Page 6 of What Lies Within

The seconds pass like hours before the fucking device chimes.

"He accepted," she recites. "Wants to meet me, but not here."

I draw a deep breath and shove visions of my hands around his throat, fist in his face, to the dark corners of my mind. I'll entertain those fantasies later but for now… "Get him to say where and when."

Again, with her twitching thumbs and the weighted silence.

"He wants to see you at Old Wives' Hollow," she says with a slight tone of confusion. "Where's that?"

"The fucking backwoods," Digger laments before the words erupt from him in a flurry of frustration. "Is he fucking stupid? Does he think we are? He wants us to deliver her to bum-fuck nowhere for a one-on-one. May as well leave her naked and bound while we're at it."

"Dig," I snap. "Enough." I draw a deep breath and run my palms across my knees. "If it gets me a step closer to Maddie, then I'll risk it." I meet Rae's wary stare. "Will you?"

"I suggested it, didn't I?" She steels her jaw, a slight furrow to her brow the only sign she harbors concern over the idea.

"Two men," Digger bites. "You take two men with you. Any sign there's more than just him, you get the fuck out of there."

"You take us," I tell her. "He'll expect it." Like fuck I'll let the question of her safety rest in the hands of one of my brothers.

Who better to protect the woman than the men devoted enough that they agree to the crazy idea of sharing her?

"When did he say?"

Rae glances down at the screen. "In one hour."

"Get your jacket, then, baby girl. We're headin' out."

3

DIGGER

The Hollow is where teenagers come to fuck around. Where men tired of life come to contemplate their future—or lack of it. It's the place you go to when you don't want to be disturbed, and I can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing.

Terry wouldn’t be seen dead here. It doesn’t have enough class. Enough illusions of wealth. Of power. Yet his son finds it adequate when he has information on our family. The lack of crossover has got to work in our favor.

The rumble and pop of our engines echo off the tall, skinny trunks of the trees lining the dirt access road. Old Wives’ Hollow was originally named Harvester's Hollow. But after decades of nefarious shit going down on the lush pasture nestled in a clearing, the town renamed it due to the amount of cautionary tales mothers would tell their kids about the nature spot.

On any other day, I'd find peace in the beautiful scenery, but when the sun has long set, and the shadows from our headlights stretch long and distorted along the uneven road, I could think of a thousand better places to be.

Rae holds tight to Tyke, jostled about on the back of his bike as he coasts toward the clearing ahead of me. The tension linesher shoulders, the rapid left and right of her helmeted head as she scans the undergrowth for any sign of my niece.

I get it because I do it too.

Fresh tire tracks slip in and out of view as my light coasts across the ground—evidence thatsomebody is here if not Connor. There’s only one set, which is reassuring—although not as much as the weight of my weapon snug against my spine.

The rusted gate heralding the clearing beyond comes into view. We idle up to the obstruction and ditch the bikes, killing the engines as we dismount. There's still no sign of Connor's ride; the tire tracks smear off to the left, crushing long grass and mud into a broken trail.

The sudden silence is jarring, the lack of anything else—anything living.

No owls. No rodents. Nothing.

Just the occasional rustle of the breeze as it catches the leaves turned darker shades of orange and brown, ready for winter.

"I ain't goin' blind, am I?" Tyke mutters, hanging his helmet on the bars. "The fucker ain't in sight, is he?"

"Nope." I position Rae between us and sweep the area. "Don't like how this feels."

“Come on.” Rae steps out from between us, unperturbed, and strides toward the gate. The rusted hinges creak as she pushes a gap wide enough to slip through, the metal bars swinging shut in her wake.

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