Page 72 of Found By Him

How dare these motherfuckers?

He leans closer to me, and I blame the head injury for what I do next. I gather as much saliva as I can and spit in his face. “I hope you rot in hell.”

Rage blankets his features. He wipes his face as he stands so abruptly that the chair tips over and bangs loudly on the floor. Kicking his leg behind him, he sends the chair across the room.

“You fucking bitch.” This time, he kicks his leg forward, knocking my feet to the side. I land hard on my back. Or as much on my back as I can with my hands behind me. The next kick collides solidly with my ribs. I instinctually try to tuck myself into the fetal position while also trying not to throw up. Any amount of hope I had earlier that I would be with Jack again starts to evaporate with every insult spat at me and kick delivered to my already mangled body.

Right before I slip into oblivion, I hear…something.

Footsteps, maybe?

My body attempts to force my eyes open. I need to know if my mind is playing tricks on me, but I quickly lose that battle.

39

Jack

“We have to go in. Now, Carlos.” I’m pissed he isn’t letting me kick the door in like I want.

“Calm down, Jack. Give me one minute. Backup is taking longer than I hoped.” Carlos puts his phone back to his ear and walks a distance from me to finish his conversation.

I turn back to watch the old farmhouse. It’s definitely secluded and rundown. The paint is faded, and the wraparound porch looks one swift breeze away from collapsing.

She’s in there. I know she’s in there. I can feel it.

I’m studying the windows, looking for any sign of movement.

Ian joins me. His face is drawn. “If the cops don’t get here soon, I got your back if you want to head in on your own. I don’t care if they arrest us after.”

I regard my friend. “I might need to take you up on thatoffer. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand out here, not knowing if she’s okay. Not knowing what’s happening in there.”

My eyes find the house again. The setting sun is blanketing the land with an orange-red glow. It’s eerie and unsettling, ramping up my anxiety.

Ian taps my bicep with the back of his hand. “Did you hear that?”

I take a step toward the house, Ian matching me. “No, what did it sound like?”

“A screen door shutting.”

Movement near the side of the house has us running on instinct. If there’s even a chance that they’re taking Gisella out of the house, there’s no way I’m going to stand around while they take her away from me again.

“Goddamn it, Jack. What the fuck?” Carlos exclaims from behind us. “Kyle, stay here and wait for the rest of the cops. Tell them this idiot made us have to go in.”

It’s seconds before Nate and Carlos are close behind us.

“Go to the front door,” I command in a hushed tone.

Carlos grumbles but cuts off from the group, pulling Nate with him.

Ian and I turn the corner of the house, our guns extended in front of us. I don’t notice anyone at first until a nudging hits my arm, and Ian indicates with a nod to the car parked and angled away from us. We each take a side and round the vehicle, my pulse thundering.

A figure is bent over with half his body in the back seat of the beat-up car.

“Stand up very slowly, or I will blow your head off.” I’ll never know how my voice is as steady as it sounds with the raging emotions hurling through my system.

The man freezes momentarily but does as I directed.

“Put your hands up,” I order harshly, leaving no room for questioning my threat.

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