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“Trust. Me.”
My eyes shot to Easton. He was inching forward, Smith at his back. Neither of them looking at me.
Trust me.
Trust Easton.
Charlie.
Easton.
My mind whirled. Trust him. Every muscle burned as I locked my body. It was painful not to rush to Charlie. The need to get to my father so overwhelming, bile was inching its way up my throat.
Trust him.
I stepped back.
“Go.” I watched the word form in Easton’s mouth but didn’t hear it.
Cash darted from the dining room, grabbed my hand on the fly, and ran, towing me behind him.
One. Two. Three shots. None suppressed. Not from Maddon’s gun.
We were out of the house in seconds.
“Cash.”
“They got it.” Then he said, “In route to exfil.”
I didn’t hear that through my earpiece.
“Copy,” Cash said again.
The team was talking but I couldn’t hear.
“What’s going on?” I panted, now running full speed through the woods.
“We’re leaving cleanup to them.”
“What are they cleaning up?”
“Likely Maddon’s brains.”
It took me a few seconds of breathing heavy to ask, “What about my dad?”
“Keep running, Dove.”
Dove.
My heart sank.
Then it shattered.
THIRTY
Nebraska had been quiet the last eighteen or so hours. Six of those spent in the hospital waiting room while her father was in surgery. Charlie took seven rounds. None of them meant to kill. Maddon was torturing him. He’d had Charlie two days and had started that torture by beating him to shit and giving him his first three bullet holes. Maddon patched him up to keep him breathing. Tossed him in the trunk of Wentworth’s car and drove him out to the mansion.
We didn’t have eyes in the house or garage so we didn’t see them get Charlie out of the car or drag him into the living room, tie him to a chair, and tape his mouth shut.
