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“Did he bite already?” Remy asks.
“I don’t know…”
“Then we wait,” Isaac replies. “You know I hate waiting as much as you do, but we only have one shot to make this work.”
“We wait for the confirmation, then we go,” Remy says, giving me a slap on the back. “RJ texted that he had eyes on Lyla. She’s fine.”
“Good. That’s good,” I say in relief. By now, she’s on the back of his bike, heading to the hotel. By the time we go back to the house to catch the fucker, she’ll be tucked inside a motel room, safe and sound.
“Need a drink?” Greer asks me from behind the bar.
“Glass of water?”
“You got it,” he says as he starts to fill up a glass.
He doesn’t get finished before our phones all buzz.
“Let’s go,” Isaac says before I even have a chance to read the message.
“Good luck,’ Greer says.
“Thanks,” I reply, pulling my phone out of my pocket as I head for the door to see the text with my own eyes.
He’s out of his truck, heading to the front door.
Lyla’s not there. She’s safe, I remind myself over and over on the short ride back to the house.
We’re all off our bikes, guns in our hands, heading inside without a word moments later.
I go in first as we planned with Isaac, heading to the back of the house as he opens bedroom doors for me while Remy searches the front and Colt checks the kitchen.
My hands are rock steady on my gun as I prepare myself to fire it.
But in no time, we’ve cleared every bedroom, every closet.
“Where is he?” I exclaim as I race back through the house, double-checking the living room and kitchen.
“He’s not here, bro,” Colt says.
“He has to be! Someone would’ve seen him go out the back, right?”
“There are no updates about him leaving through the front or back.”
I head to the back door, where Remy’s standing with the open screen door, the back porch light now flipped on. “Maybe nobody saw him if he killed the lights and crawled.”
“Crawled? Are you fucking kidding?” I huff.
Sure enough, it looks like a narrow plow made a path through the shin-high leaves to the woods.
I’ve just stepped off the porch to the yard when I hear the gunshots.
I don’t even think. I just take off running to the woods.
At least three sets of footsteps crunch leaves behind me until there are only two and then one.
“Sorry, Bear. I can’t… Go, I’ll catch up!” Colt says as I outrun him.
It’s the one time in my life I’m thankful for those harsh boot camp days, having to run as few as four and as many as ten miles in a day.
