Page 52 of Crazy Love

My gaze follows my brother’s out the window towards the suburban house at the end of the dark, quiet street. We’re in one of Patrick’s cars, this one a Tesla he only uses in these sorts of situations. It works because its engine is quiet and it won’t stand out on the Gold Coast, especially in this neighbourhood.

“He drugged her and paid some kids to mess around with her. I’m sure.”

Patrick nods, still looking out the window, no doubt surveying for witnesses and any potential risks. “Stick to the plan. We get in, we do it, we get out. We don’t tell Hazel or Kali about this, understood? It puts them at risk if they know anything.”

And they’d kill us both.

“Understood.”

That’s good enough for my brother. He nods, signalling it’s time to go, and we quietly climb out of the car.

My heart thunders against my ribcage as we approach the house with the stealth of panthers, slipping into our old patterns with such ease it’s almost alarming.

Patrick and I flirted with the edges of the law during our time working undercover. It was such a necessary part of the job that even Patrick’s captain turned a blind eye on most occasions. If we had to rough up a couple of bad guys, it was an unspoken rule to proceed, but with caution. AKA don’t get carried away and don’t be stupid enough to get caught.

Patrick’s been so hellbent on being “a good person” lately, I was surprised he agreed mere minutes after I explained the situation over the phone, but he had my back immediately. We hatched a simple, yet effective plan and an hour later, here we are.

Steam puffs out of my mouth in front of me as we reach the side door as planned. Patrick keeps a vigilant eye and ear out as I step forward, retrieving my tools from my backpack. In about ten seconds, I’ve picked the lock and gently slide the door open.

We step inside and close the door behind us and head straight to where we know the master bedroom is, thanks to the quick Google of the floor plan prior to arrival. I can hear that dickhead’s obnoxious snores from down the hallway.

We enter his room, and he doesn’t flinch, which is a good thing. It’s going to make this much easier. I glance at Patrick who nods, and I round the bed to shake Nathan awake.

I give him a violent jolt and his snoring halts abruptly. He blinks up in confusion at my face and I smile at him. “Hello, sleeping beauty,” I murmur. His eyes widen and a fraction of a scream escapes his mouth before I punch him in the face, and he’s knocked out cold.

“Ow,” I grumble, shaking my hand.

Patrick chortles under his breath. “Let’s move him before he wakes up again.”

* * *

Nathan groans as his eyes flicker open. It takes him a couple of seconds to register what’s happening; to gather his senses from his chair in the middle of his dining room. He wriggles against the restraints and breathes heavily through his nose as he focuses on me, then Patrick standing in the corner of the room.

He makes a long, whiney noise from behind the duct tape, and I slap him across the cheek, silencing him instantly. “Don’t do that. You’ll just drag this out longer than it needs to be.”

Nathan continues to breathe erratically, and I pull a dining room chair to sit across from him. The fear in his eyes is so much more satisfying than I imagined it to be.

“Let’s not fuck around,” I explain to him. “We’re going to ask you some questions and we want your honest answers, Nathan. The more honest you are, the less painful this will be for you. Do you understand?”

Nathan continues to hyperventilate, glancing over at Patrick before looking back at me.

“Do you understand?” I repeat.

He nods frantically.

“Good.” I reach to the dining table and pick up a pocketknife. Nathan throws his head back, as if leaning back from me will somehow help. “Now, I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth. If you scream or shout for help, I’m going to take this knife and stab it through your hand. Are we clear?”

Nathan’s eyes are now wide with panic, but he nods in agreement.

I whip the tape off, almost willing him to scream out, but he remains silent except for his heavy breathing. Then I scoop up the vial of tablets Patrick found in the bathroom while I was tying him up.

“Do you sleep well, Nathan?” I ask, twirling the bottle between my fingers.

He narrows his eyes, confused. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

Nathan’s eyes widen in panic again. “Yes. Yes, I sleep well.”

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