Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
He drove me fucking insane.
And he could have anyone, but he’d chosen me.
Elliott Jones
We landed at Rota at a little past four in the morning, and we were immediately ushered to an urgent care unit on base. Ryan became the guardian of two young children, Reese and Shay stayed with another kid, and I had three glued to me. Two of them needed medical assistance right away. Cage fighting came to mind—someone had forced these boys to fight. Their eyes were swollen, their lips were cut, and they had bruises everywhere.
The little boy clung to me so tightly I didn’t need to hold him in place. If my guesses were correct, the two boys walking next to me were biological brothers, and they were related to the little boy in my arms as well. I’d gotten one of their names—Nicolas. He appeared to be the eldest. Maybe thirteen or fourteen. Eleven or twelve for the other.
White-hot anger kept my jaw clenched, and I couldn’t even revel in the relief of having my niece back.
It was the most painful part of the job I’d given so many years to. Seeing children get hurt because adults were worthless pieces of shit.
“Elliott!”
I came to a stop and turned around at the sound of Joel’s voice. He was standing outside an exam room in the white corridor.
“We’re in here—room six,” he said.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I promised.
The others were shown into rooms too. Ryan went one way, Reese and Shay another, and then Gray and Darius joined us with other victims. Ortega disappeared down the hall with Marisa and a doctor.
I ended up in room twelve, where a nurse said a doctor would see us very soon.
I released a pent-up breath. The lights were too bright in here.
I cleared my throat and carried the little boy over to one of the two exam tables. If I could just get them to say something—I’d tried in both English and Spanish, and English seemed to work better, but all I’d gotten was one name.
I helped the boys up onto the table, and I looked around, finding a stack of those yellow blankets in a closet. With the youngest boy still clinging to me, I returned to the other two and carefully draped blankets around them.
“Nicolas, can you hear me?” I asked.
I could see him watching me through the slits of his bruised eyes, equal parts wary and despondent. The latter fucking terrified me because it usually meant someone had been held against their will for a longer period of time.
He nodded slightly, and I exhaled.
“Is this your brother?” I made sure to keep my tone gentle and my movements unhurried, not wanting to scare them.
He turned slowly to the boy next to him, then back to me and nodded again.
Progress.
“Is this also your brother?” I pointed to the boy in my arms.
Nicolas coughed. “C-cousin. Our cousin. Julian.”
More progress. “That’s great, Nicolas—thank you for telling me. Can you tell me your brother’s name too?”
I wasn’t sure that boy could actually see me—or hear me. His bruises almost covered his face, and his ears were swollen too.
Nicolas’s eyes welled up. “Mattie.”
Mattie. I released another breath. “Mattie—is that short for Matthew, maybe? Mateo—”
“Mateo,” Nicolas croaked. “Are we really safe?”
“Yes. No one is going to hurt you anymore,” I promised, my heart fucking breaking for them. “My name is Elliott. My friends and I will be here every step of the way till you get home to your families. Are…” I trailed off and hesitated. I didn’t wanna overwhelm him any further, but we had to know where he lived, what his last name was—so that we could find his parents. “Can you tell me your last name, Nicolas?”
He sniffled and glanced at his brother. “Davis.”
Huh, all right. “I only have a few more questions, okay? You’re doing great. What are your parents’ names?”
He squinted and carefully wiped at his face. “Um, Mom’s name was Alejandra.” Fuck, was? “Dad’s name is Keith.”
Okay. I gently shifted Julian from one hip to the other, then pulled out my phone. “Alejandra and Keith Davis. Where do you live, Nicolas?”
I started typing down stats for Mercier to forward to his team stateside.
Boy 1: Nicolas Davis. Approximately 5’5”, malnourished, dark hair, presumably dark eyes, he can’t open them much due to heavy bruising. Mexican?/American heritage
“Houston,” Nicolas answered hesitantly. “I…”
I stopped typing and glanced at him.
“I don’t remember,” he croaked. “We move a lot. I think we were in Houston last.”
Time to pump the brakes. I pocketed my phone again and switched tactics. They had to rest—and maybe they wanted more water or something to eat.
Adrien Mercier
One room to go.
I swallowed my anger, my exhaustion, all my frustrations, and closed the door to the exam room Ryan was in. That poor little girl—cigarette burns all over her arms and legs. God, I wanted to kill everyone who’d looked at her wrong.