Page 40 of What Lies Within

“Especially with all that’s goin’ on.” I lift a hand to stall his protest. “I know—fuckin’ timing couldn’t be worse, but this shit also reinforces why I gotta go. I need to talk to the others. I need more clubs on side if we’re to put an end to this shit with Terry. We all know it’ll start a war, brother. We don’t have the numbers for that.”

“And what if Maddie’s still missing by the time the rally comes around?” My baby brother asks carefully. “You think you could do that? Ride two days away when Maddie is fuck knows where?”

Shoulders jumping, I avoid his concern and stare at the exposed steel on the toe of my boot.Need to replace the fucking things.“Ifshe’s still gone, then I know I’ve got men I trust with my life lookin’ after hers.”

Maddie would understand. I got to believe that; otherwise, a father could go mad with the worry.

I also have to believe that we'll have her home by then.

Red River ain't the largest town by any means, but when you're hiding a slip of a girl amongst thousands of buildings and properties, some spanning hundreds of hectares in size, then that's a fucking colossal haystack and a tiny little needle.

I’m a goddamn realist as much as I’m a father.

If I get my hopes up and expect her to walk in with her brother and Minion, or Hammer and Turnip, in the next few hours, then it makes it hard to think straight when she doesn't.

I need a clear head, and keeping myself expecting the worst is how I fucking do that.

Let surprises be just that—surprises. Good ones.

Let Maddie’s return feel every bit as if I’d earned it.

Digger glances toward the stairs, fingers tapping a steady beat against his thigh. "You want me to come with to see Marco?" He meets my eye, his frown deep. "Rae will be okay for a while."

"Nah, brother." I set my hand on his shoulder. "I'd rather you were here with her." Doing what I can't. "Besides, I'm takin' Rigs."

Not sure I could even look Rae in the eye after what I did. She came to us for help, to get away from the fucker scraping himself off my office floor, and I sold her out for a glimpse of personal gain.

May as well wrap her up in a bow and deliver her to Terry’s door while I’m at it.

Minion emerges from the office, Connor tucked behind his left shoulder, my boy bringing up the rear. I steel my jaw, hold my fucking head high, and stare down that messed up kid as he walks out our door. He wanted to play games; he got them. More fool him if he thought bringing us information would put us in his debt. We don’t owe Connor a thing—the fucking kid’s lucky he’s alive after the stunts he pulled in the past.

His redemption comes later when my daughter is back where she belongs, and Rae can walk the streets without fear.

Even then, the man is a menace. A liability and a threat. As long as he loves what he can no longer have, he’ll never stop.

I know I wouldn’t.

17

MADDIE

There aren’t many memories of my mother I care to keep. But as my stomach twists on itself in an effort to find something to sate the hunger, I’m reminded of my seventh birthday party.

It should have been a day to remember. A little girl’s dream come true. Yet instead of pony rides and squealing kids on the bounce house, I got abandoned at her so-called friend’s place and left to fend for myself when the woman passed out blind. Until then, I hadn’t known how to open a can that didn’t have a pull-tab. By the end of the day, I was seven years oldandproficient with a can opener.

Something I could fucking use right about now.

Edging the drawer open with my bound hands, I gingerly feel the timber edges and extend my fingers to what lies inside. The first two drawers were empty, and the third contained what felt like dish towels. I hope there's something on the sharper side of blunt somewhere in this fourth lucky dip.

I lost track of time when the sun went down, and my vision darkened. After smashing my shins into the chair Ronan had used, I eventually found the window frame. Head against the ridge of timber, I pushed at the fabric covering my face and eyes,but however these assholes tied it around my head, I’ve got to give them props.

No amount of rubbing up against the window frame like a cat in heat managed to get the damn thing to shift off my eyes. The best I managed was a tiny slip low in my right periphery, giving me colors and some idea of shape.

As long as I set whatever I find on a flat surface and angle my head at forty-five degrees.

Semantics.

My fingers nudge something hard, and breath held in my lungs, I navigate the shape of the damn thing. Long and flat, it's not a knife. There's no sharp edge, no hint of a blade. But it feels thin enough that the right pressure could weaken the ties around my wrists. I clamp two fingers around the nearest end of the mystery tool and give a little tug.

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