Page 97 of Resurrection

“Take me to him.” I motion for him to lead the way. “Any female bodies?”

“Ms. Van de Berg isn’t out here, boss.”

Thank fuck for that.

“Jay?”

“Didn’t come across him either.”

Maybe they got away. But seeing the carnage here, their escape seems so unlikely. Did whoever came take them to hold as ransom or as a bargaining chip for a bigger game?

“The house is clear?” the kid asks as his head shifts around, his hand still trembling.

“Yeah.” I follow him to a tall figure lying face up on the ground.

“He’s coming in and out. Kept asking for Ms. Van de Berg when I could get him to look at me.”

The body sends a wave of satisfaction over me. Eric’s face is swollen so much he’s almost unrecognizable. His clothes are torn, and in places blood is oozing out of him. Whoever was here, they spent time to work him over. I would have paid good money to watch that.

Demid?That’s the only person who makes sense. But it also means Lucas was probably a target, and by extension, Carys. If she is hurt, there is nowhere in the world Demid will be able to hide from me. I’ll hunt him and flay him open.

“Did he say who did this?”

“No.” The kid shakes his head. “Just keeps saying, ‘Carys’ over and over.”

“I need you to go search the bodies again for Tom or Jay. Check everyone. Even the bodies of the people you don’t recognize. I want to know if anyone has orders on them—hints, clues, tips, anything. We need a lead.”

“Got it.” The kid hesitates for a minute. “Police?”

“No.”

He nods and sets off toward the side of the house. I stare at Eric and then I crouch, shaking his shoulder, digging my thumb into a nasty wound.

He groans and turns glassy eyes in my direction. “Carys,” he murmurs.

Anger spikes at him daring to say her name. This whole situation is his damn fault. “Who did this?” His head lolls to the side, and I slap his cheek to get him to focus on me again.

“Tell,” he breathes out. “Carys.”

“Who did this?” I grip his chin, forcing him to look at me.

His breathing is labored, and each breath appears almost painful. If he was anyone else, I might feel a tad sorry for the fucker. “Where is Carys? Do you know where she is?”

“Tell.” He coughs and sputters. “Carys.”

“Boss,” the kid calls, from far away. “I think I got something, maybe.”

“Meet me at the door.” I gaze at Eric and grip his chin tighter, and I mutter, “I gotta put a dog down first.” I cross to another man and snatch up his abandoned gun. After checking to makesure it’ll still fire, I stand over Eric. I point my weapon. “In some ways this is too good for you.”

“Carys,” he mutters. “Tell her—”

Before he can finish, I fire two bullets into his chest and one to his forehead. Using the bottom of my shirt, I wipe my prints off the gun and let it fall to the ground beside him.

With a last appraisal of his still, mutilated body, I say, “I won’t be telling her anything.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Carys

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