Page 77 of Loco

They wouldn't let me face whatever was waiting for us at that house alone.

And the second I got through that door—ifthey’d harmed even a hair on the heads of the people I loved—there wouldn’t be a place left for those bastards to hide. No corner of the earth dark enough, far enough, or protected enough.

Because I was going to burn every last one of them to the fucking ground.

I came in hot,tires shrieking against the asphalt as I slammed the SUV to a stop in front of the house. The world was chaos—flashing lights, shouting, sirens echoing off the nearby houses—and the front lawn looked like a full-blown crime scene. Members of Piersville PD were already swarming the property, weapons lowered but eyes sharp, trying to piece together what had just happened.

Then paramedics pulled up, lights strobing red and white, and my heart nearly stopped.

No, no, no.

I jumped out of the vehicle before it had fully settled, my boots hitting the pavement hard, and I was halfway to the porch when DB came running toward me, hand raised.

“It’s not for Sayla or the kids,” he said quickly, reading the look on my face. “It’s for the driver of the van. His neck’s likely broken from the impact. He’s still pinned in there, so the fire department’s on the way to cut him out.”

I barely nodded. I didn’t care about the driver, he wasn’t my concern.

I pushed past the chaos, past the uniforms shouting over radios and EMTs unloading stretchers, and straight through the broken front door. What used to be my living room was now a wreck of drywall, insulation, and shattered furniture. The side of the house gaped open like a wound, and the front of the van still sat wedged halfway into the wall, smoke curling from the engine.

But I didn’t stop. I didn’t look. I didn’t need to.

I knew precisely where Sayla had taken the kids. We’d talked about it more than once, in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, both of us hoping it was a plan we’d never have to use.

Kaida’s room.

The hallway stretched in front of me like a tunnel, too long and too narrow, and I took it two steps at a time, boots pounding the floor. Adrenaline spiked hard through my veins, every nerve drawn tight like a tripwire ready to snap. The noise of the house—the shouting, the crackle of radios, the distant roar of the engine still smoking in the wall—faded to nothing. All I could hear was the pounding in my chest.

Just as I rounded the final corner, two figures stepped into my path, blocking the way. Alex and Raul didn’t raise their hands or bark orders. They just stood there, grim, their faces pale and eyes heavy with the truth they didn’t want to speak.

Their expressions said it before their mouths could.

“They’re not there,” Alex explained quietly, his voice more apology than warning. He reached out, maybe to steady or stop me, but I brushed right past him, heart hammering like a war drum.

“No,” I said, barely above a whisper. “She would've taken them there.”

I reached the closet like a man sleepwalking, my hand moving to the edge of the frame before my brain could catch up. My fingers touched the plasterboard and froze.

It was already gone—ripped off and thrown aside like someone had found it in a rush, so the panel now lay at an awkward angle on the floor. I stepped forward, crouched, and looked into the space I had prayed they’d still be in.

The small crawlspace behind the closet was completely empty.

But what stopped me cold—what hollowed me out—was the blood. Not just a drop or a scrape—there were streakson the wall and floor, across the edge of the opening where it looked like someone had been dragged or had fought to stay.

My eyes swept across the mess, cataloging the chaos with brutal clarity. My skillet was just outside the space, dented and coated with blood. The knife Sayla must have grabbed from the kitchen lay beside it, the blade still slick and dark. The rolling pin wasn’tfar, resting where it had fallen, fingerprints smudged through more blood.

There had been a helluva fight.

And everything inside me fractured at once.

For a moment, all I could feel waswhite noise—a deafening, static scream that drowned out the rest of the world. Like the blood in my veins had frozen and my bones had gone hollow. The air felt too thin, the light too bright, and everything in my chest collapsed inward.

But I couldn’t let it break me. Not now.

I forced breath back into my lungs, inhaling sharp and hard, shoving every ounce of panic and despair down deep where it couldn’t paralyze me. They weren’t here, but they weren’t dead either.

Sayla had fought. It was written in every inch of the room—the overturned furniture, the smeared handprints on the wall, the blood splattered across the floor. This wasn’t panic or surrender, it was resistance, pure and fierce. She hadn’t gone quietly. She’d bought time, done damage, and made them bleed. That blood on the knife, skillet, and floor meant something. It meant she’d landed hits, and someone didn’t walk away clean.

And maybe she’d managed to get the kids out. Maybe that chaos and violence was a distraction—a last stand to give Kairo and Kaida the chance to run and hide.

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