Page 95 of Don't You Pucking Dare

His brother's laugh crackles through the speaker, setting my teeth on edge. "You did your part. Now I'm just getting the last part of the puzzle."

"What the fuck? That's not what this is," Noah snaps, knuckles white around the phone.

"You guys got the bad guy, fucking chill, Noah."

"No! What the fuck are you doing now?"

I rip the phone from Noah's hand. "Where the fuck's Lola?"

Another laugh. Casual. Like this is all a game. "Come see for yourself."

The line goes dead. I grab Noah by his shirt, slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the cheap artwork hanging there. "You fucking said—"

"Back the fuck up, Brody." His voice is steel, but there's something else there. Worry.

"No!" I drive him harder into the wall. His phone pings—a location pin drops in the middle of the state forest.

"We're gonna go get your girl. Fucking relax." He yanks his shirt free, straightening it with practiced calm. "Nico runs his own business. We don't take much part in it. I know I fucking won't."

The drive is silent except for the GPS voice cutting through darkness. Trees crowd the edges of the highway, and every mile marker feels like time I don't have. My hands keep tightening on the wheel, imagining Nico's throat instead.

If he's touched her, if he's hurt her, there won't be enough pieces left of him to bury.

The gravel parking lot marks the end of civilization. Beyond it, nothing but dense forest and the red location pin blinking mockingly in the distance.

"We go where the red dot is." I check my phone one last time before shoving it in my pocket. Noah and Thatcher fall in behind me, three shadows moving into the trees.

The forest swallows sound—our footsteps, our breathing, everything. Branches catch at our clothes. The October air carries the scent of decay and wet earth. Every step takes us deeper into darkness.

"Is your brother normally like this?" I keep my voice low, watching Noah's face in the dim light filtering through the canopy.

"Like what?"

"Not answering the fucking question and sending us to wherever the fuck we are." A twig snaps under my boot, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet.

Noah's laugh has no humor in it. "You have no idea."

The phone shows we're getting close. Fifty yards. Thirty. But I don't need technology anymore—I can feel her. Through the dense undergrowth, past a cluster of ancient oaks, I see her.

Lola. Tied to a massive tree trunk like some kind of sacrifice. Rope cutting into her wrists, head bowed forward, hair hiding her face. The sight hits me like a physical blow, turning my blood to ice.

Someone's going to die for this.

"Lola." Her name comes out rough. "Lola. Duchess?"

She hangs limp against the ropes, unresponsive. Noah works at the knot while Thatcher's knife starts sawing through the bindings. The rope's left angry marks on her wrists.

I grab her face between my hands. Her skin's cold. "Who the fuck did this to you?"

Nothing.

"You better wake the fuck up." My voice turns savage. "The only person allowed to do this to you is me. Do you understand, Duchess? Wake the fuck up!"

She doesn't move. Doesn't make a sound. I can't even tell if she's breathing as I start unwinding the rope from the tree. When she starts to slip, I catch her, holding her weight while Noah works the last strands free. Her body's dead weight in my arms as I lay her on the ground.

"Fuck!"

"Feel for her pulse." Thatcher's voice seems far away.

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