Page 63 of 23 Hours

“Are you gonna kill us?” comes from the one with a soul.

My head shakes, even though they still can’t see me from their spot on the floor. “Not today. Not until my brother decides what to do with these women, then what to do with you.” Once he speaks to the brunette, he’ll come to the same conclusion I have. Death. If I’m lucky, I’ll be there to watch. Male or female, evil is evil. Not caring that you take part in murdering new mothers… Well, that’s evil as fuck, don’t ya think? Only Bonez will be nice about it. Quick. Painless. Bleh. Boring. She deserves a nice long visit with Kade.

Knowing it’s the right thing to do, I text my brother. He needs to know what kinda shitstorm they’re walking into.

For an accurate figure, I tick off each woman bed by bed.

Twenty-two.

One less than the number of hours I spent with Kit the first time we met.

The night we conceived Adam.

Balling one hand into a fist, my head hanging low, I sigh.

I miss her.

I miss… fuck… no…nope… I don’t have time for this. We’ve got a job to do. One thing at a time.

To ground myself, I yank a Dum Dum from my cut and devour the sweetness as I text Bonez.

Heads up. We have twenty-two sedated pregnant women.

Just as I hit send, Runner’s voice cuts through the coms. “We found ‘em.” My phone pings with a location not far from us.

“On our way.”

I’m comin’, love.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

KIT

Gunfire. Yelling.

A cacophony of ugly and violence. For a moment, I wish they’d stop, so I can think. So my ears could stop ringing.

Exhaustion erodes a trail straight down to my marrow. I sag into a stiff chair. Too heavy to hold it up, my chin bounces off my chest as I drift in and out of consciousness.

Frigid air bites my bare flesh. Gooseflesh pebbles.

I’m tied up.

No. We’re tied up.

My sisters.

My friends.

Exposed.

In pain.

Blinded by whatever they’ve knotted around our heads.

The awful cotton in my mouth makes it impossible to swallow. Dry. It’s so dry.

I try to move to get comfortable. It’s futile. Abrasive rope holds me hostage—my tether to this horrible place, wearing divots into my ankles and wrists.

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