“Already on it,” Squat said.
“So who is the dead guy in your house?” Apple asked.
“I’m not sure. Brent, one of the guys I worked with doing searches for missing people, showed up with him. Then all hellbroke loose, and I ended up bashed in the back of the head after he drugged Frog.”
Frog was sitting up, his tongue lolled out, his ears pointed forward. He still needed to get his dog checked, but Frog seemed to be getting better with each passing minute.
“Can you stand on your own?” Squat asked.
Thario let out a bark of laughter that made his whole body hurt. “Sorry. Just funny. Not sure. There is a lot of pain, and my head is spinning.”
Griz pushed Sharp back and bent, helping Thario out of the car. Then Griz picked him up like he weighed nothing. Not that long ago, he would have been ready to carry one of his teammates out of harm's way. Now he was being carried like he was as small as a child.
So much had changed. Every part of his life was different now. He would be lying to say he didn’t like it. He loved taking down predators and getting people to safety. It was one of the most rewarding things he’d ever done in his life. Even better than being a SEAL. He knew that the revelation would shock a few people.
It was hard to admit he liked his life better now. But he never would have started searching for lost people unless he’d been injured. He never would have brought Frog into his life. He wouldn’t be as close to these men as he was now, and he certainly wouldn’t have been friends with their women.
He had a sinking suspicion that Brent had only attacked him because he thought he could win in a fight, and the jerk had almost won. The bash to the back of his head had almost taken him out, but he'd survived.
No question, he had a target on his back. But how big was that target? Was Brent operating alone, or was this something bigger? Whatever it was, he had to figure it out and make sure that man couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.
Chapter 5
Calla probedaround the bruise on her shin, testing for soreness. Her older brother, Brent, was spiteful and had taken his anger out on her, making her life hell.
In the beginning, she’d tried to escape, but he put bars on the windows that kept her in. Sometimes he chained her to the wall, but most days she stood around in her room just waiting for him to bring her out to cook or clean.
It hadn’t always been like this. Her parents had been happy, filling their house with love, but something had been off about Brent from the start. Dad tried to ignore the problems, and Mom thought Brent was amazing, but after Daniel passed, they didn’t try for more kids.
They’d been planning on getting at least a quarter of the way through the alphabet or maybe even halfway through, which would have meant thirteen kids. A shiver slid down her spine. She couldn’t imagine having more than one. Hell, she wasn’t sure she even wanted kids. But it wasn’t like her wants mattered. She was locked up and had no escape from Brent. She’d come to realize that he dictated what happened in her life.
Long ago, she’d heard her parents talking with friends about kids and how many they wanted. Her mom hadn’t said it, but it was heavily implied that the thing with Daniel had stopped them from having more.
It was weird thinking about that time. She and Abigail had shared a room, then Daniel was gone, and they had to sleep in their parents’ room.
Any time she asked to move out, her parents said no. They slept in their parents’ room until Abigail was fifteen.
Also, during the day, her mother never left them alone with Brent. When she was younger, they never said anything bad about Brent, but she knew to steer clear of him. Now she knew why.
If only her parents had addressed the issue, but they hadn’t. They could have taken him to get help, but that wasn’t their way. They thought they could pray love into him, but it hadn’t worked.
She was glad Abigail had found an escape. She must have taken off as soon as she heard the awful news. Calla regretted the fact that she’d been too young to leave. When she heard the news, she should have run. If she had, she would have been put into foster care. That would be better than being Brent’s prisoner, though. How long had it been?
A door slammed, signaling Brent's return. He was in a foul mood. Just great. She hadn't fully healed from the last beating, and this would probably be worse if he let her out at all.
She waited for the door to be flung open, but nothing happened. At some point, she drifted off but woke with a start when a noise sounded beside her.
“There you are,” Brent whispered, causing her to jump. His chuckle sounded more evil than jovial. “You should have stayed up for me. How can I work without support? You’re supposed to be there when I need you, sister.”
Slowly, so he didn’t strike her, she pushed herself up and into the corner, pulling her arms around her legs.
“You’re worthless. You sniveling little piece of shit. I was trying to do something amazing, and now you’re crying. Get a backbone and stop being such a crybaby.”
She hated Brent. If she could kill him, she would. But he never left anything she could use as a weapon out long enough for her to get her hands on it.
“The plan didn’t work out exactly the way I wanted. We have to take precautions. We might have to move.”
“Move. Where?”
