Page 33 of Chase

“Go home, Vi,” he reminds his wife. “I’ll let you know as soon as there is any news.” I follow him out of my apartment and toward the penthouse.

Our trip to Russell’s home is made in silence. There’s no front door as such; the elevator opens directly into his living space. The only means of access is with a specific entry card, of which I have a spare on my keys.

“I’m not sure what to do,” I say to Harrison as we step out into the apartment. Everything is in it’s position as it normally is. Russell likes his home orderly, even though he’s a nightmare in the office with leaving crap around.

“Me neither,” he replies, his eyes moving around the open plan space. “Russ, are you here?” No one responds. The apartment is deathly silent. “Check all the rooms. If he somehow came back here injured, then he may have passed out.”

“Should we not call the police?” I ask, looking to my friend for advice.

“And say what? That you pushed your brother off a building? All that would happen is you’ll get locked up and my wife will lose her family.” My normally calm friend loses control a fraction. “What the fuck happened?”

“He was watching.”

Harrison focuses on me, clearly confused. “What do you mean he was watching?”

I take a breath, trying to steel myself to tell my friend about what transpired tonight. “Connor! Fucking tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you otherwise.”

I am about to start speaking again when the sound of footsteps distracts me. I turn to see Hunter and Damon walking across the room. I look from Harrison to them and back.

“I called them,” he says, inviting no argument. “We all need to be here.”

“Have you called your boys in blue?” I snap at Damon as he comes to my side.

“Fuck off, Chase,” he mutters. “I’m no longer a member of that team. You fucking know it. We’re here to help.”

“Is someone going to tell us what happened?” Hunter asks, for once an expression of fear on his features. His question is simple and to the point, no familiar asshole comments in sight. “Waite said Russell fell from your balcony. What was he doing?”

“Connor was just about to tell me,” Harrison interrupts. “Tell us all.”

“He was watching,” I begin, the anger that my brother was spying on us mixed with misery at the outcome.

“Watching what?” Damon asks.

“Samantha and me on the sofa having sex.” My three friends stare at me dumbfounded. “We were…” I pause, unsure of how much information to divulge. Figuring this may be my last night as a free man, I decide to be open and honest with the men I trust most in this world. The only man missing is my brother. “She was on her knees sucking my dick when I looked up and saw him standing there watching her. It was like he was transfixed.”

“What the actual fuck…” Hunter mutters. “He was a peeping tom?”

“Yes, and in true Russell fashion, he made a sarcastic comment. I lost it.” Shame starts to invade my chest as the memory of what I did to my brother comes clear in my mind. I close my eyes, reliving the scene in real time. “I pulled up my joggers and confronted him, then pushed him out onto the balcony. We wrestled, and he hit Samantha in the face by accident. I manhandled him back up to the ladder.” The wetness seeps from my eyes again, more tears falling with each fact laid bare. “He went for me again, and I reacted by pushing his legs. Then he fell into the blackness, he was gone.”

Damon looks at me, concern and terror marring his face. His focus moves from me to each man in the room. “We need to figure out why he was outside your apartment and where he could have landed when he fell,” he says almost to himself.

“He never hit the ground directly outside the building,” Harrison advises. “Matthew and his team have been scouring the surrounding area. They’re now starting door-to-door balcony checks within the building.”

“Where is Samantha?” Hunter asks. “And Violet?”

“Samantha went to look for him herself. Violet is at home with the baby,” I say.

“Call your girlfriend and tell her to get her ass up here,” Hunter says. “This is fucking weird. She must know something.” I pull my phone from my pocket, and her cell rings out. I immediately redial, and then there’s a buzz on the penthouse intercom. Harrison walks over to answer it, and Samantha’s trembling voice can be heard from the speaker.

“Let me in,” she whispers in clear pain. “I’ve just got on the elevator.” The sound of its approach buzzes, and Harrison hits the allow entry button. The doors open, and Samantha runs into my arms.

“They can’t find him,” she wails. “We’ve been walking up and down the streets, checking basement stairways. There’s no sign of him.”

“You’ve been outside like this,” I say, squeezing the bare skin at her midsection. Her naked feet look almost blue against the dark wood floor. “You’re freezing.” I look around the room for something to wrap her in. Finding nothing, I hold her tighter to my torso, willing some heat to pass between us.

“I’ll get a blanket,” Damon says, walking off in the direction of the spare bedroom. I hear the door creak open, then the words, “Holy fucking hell.”

“What is it? Is it him?” Harrison shouts, running in the direction of Damon’s outburst. We all follow swiftly. Samantha’s hand is locked in mine as we step into the bedroom. Everyone comes to a stop in synchronization. We all stand in the doorway with our jaws hanging open.

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