Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I freeze at her words, unsure how to process them. He can’t have taken Tate. Tate’s probably downstairs having breakfast or in the library. We would have heard the commotion. This is all wrong.
“Tell me what happened,” Callum instructs, voice low. “Go slow and tell me everything.”
She trembles and glances my way. “I’m sorry. I really tried.” Her face crumples as the emotion of her perceived failure overtakes her. Then she lifts her chin, braving her way through her story. “Someone knocked at the door. The guy said he was Jude’s friend and then suddenly he was pushing inside. He was working out how to use me to get to Tate when Tate showed up.”
Black spots dot my vision as I try to imagine what happened next. She puts me out of my misery as she continues.
“Sean trapped me under the kitchen sink—”
“What?” Callum snarls. “He fucking hurt you?”
“No, just barricaded me in there. I kicked and kicked at the doors until the hinges broke off. Then I ran straight here.”
“How long were you trapped?” I bark out.
She starts to cry again.
“Willa,” I snap. “How long were you stuck in there?”
“Maybe thirty? Forty-five minutes? I don’t know for sure.”
Baker has had him for at least half an hour. There’s a lot he could do in that time frame.
“They took your car,” Willa cries out to Callum. “We can track them, right?”
Callum fumbles for his phone in his pocket. He opens the app as we crowd around. Seconds later, it shows the car parked at the end of our property road. The fucker just used it to get to his own vehicle.
“Fuck!” I roar, trembling with a mixture of fear and rage. “Where the hell could he have taken him?”
I rack my brain for possibilities. Baker is a local with a fucking family and a good job. He’s not going to just bail and leave town with Tate, right? If he’s still trying to keep his double life, he certainly won’t bring Tate to his house or the fire station.
A hotel?
Tate’s place?
“Call Sloane and get her help,” I snap at my brother. “Then we need to look up all the hotels…” I trail off, frustration seeping into my pores.
This will take for-fucking-ever.
We don’t have time.
And what am I supposed to do? Sit in my office, tracking and scouring the internet for clues while this goddamn monster takes my sweet boy to do fuck knows what?
No.
I won’t sit around and let this happen.
“I’m going to find him.” I snarl, gripping the bottom of my mask. “I’ll check Tate’s apartment first.”
Willa and Callum both stare at me as though I’ve lost my mind. Yes, I’m going to leave the property. No, I don’t like it. But Tate is in trouble and he needs me.
I promised to protect him and I’ve already failed.
When I rip the mask off, Willa’s eyes widen. Callum’s features turn stony. He knows what lurks beneath. Willa, however, is getting her first taste of the horror show. She blinks so many times I think she might be broken. Then she starts to cry.
“Oh, Jude…”
I shudder, turning away from her, not wanting her to see anymore, and race toward the stairs. When I reach the bottom, Grandpa and Violet are both waiting with worried expressions. Both of them look at my face and gape at me.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, hating that they’re seeing me so…lost and out of control. “I have to find Tate.”
Rushing past them, I make my way to the door in the kitchen that leads to the garage. Just because I don’t drive, and neither does Grandpa, for that matter, it doesn’t mean we haven’t maintained our vehicles. Dad comes over from time to time to get them serviced and take them for a drive. My old-ass Jeep remains in its spot, ready for its first drive by me in ages.
The engine fires to life and for a second, I remember being a teenager, driving all over this town like I owned it. So much has changed in nearly two decades. So fucking much.
It feels like it takes forever for the garage door to lift. While it does its thing, I hunt down Tate’s address in my phone. Once I figure out which apartment complex it is, I back the Jeep out and race down the driveway. I’m shocked that I actually remember how to drive, but it’s clearly muscle memory and something you don’t forget even after a long-ass time.
My phone starts to blow up with phone calls from Dad and Dempsey. Callum must’ve already called and told them the news. I don’t have time to deal with them right now. I need to get to Tate.
I race through a stop sign and a car blares its horn at me. It then decides to follow me, honking a few more times, gesticulating out the window for me to stop. I stick my hand out the window and flip them off. Out of ingrained habit, I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror and nearly run off the road.