Dusk (Dangerous Web #1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,68

Mason fired up the engine, and we headed down the long lane toward the main roads. “Why?”

“I told him to,” Mason said. “The booby trap was already sprung.”

“What did you find?” My elation began to slip away. “Who did you find?”

“No who, Mr. Murray. This place was...fuck, there were two cells on a floor underground. Like actual jail cells—no bars, but doors that lock, beds, toilet, and sink.”

My stomach twisted. “Did you find anything in them?”

“No personal possessions. They were both...well, both looked as if they’d been recently occupied. And we found blood splatter on the floor in one. It seemed recent.”

My eyes closed as I tried to rein in whatever fucking emotions were going through me.

“We’ll text you the exact coordinates of where Mrs. Sparrow was found,” Mason said. “If you get close first, call while you still have cell service.”

After the call ended, I leaned back against the door and seat. Big fat raindrops pummeled the windshield as the headlights cut through the darkness.

Reid

At nearly midnight, we were three miles from our destination when Mason’s phone rang. Christian’s name appeared on the dashboard screen. The three of us exchanged glances as Mason hit the green icon.

“Talk to us,” he said.

“We are about there. Cell service is spotty and the rain is coming down.”

“Do you see anyone?”

“No, not yet. We have our flashlights. I have you on Bluetooth.”

Fuck, cell service didn’t work the other day. “Aran—Mrs. Sparrow,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, “was near a large rock south of the road. Keep talking to us.”

“I see the rock,” Christian said. “We’re walking that way.”

“Over here,” Romero yelled from a distance.

“Fuck, I see them,” Christian said.

Them?

“They look...” Static filled the line just before we lost his signal.

Mason’s gaze went between the poor excuse for a road and me. “Don’t jump to fucking conclusions.”

“They?”

He shook his head.

I couldn’t speak. My jaw clenched as I glared straight ahead.

The next two miles took hours or days. That was the way they seemed until we finally caught sight of the capos’ car. My pulse thumped in my veins as my fingers itched to free myself from the truck. It was the headlights shining through the darkness and illuminating the large rock that became clear.

Mason brought the truck to a stop, seconds after I had the door open.

What had been hard, dry ground yesterday morning was slick and wet. Rain saturated my hair and clothes. My boots sank in the deepening mud, splattering my jeans as I ran toward their car.

Christian and Romero were soaking wet, standing beside the open back doors.

“Where is she?” I called, reaching the car a few seconds before Mason.

Within the back seat was not one but two women, both unconscious.

I didn’t concentrate on the one I didn’t know. Instinctively, I reached for my wife.

Tears came to my eyes as I laid two fingers on her neck.

A long breath escaped my lungs as I detected a pulse.

Now that I knew she was alive, I took in her battered body.

My wife’s beautiful red hair was a wet, tangled mess littered with grass and twigs. I tenderly pushed rogue strands away from her battered face, running a finger gently over her dark and swollen cheeks and eyes. “Get a fucking blanket,” I yelled, noticing the way her saturated shirt clung to her small frame, covering her panties. Her legs were bare and along with bruises, were covered in angry small red lesions.

Mason brought a blanket from behind the seat in his truck.

Lorna groaned as I lifted her, yet she remained unconscious.

In the illumination of the headlights, I noticed more puss-filled red dots on her arms. Her fingernails were ragged and her hands bruised. Her feet were as Araneae’s had been, cut and dirty.

Mason laid the wool blanket over his sister.

“Is she?” he asked.

As I shook my head, Romero answered, “She has a pulse. It’s weak.”

“Bring her to the truck,” Laurel said as Mason stared into the back seat of the capos’ car.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

My wife was as light as a feather, lighter than I remembered. Cradling her in my arms, I carried her to Mason’s truck. My eyes met Laurel’s. “I don’t want to leave her.”

“Lay her down in the back seat. I need to check her, and then you can ride in the back with her.”

I nodded as I laid her gently on the seat. “What are the spots?”

“I can’t be sure, but I suspect insect bites of some kind. We need to get her on an antibiotic as