Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Is anyone surprised by that?” Chance scoffed.
“The compound where he was held wasn’t just some huts in the jungle,” Ambrose continued. “It may have looked like that from the outside, but inside was a different matter. It’s been deserted since the team took out—” He paused and glanced at me. “Should she be here?”
“She’s family,” Erik replied firmly as Beau’s body tensed beneath me.
“She’s human,” Ambrose argued.
“So is your mother,” Erik said in a deceptively soft voice.
“You know I’m not talking about Mom—”
“She stays,” Beau announced, his hand tightening on my hip.
“That’s a quick turnaround,” Ambrose shot back.
I tensed to stand, and Beau’s hand shot out lightning fast, wrapping around my waist to hold me in place.
“I can go back up to the room,” I assured him, turning my head to look at him.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Ambrose let out a long breath. “The place has been deserted since team three took out the group and recovered his body,” he continued roughly. “We found where they tortured him.”
I let out an involuntary hiss and turned to Beau again. “You didn’t tell me—”
“Later,” Beau replied.
I leaned further into him as Ambrose kept speaking.
“The walls and door were reinforced steel, and the entire thing was set up for exactly that. I don’t think Zeke was the first.”
“Corbin,” Danny said with a curse.
“Keith and Gordy, too,” Chance muttered.
“Possibly,” Ambrose replied. “We took samples, and they’re testing everything we brought back.”
“You’re saying he never had a chance.” Erik’s eyes looked like they were flashing or something, and it was so disconcerting that I had to look away.
Ambrose cleared his throat, and I laid my hand on Beau’s arm, running my thumb back and forth. He was frozen.
“We also found where he’d been held. No windows, stone walls, same steel-enforced door,” Ambrose informed them. “I didn’t want to go in there. The place…” He shook his head. “But it’s a good thing I did. There was lots of writing on the walls, but down near the floor on the northern wall was that symbol—” His voice broke, and Beau shuddered. I tightened my hand on his arm. “That symbol that Zeke used to draw all the time when we were kids.”
“His brand,” Beau said, his voice a whisper. “When he wanted to raise cattle.”
“Fucking idiot.” Chance let out a watery chuckle.
“That’s the one,” Ambrose confirmed, pulling something out of his pocket. “When I got down and got a better look at the stone, I found some shit behind it. A St. Christopher medal without a chain, a tooth, some ribbon, a lock of hair, a couple of rings—looked like wedding bands—and a photo.”
He stood up and crossed to his parents, handing them something in a tiny plastic bag.
Beau’s mother let out a sob, and I looked away. It felt intrusive to witness the private moment. Ambrose had been correct. I didn’t belong in that room.
“Turn it over,” Ambrose murmured.
When Mattie let out a keening wail, Beau pressed his forehead against my back, his breath coming in short painful sounding pants. Turning, I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him against me. Whatever was happening was bad. Somehow worse than the fact that his brother had been tortured. The air in the room felt heavy and thick when a few minutes later, Ambrose carried over the little bag.
Beau leaned up and took it, and I got a look at what was inside.
The tiny photo looked like it had been cut from one of those little columns you’d get from a photo booth. Black and white and just slightly blurry, like the people in it hadn’t been able to sit still long enough for it to be taken. Of the two men pictured, it was easy to spot which of them was Zeke. He had the same strong jawline and nose as the rest of his brothers. His eyes were shaped like Chance’s, and his lips could’ve been Beau’s. The man with him had been caught mid-laugh, his head tilted back a little. Their arms were wrapped around each other, Zeke’s hand cupping the man’s neck just below his ear. They looked happy—no, more than that—they were practically glowing.
I swallowed back tears at the knowledge that at some point after the picture was taken, the happy man in the photo had been tortured and killed.
After a moment of staring at it, Beau flipped the photo over and inhaled a sharp breath.
“My mate” was written on the back in messy cursive.
Without a word, Beau handed back the photo so Ambrose could show Chance and Danny.
The room was silent. Beau was stiff as a post as he stared blankly at the fireplace.
“Was he there?” Mattie finally asked, breaking the silence. “Ezekiel’s mate—was he there when they found him?”
“No,” Ambrose said, leaving the photo with Danny as he sat back down. “Zeke was the only prisoner.”