Page 3 of Wilder
ECHO
I exhale,letting a breath feather lightly past my lips, concentrating on it so I don’t have to think about the gruesome scene down the hall. The fine hairs all over my body stand up on my skin. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
I’d been aware of Royal getting up to go to Wilder when he came into the room. Not knowing what went on out there, I’d been surprised when Wilder immediately bent at the waist like he was trying to calm himself. Then again, I can’t fault anyone’s reaction after encountering what we did. Wetting my lip, I slowly allow my eyes to flicker open, rejoining the world I’d been purposely shutting myself off from.
My gaze goes immediately to Royal and Wilder, who are locked in a tight embrace. Royal’s hand moves over Wilder’s back as he whispers something to him I can’t decipher. Royal has always been good at this—he has a very soothing manner about him, which is what led me to ask if I could call him that night when I couldn’t sleep. For that reason, I’m not caught off guard by Royal comforting his friend—especially not when they’re clearly more than that now.
Wilder grunts out, “I’m good. I’m fine. Just need a minute,” but his hands intermittently clench the back of Royal’s shirt, likehe’s having difficulties alleviating the torrent of emotion tearing through him. Like he’s trying like hell to be okay, but the truth is he’s been fucked-up since the second we flipped that light on and saw— A choked sob rips up my throat, but I contain it, barely a burble slipping past my lips.
Dead Freya and Dead Zane. Just down the hall. I cringe as I sit up and lift a shaking hand to my forehead, which has begun to pound like mad.Focus on something else.“Did you say the police are coming up?”
The guys ease apart, Royal touching Wilder’s cheek briefly before turning to me. “Yeah.” He hurries over to his dresser and whips out a pair of his joggers. “Toss these on, baby.” Almost as soon as he hands them to me, there’s a knock on the door.
Wilder opens it a crack.
A clipped female voice infiltrates the room. “I’m Detective Simms. Is everyone else who discovered the victims in this room?”
Wilder glances over his shoulder as I slip my legs into the joggers and yank them up over my ass. “Yes. One sec.” My hands are trembling too badly to deal with the ties to secure the pants, so I let Royal pull at them until the waist is cinched tight. When Wilder sees I’m decent, he pulls the door open wider and steps aside. “It’s the three of us. I’m Wilder, and this is Royal and Echo.”
A shrewd-eyed woman with short, dark hair enters the room and immediately studies every last thing. Us, the furniture, things sitting on the furniture. Windows. The doorway to the bathroom. I’m surprised she doesn’t stoop over and look under the bed or poke around in the drawers. Internally, I huff out a disturbed laugh. The crime scene investigators will likely do all that and more later.
Detective Simms is followed by a tall, blond officer who also takes in the three of us before nodding a silent hello. Thedetective jerks a thumb at him. “This is Officer Ford. He’ll be assisting me today.”
Beckham enters last, and as he slips past them, he takes Wilder by the elbow and leads him over to the bed, where they sit on the edge. My gaze flicks back and forth between them. I wonder what that’s about, but I don’t have time to figure it out, as Royal drags me close to him while assessing both officers. Finally, he boldly grits out, “Let us know what you need from us.”
Simms gives us a grim smile. “We’ve got another detective down the hall, taking a look at what we’re dealing with, but Officer Ford and I are going to stay here with you, and while he takes down some basic info, I’ll be asking each of you a handful of questions.” A knock sounds on the door, sending my heart racing again. “And that’ll be part of the crime scene unit. They’ll just take a quick look at you for any evidence and take some prints since you were in the room with the deceased.” She raises her voice. “Come on in.”
A short, stocky man comes in with a kit of some sort, but remains silent just inside the door, waiting for instructions.
I blink, seeking out the detective’s gaze. I shake my head. “But we didn’t touch anything but the doorknob and light switch.” My stomach turns as images of my hands covered in my parents’ blood flash before my eyes. Right. This is a murder scene. They’re doing their job. Going through all this again is sending panic careening through me, harsh and cruel.
