I barely manage to rein in my shock. Then again, why should I be surprised? The bastard arranged for her kidnapping and lied to my face for three goddamn years.
I meet Jasper’s gaze over the asshole’s shoulder. “I think it might be time to tell the world how Grace was really found. And who was personally responsible for confirming the cult’s connection to the Cordova cartel.”
Jasper comes back around to stand next to me, his phone in his hand. “Say the word, AJ, and I’ll call Emi. She can be on the air in twenty minutes. Probably less.”
Marvin’s bravado cracks into pieces. “No! If Jefe finds out… I was supposed to make the problem go away. Not?—”
Connor cuts him off, his voice razor-sharp. “Oh, he’s gonna find out. Tell us what we need to know, and maybe we’ll do you a solid and throw him in jail for the rest of his life before he carves you into tiny pieces.”
Marvin sags against the cuffs, sweat dripping down his temple. He shakes his head. “Nova’s sacrifice will save me. Even from Jefe.”
Hardison barks out a laugh. “Save you? Man, your Prophet’s been feeding you fairy tales like candy.” He turns to me, disgust curling his lip and nothing but ice in his gaze. “AJ, this fool’s had so much Kool-Aid, he’s more red dye number five than man now. I say bring the pain.”
An hour later, no one’s hands are clean. Marvin’s blood slicks the floor. Both of his eyes are swollen half-shut, and he’s not so much breathin’ as gaspin’.
I step back and let Hardison take over. The man drives a fist into Marvin’s kidney hard enough the bastard loses what was left of his last meal. “Fuck. Now you’ve done it. These are my favorite boots. Give up the Blessed Flock’s location, or you get to see what happens when I run out of patience.”
Marvin tries for a sneer, but it crumbles when Connor leans in close and whispers something I can’t quite make out. Whatever it is drains all the color from the asshole’s face. But he still ain’t talkin’.
Jasper doesn’t even raise his voice. Just takes his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen. “Emi? How fast can you get on the air?” A second later, his lips curve into a smile. “That’s what I thought. Go for it, sweetheart. This idjit needs a little…motivation.”
Marvin chokes out a weak, “No. Please…”
“Please?” I snap. “You think I give two shits about your beggin’?” I step closer, my shadow swallowing him whole. “Not a chance. Not with Grace and Parker still out there. You want mercy? Earn it. Tell. Me. Where. They. Are.”
Tears cut through the grime on his cheeks. His bluster is gone, his defenses stripped bare. He’s nothing but a man drowning in his own fear.
“There’s a compound.” Desperation turns his voice brittle. Thin. Like a bundle of dry twigs waiting to snap. “Just east…of Shafter…”
I tap the comms unit in my ear. “Zephyr? Did you get that?”
“Searching the flyover footage now,” she says. “I lost the helicopter less than three miles from Austin Memorial. No transponder, no flight plan. But based on air speed…they could have made it to Shafter…well…right about now.”
I grab Marvin’s blood-soaked shirt and yank him so close, I can smell the fear on his breath. “You think your Glorious One can save you? If your Prophet harms even a single hair on their heads, I won’t just kill you. I’ll carve off a piece of your body for every fuckin’ day my wife suffered. And only then will I put a bullet in your brain.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Grace
The helicopter jerks, the roar vibrating all through me, every whomp of the blades pulsing against my skull.
Shadows and colors start to sharpen. Whatever they gave me is wearing off. I wish it wasn’t. Because now, my whole body is paralyzed with fear.
Cold air stings my cheeks when the doors open. The scent of manure fills my nose. Dust and dirt. The cloying stench of oleander.
Hands clamp around my arms. Someone—I can’t see well enough to know who—cuts through the straps holding me down.
I’m hauled up, dragged out of the helicopter. Rocks bite into my feet through my fuzzy purple socks. Isabel’s gift. I’ll lose those soon. Along with my favorite pajamas. Forced back into the white dress I wore for three long years.
Tears well in my eyes. I try to make my legs work, but they’re too heavy. Too weak. The men jerk me forward, and a voice I’ve heard in so many of my nightmares is suddenly right in front of me.
“Blessed evening, Nova.”
I blink up at the man, and memories come flooding back to me. Pain. Fear. Soul-crushing despair.
Brother Malone.
Shit. He wants an answer. I have to answer or he’ll hurt me. But I can’t.
