Page 53 of Crave Me

With that, Asher hung up for me and shoved a hand through his hair, even him being unable to hide his distress. I heard Damien cursing in the back at the sickening news.

“Caspian?” Asher called.

I slammed my fist into the steering wheel. “We bury them. We fucking well bury them all. Elijah is mine. He dies by my hand.”

And what a death it was going to be.

What I’d done to Ben would look like absolutely nothing.

There were no vehicles in the courtyard.

We’d already determined during our recon when we’d arrived, taking it on foot for the last two miles so that we could approach covertly, that there were no hostiles patrolling the grounds either.

As we drew closer, it became clear that the front door of the mansion was open too.

My heart sank.

It wasn’t looking good.

Not at all.

But it could also be a trap.

They could be hidden and lying in wait.

I wouldn’t put it past that underhanded piece of shit, Elijah.

“Take the guesthouse,” I called to Damien.

“I’ll handle the second floor,” Asher said.

Exactly the command I’d been about to give.

I nodded and then Damien headed off, gun drawn, toward the guesthouse in the distance, while Asher, clinging to the shadows, approached the east side of the mansion where we’d determined during our recon a side entrance to be.

Once they were out of sight and on-mission, I did something I would never normally risk doing, and approached through the open front door. I was far too anxious—all right, fucking desperate—to lay eyes on Caleb again and get him the hell out of this shitshow to be my usual cautious self. Honestly, with my current frame of mind, if I had to take a hit in order to free him, I would surely do so.

As I stepped inside, my Glock at the ready, I didn’t hear a single sound. No voices, no movement. Not even Asher upstairs. Although, I was aware that he could move like a ghost when he really brought it during an operation. It should have added to the creepiness when it came to him, but… it didn’t. Not this time.

I made my way through the house, clearing the lobby complete with a winding staircase that had seen better days with many of the steps worn, the railings dented and chipped, then the dozens of rooms—salons, living rooms, a dilapidated kitchen with a couple of cabinet doors hanging off their hinges, an office and a library that were both collecting a great deal of dust. It fit with what Asher had discovered once Skylar had given us the location from Bastian, an estate that had been foreclosed almost a decade ago and been left untouched, until Elijah had used it as a refuge. And a fucking torture chamber for my boys.

I reached the final room, having found nothing and no one—what appeared to be a banquet hall.

And what I found inside had me pulling up short.

After everything I’d seen and done over the years, it took a lot for something to shock me.

But this certainly qualified.

The ugly burgundy round banquet tables and chairs had been parted down the middle to draw attention to the beige wall at the forefront.

And there, written in what appeared to be dripping blood were the scrawled words:

Too slow, King.

If that wasn’t enough, there was a long, white rectangular table in front of the wall fitted out with wrist and ankle restraints. Trails and droplets of blood and… other fluids covered the surface. At the far right end were Caleb’s army boots, those that he always wore for an op. I drew closer, noticing something on the far left end by the wrist cuffs that I couldn’t quite make out from this distance at the far end of the room. As I drew close, I saw tufts of dark hair, the shavings from a beard, or thick stubble. Beside that were a couple of locks of sandy-blond hair.

“Caleb,” I choked.

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