“Yep, so it should be simple then, shouldn’t it?” Detective Simms’s lips twitch as she studies me. A moment later, she lets her eyes roam, almost as if looking for the weakest member of the herd so she can determine how to take us down one by one. “Do we have a volunteer to go first?” We exchange a look of indifference before Beckham raises his hand. The detectivemotions to the doorway. “Very well. You can follow Jimmy to the room next door. We’ll need a few minutes with each of you.”
My stomach gets a sick sinking feeling as my people go off, one at a time, to give statements. There’s no reason to think their stories won’t line up with mine.
Officer Ford is quick about getting the information he needs. Somehow, I manage to tell him my name, birth date, and other assorted facts without any issues so he can verify who I am.
And then… it’s my turn. The door opens, and Wilder files back in, his dark eyes stormy and cautious. I don’t have any idea what’s in his head or what happened in there, but I stand up to meet him as he rejoins us. He wraps his arms around me, then tucks his head next to mine and whispers, “It’s not so bad. But it might be upsetting.” He drops a kiss to the top of my head and releases me, then walks woodenly to the bed again and reclaims his spot, burying his face in his hands.
All I want to do is climb onto his lap and reassure him, because I can tell he’s feeling this hard. I turn, waiting anxiously for the abrasive woman to call me in to talk. Royal takes my chin in his hand, staring straight into my eyes. “Just tell the truth. It’ll be fine.” He stamps my lips with his, as if to remind me who we are and that he’ll be right here when I’m done.
Beckham stands, tugging me close and taking my head with both gentle hands. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’ve got this, gorgeous. Piece of cake.” I nod, letting the endearment he loves so well be a balm for all my jagged, troubled thoughts.
The first and second men bestowing kisses on me hadn’t yielded any reaction that I’d noticed from Officer Ford, but apparently the third one does it. He coughs, almost like he choked on something, then looks away. I glance at Beckham, and he shakes his head, shrugging. It didn’t occur to me to hide our relationship from these people. They have a job to do, and thatdoesn’t include judging me or the men I’m involved with. I eye the officer, raising a brow.
He presses his lips together and shakes his head a fraction, motioning that I should head in. Appearing in the doorway, the detective strides a few paces toward me before shooting a perturbed look at me, then biting out, “Miss Madden? Come with me, please.”
I suck in a breath, biting the bullet. The tone of her voice has me dreading what comes next. Memories of being questioned after my parents were murdered hammer down on me. It wasn’t pleasant then, and I doubt this will be now. I’m so focused on trying to pull myself out of a tailspin, the next thing I know, I’m in Davis’s room and the door snaps shut behind me.
The man who’d been introduced as Jimmy clears his throat. He’s waiting patiently for me to recognize that he’s there and ready to do his job. “Miss, I’m just going to take a look at your hands real quick.” I blink rapidly, my heart rate accelerating as I hold them out to him. He takes them in his gloved ones and turns them over, inspecting them carefully, then nods. I try not to pay attention. Instead, as he swabs under my nails and takes my prints, I attempt to focus on my brother’s room. I’ve never been in here before, but it’s much like I’d have imagined it, almost like a clone of his room at home—messy, clothes on the floor, an unmade bed, and one area of the room devoted to a large TV and gaming system. “Okay. I have what I need.” I startle at his gentle voice. I draw in one shuddering breath after another as he packs up and leaves.
Detective Simms narrows her eyes, assessing me carefully.Fuck.I blink hard. I thought maybe with the guys’ reassurance I’d be good, but no. My head is swamped with terrible snapshots, one after another, of finding my parents’ bodies. Of going through this procedural stuff when they were dead in the next room.
My past experiences intermingle with the horror of stumbling upon Freya and Zane in much the same way and going through this all over again.
“Miss Madden.” Her voice is jolting, tugging me to the present.
I exhale hard, meeting her steady gaze. “I’m sorry, I’m not handling this well at all.” The least I can do is admit that to her. Freya is dead.Oh god.I cover my mouth, eyeing the distance to Davis’s bathroom in case I get sick. I swallow past the thickness in my throat and lean against a low chest of drawers, the grip I have on the pretty wood makes my knuckles turn white. I glance up as she reads through what I assume are notes she’s already taken.
