Page 39 of Brother's Keeper

I reached toward her. “Time to pack it up, sweetheart. It seems I’m double booked tonight.”

Maggie’s red eyes flickered with cognition, and she stood, chewing on the striped animal tail. She followed me to the passenger side of the Bronco, where I opened the door for her entry.

“Where are you going?” Donovan called as we passed.

“Lazy Daze Motel,” I recited from the message. “Room 145. Ask them what time.”

Donovan scooted out of the truck bed and rounded the car after us. “But you just said it’s not Ripley,” he protested.

“Definitely not,” I replied.

“Then why are you going?”

Ushering Maggie into the backseat, I checked for her feet then shut the door before turning to face my brother.

“Because it’s a trap,” I said.

Donovan swayed back and shook his head. “That means you shouldn’t go. They’ll be expecting you. Whoever they are…”

Jax’s goons if I were a betting man. York and Jette were a couple of punks I could handle, and needed to, because they were the key to finding Ripley alive, dead, or otherwise. Though why they had decided to get between their leader and his quarry remained a mystery. But they asked to see me, and I intended to give them exactly what they wanted.

Donovan argued all theway back to the houseboat. It began with pleas to take him with me and ended with him tearfully begging me not to go at all. I chalked up his emotional state to the strain of the past week of relative isolation. It was more palatable than accepting the truth in what he said. That I was risking my life for an unknown. Walking blindly into danger. And he called me a dumbass, for good measure.

Pulling up to the curb outside Lazy Daze, I killed the engine and yanked the keys out of the ignition. It felt oddly nostalgic to come back to the rundown motel like I’d been gone far longer than a few weeks. Mine and Donovan’s old room was a few doors down, left full of our belongings when we’d turned our backs on this place. In fact, the stuff might still be in there. I wasn’t sure if Grimm was keeping the rent up or if he bothered to tell the property manager that we left.

Knowing Grimm, he was in denial, believingour exit was temporary. A childish temper fit. A mood that would pass, after which we would return to the fold more devoted than ever. But I’d be damned before I spent another night in the Bloody Hex’s captivity. Nothing good had ever come from being close to them, and now I wondered why it took me so damn long to cut ties and move.

Given the lack of customers on a random Friday night, I was able to snag a spot directly outside room 145. I didn’t realize till I pulled in that it was Ripley and Maggie’s shared room from when they lived here. The Whalecome! mat had been left behind, testimony to their similarly hasty exit. I stared at the closed door while leaning against the hood of the Porsche a dozen feet away and debating whether I should knock or just let myself in.

They knew I was coming—I’d told them so via Donovan’s text—but I had to wonder how prepared they were. I wasn’t invincible, but I made for a force to be reckoned with when the situation demanded it, and this felt very much like a go in guns blazing moment. Just in case things went pear-shaped, I had an exit plan. Besides my car being nearby, Nash’s get-out-of-jail free potion hung around my neck, tucked out of sight under my shirt.

I decided not to knock.

I sauntered up the sidewalk and thrust out my open palm, rocketing out a wave of power that ripped the door off its hinges. It flew into the darkened room beyond, prompting a shrill cry from inside.

“Surprise,” I said as I stepped across the threshold.

Every room at Lazy Daze was a copy-paste of the same themes: moldy carpet, particle board furniture, and outdated artwork scented by the stink of old cigarettes. I found all that inside, with the addition of the metal door that had been flung into the midst of everything. Beneath it, a body sprawled on the floor with its feet poking out like the Wicked Witch of OZ.

It was too much to hope for only one adversary lying in wait, and the scream I’d heard had been decidedly feminine. I scanned the room again, ending on the closed bathroom door at the back. Were they hiding from me? Already?

As soon as I moved forward, I heard a scuffle from beside the entrance. I didn’t get fully turned before someone tackled me to the ground. A sharp blow struck the back of my skull, scrambling every thought.

I lay on the scrubby carpet, blinking through a starry field of black. Pain corkscrewed through my skull, and I stifled a groan. The weight on my back relented, and I rolled over to face my opponent. Jette Black loomed over me with her distinctive Mohawk and her fists poised for another round.

My head hurt worse than it should have, beset by a lingering ache that made me wonder if she’d dropped an elbow on me. I wasn’t sure what kind of magic she had, but the turbo force of her foot plunging into my gut gave me a good idea.

Breath rushed out, and my stomach tossed, driving bile up my throat. She kicked me again, a kidney shot that made my entire body spasm. I couldn’t catch my breath and couldn’t budge from the fetal position on the floor,consumed by panic and pain when I needed desperately to form a single, constructive thought.

She dropped on top of me, grabbing a wad of my hair and drawing my face up the moment I sucked a stuttering breath. Her fist crashed into my cheek with impossible force, reducing the room to darkness.

Nausea and agony swept over me like lapping waves. I lay curled up with one eye swelling shut and the other refusing to open at all.

The sound of footsteps moving away announced Jette’s departure, followed by rustling and shifting of the thrown door being lifted. She must have believed me unconscious or dead, having turned her back and gone to help her squashed buddy, York.

Clawing my way through the pain determined to bury me, I managed to compose myself enough to reconsider my strategy. Unless Ripley was stashed in the bathroom, he was somewhere else, far from rescue, and I had walked into what was meant to be my execution. If that were the case, it would do no good to kill these two. I needed what they knew. A location, or a confession that I was too late, and Ripley was already dead.

I stayed on the floor, squinting at the scene that unfolded before me. York worked his way to sitting, rubbing his face while Jette tossed the door aside like it was as flimsy as a piece of tissue.

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