like I’m just background noise, like I don’t even matter?
No. Fuck that.
I cross my arms, grounding myself, steel in my spine. “You know what? Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t care.” My voice rises, sharp and cutting. “But give me the damn car so I can do what I came here to do so I can get the fuck back home.”
