Page 68 of Bend & Break
“There’s nothing on it,” I lie.
“Oh we know. Miles’s nosy bitch of a girlfriend reassured us over and over that it was time sensitive.” He tilts his head, almost curious, almost bored. “It was a pointless attempt at sparing herself.” He shrugs. “Killed her anyway. She knew too much.”
The realization hits me—why she was so desperate for someone else’s help, desperate enough to trust a stranger online. She needed someone to help bring her boyfriend’s murderer to justice. She was trying to save her own life in the process. And she failed.
I am brutally, hopelessly fucked. That won’t stop me from dragging this to the finish line for her.
“You could’ve handed it over. Maybe saved yourself some of the trouble. But you didn’t. You held on. You poked, and poked, andfucking poked.” His shoulders lift in another faint shrug. “And now? Now you’ve got nothing except our attention. The drive wiped itself, yeah? Howconvenient.”
He yanks me tighter, my back slammed against his chest, the mask scraping over my hair. “Until tonight. Until I heard your friend explaining how easy it is to bring data back from the dead. I saw the fucking look on your face. I know you still have it, and what you plan to do. And you’re going to tell me where to find it before that happens.”
I claw at his arm, lungs burning, mind racing.Where the hell is Mads?
The masked man laughs softly, a sound that makes bile rise in my throat. “One way or another, Aster. You’re going to fucking talk.”
Chapter 24
Mads
My fist connects with the mask; the plastic splits under my knuckles. He grunts and stumbles, and I don’t give him time to recover. I drive him into the dirt and swing again. There’s a sick pop—his jaw slips out of place—and blood drips from beneath the mask, running down the side of his neck.
All I can think about is Blake. Her laugh in the dark one second, gone the next.
Too many minutes have passed for her to still be anywhere near me. This fucker blindsided me, and his buddy bolted after her.
If either of these pieces of shit lay a hand on her, I’ll kill them both a thousand times over.
He throws a wild punch, but adrenaline is pounding in my veins. I catch his wrist, twist until he yelps, then drive my knee into his ribs and let the full weight of me fall on him. The air whooshes out of him. I straddle his chest, and rain blows down until the mask splinters and his face is a bloodied mess beneath it.
“If your little friend so much as touches a hair on her head,” I snarl between punches, “I’ll put you both in the motherfucking ground.”
His head lolls to the side, body limp. Out cold.
My hands shake as I push off him, chest heaving. I rifle through his pocket for his phone, thumb fumbling the screen, and call 9-1-1. My voice is clipped—man unconscious, bleeding, woods…somewhere. Hopefully they can ping the location. I give the dispatcher only what they need. I drop the phone before they can ask another question and let it hit the dirt beside him.
Then I move. Fast. Quiet. Every nerve on fire as I scan the dense trees, ears straining for any sound of her.
I’ll find her. And when I do, God help the bastard who decided to fuck with my girl.
Branches whip against my arms as I tear through the trees, lungs burning, every snapped twig underfoot sounding like a gunshot. I force myself to slow, to move quieter, even though every instinct is screaming at me to sprint until I’ve got her in my arms. If I blow this and he hurts her?—
No. Not an option.
I run so far I reach the edge of the forest, the break in the trees opening into an entirely different neighborhood.
I saw her run this way. Shehasto be close.
Then the thought hits me—what if she’s not even in the woods anymore? What if they’ve already dragged her off somewhere else?
Then I hear it: muffled voices. I angle toward the sound, crouching low, edging around trunks, every step careful despite the adrenaline making my hands shake.
Closer.
Closer.
And then I see them.
Blake pressed back against a tree, her chest rising and falling too fast. A mask looms over her, one hand fisted in her hair, the other holding a knife against the pale line of her throat.
