Page 67 of Fractured Hearts

“No. Just Patrick and a goon.” She laughs, but it lacks humor.

“How many goons does he have?”

“You ask a lot of questions for a dead man,” she says before coughing. There’s a rattle behind it that makes me think she’s been in this damp basement since the weather turned cold, at least. That could be months.

“Are we dead and this is hell?” I ask. She laughs, and it turns into a coughing fit. I wince at the sound of her struggling to catch her breath, but there isn’t much I can do to help right now.

“Maybe it is, Ezra Irons. Maybe we’re where we deserve.”

“Who are you?” I ask again. I’ve always been taught that the most powerful person in the room is the one who holds all the information and right now that person isn’t me. I don’t like the feeling. I was powerless once, and it took years away from me living a happy life.

“Just a dead girl,” she answers, sounding resigned. I probably would be too if I was trapped in a room for months with my own piss and shit. Because there’s nothing else that smell could be.

I stand and put my hand on the wall, following it in the opposite direction of the woman until I hit the end and turn to follow the next one. I move slowly, but my feet don’t encounter any resistance. It seems like the only things in this room are the two of us.

“Bathroom bucket is in the corner to the left of the door.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. When I find the door and feel it out the best I can in the dark, I realize it’s thick metal with no handle on the inside. “Is this door the only way out?” I ask her, making my way back along the wall to where I was. I don’t think I need to get any closer to the bathroom bucket.

“Sure is,” she says.

I let myself slide down the wall, resting my back against it. I’m in a pitch-black room with no windows, one unopenable door, a stranger who claims we’re already dead, and no idea where Maverick is. Fuck. What if he got Jo, too? She wasn’t with us, and she can handle herself, but I can’t assume she’s fine. She’s still a terrible shot, but her right hook could probably kill a man. Neither of them is here with me, so I’m going to tell myself that I was the target and they’re both fine.

Then when I get out of here, there will be hell to pay.

sixty-six

JO

Jeanne is loving the chaos that my friends have brought into her home. I have a feeling the bed-and-breakfast hasn’t seen this many people at once in years. Maybe we can all come back together once Patrick is taken care of.

“What if—no, that won’t work,” Willa says, cutting off her own thought. We’re all seated around Jeanne’s massive dining room table. The seven of us aren’t even taking up half of it. Willa has been holding my hand since the minute she walked into the house. Neither one of us is the most physically affectionate, but she won’t let go, and I honestly don’t want her to. I think she might be the only one grounding me right now.

Harrison has papers all over the table in an order I think only he understands, but he’s so lost in his process that I don’t bother asking him anything. I’ve seen him like this before, and he probably isn’t even aware that there’s people around him. Harlow and I used to watch him and try to guess what he was thinking. We’d make ourselves laugh until our abs hurt, mimicking what we thought his voice sounded like while guessing his thoughts. He’d never even flinch or acknowledge that he could hear us.

I wish Harlow was here. It’s probably the most selfish and ungrateful thought I could have right now. She’s safe where she is and everyone else has shown up. But while I know they care about me, they’re here for Ezra and Maverick. Harlow would be here for me. She’s the one constant and the only person who ever felt like she’s in my corner no matter what. She loves me the same way I love her, always and with no conditions.

“Uh oh,” Declan whispers from the other side of Willa.

“What did you do?” Willa asks, her head snapping in his direction. She must have heard something in his tone. He holds up her phone, and I see an incoming call from Harlow. I frown, not understanding something. “Well, answer it.”

Declan looks resigned as he hits accept, and my best friend’s shrill shriek echoes throughout the room.

“Declan Monroe! You tell me what the fuck is going on right now!” I can hear Cal in the background trying to yell out an apology, but it’s cut off abruptly with an oomph. “I swear if you do not start speaking, I will get in my car and⁠—”

“Harlow!” I yell, interrupting her. Even though I want her here, I can’t actually let that happen.

“Jo?” I can hear the question in her voice that she’s not asking. She knows if I’m with everyone else, something bad happened. Because if it was good, I would’ve called her already. I take the phone from Declan, noticing that his hands are a little shaky.

“He has them. Patrick has Ezra and Maverick.” I hear Harlow gasp, and I break down crying. It’s the first time I’ve cried since everything happened, but even the sound of my best friend’s voice makes me feel safe enough to do it. Willa gently takes the phone from my hand and explains to Harlow what happened. Her grip on my fingers tightens as she assures Harlow we’ll keep her updated and she doesn’t need to drive here right this minute.

“Uh . . . I have something to say,” I hear Cal yell. “And I need everyone to remember this might be helpful before you’re mad at me.” Harlow sighs loudly over the phone, making the speaker crackle.

“What did you do, Callahan?” Harlow says, exasperated.

“Jo, do you know what shoes Mav was wearing?” Cal asks, sounding closer to the phone now.

“Combat boots, I think.” I have no idea where this is going. Usually, I can follow Cal’s crazy train of thoughts, but not today.