Page 47 of If You Go
I reach for the volume knob. “Turn it up.”
Brenden’s hand finds mine. He doesn’t look at me, just holds on.
The speakers crackle, and then his voice fills the room.
“The house is too quiet,” Gavin says, tone calm and cold as ever. “Are you sure they’re even here? You said you had intel.”
My heart twists. I know that voice in my bones.
One of his men answers, “We tapped into the brother’s phone—Joshua Slater. Got the foreman at gunpoint. Used the signal to track ‘em. Spoofed the ping. They’re home.”
The breath leaves the room. I glance at Josh—his face is carved with guilt. No wonder we hadn’t heard from him.
“Don’t,” I tell him. “You didn’t know.”
“Give me a minute and I’ll make it hurt,” he mutters, already hunched over the console. Fingers flying. “If they’re still leeching my cell node, I can backbleed them. Static theirs, clean ours. Maybe pull a plate, a face. Anything.” Josh told us he started learning the computer wizardry a few years ago in case we were ever separated from Corver and he and Gunnar left for Washington. I guess it’s finally paying off.
“So where the fuck are they, Sawyer?” Gavin snarls. Glass skitters somewhere off-screen.
Josh’s jaw tightens. “Keep them talking,” he whispers to the air, like he can bend time.
More footsteps. A door opens somewhere upstairs—my door. The camera catches Gavin at the edge of frame, pale light across his cheekbones. He moves through my room like a man touring a museum, touching nothing until he does. He drags his knuckles along my dresser. Runs two fingers across my pillow. Smiles without joy.
The bile rises so fast I taste metal.
“How long has that camera been in there?” I hiss at Bridget.
“Since ye were just a girl,” Bridget murmurs. “We never meant ta use it, love. But right now, I’m glad we can see what we’re fightin’.”
I don’t answer. I pull the blanket tighter around me, curl deeper into Brenden’s chest, and watch the monitor.
Gavin’s face contorts, the vein at his temple pulsing. “This bitch doesn’t have a single shred of proof we were married,” he hisses, slamming his fist against the mahogany desk. “Little cunt should be ready to come back. Run the empire like we planned.” He straightens his collar with trembling fingers. “She doesn’t even know how good she would have had it. No one can give her what I can.”
I almost laugh. He’s delusional. He never understood the math of me: what I’ll burn to keep my people warm.
Outside the room, his men pace the halls, frustrated and confused. One says, “They have to be in here somewhere. Maybe we wait them out.”
“Fuck that,” Josh mutters, typing faster. “Got him.” He slaps a key. On the left monitor, a still frame freezes: a plate half-caught, mud-splashed. Another key, and a grainy face sharpens—a beard, a broken nose, a neck tattoo like a wire. “Richie, memorize it,” Josh says. “Hazel, snap it. Bridget, record channel three always-on.”
“There’s another option,” Bridget says, calm as ever. “An escape hatch. It’s new—leads to a hidden garage a few miles off the property. Fully stocked. Fuel, food, backup vehicles.”
Richie whistles. “Got a chopper down there, too?”
“Actually, yes.”
We all blink at her.
“Well since none of us can fly a helicopter is there also like vans or trucks and stuff down here?” Brenden asks Bridget. She is about to speak when Hazel cuts in.
She raises her hand, “I can fly it.” Sweet, sweet baby Hazel. How the fuck did I not know she could fly a helicopter?
Even in this nightmare, I can’t help but huff a laugh. “Of course you can.”
“Bucket list item,” she says, unbothered.
“Right then,” Bridget says, eyes bright and fierce. “We’re not mice in a barrel. We’ll leave the bastards chasin’ shadows.” She flicks a switch on the console—one I’ve never seen used. “Ghost walk.”
A speaker upstairs clicks on. Footsteps start to play—recorded movement through the north gallery, the kind of creak you only learn if you live in a house long enough. A door shuts, faint. Then a woman’s cough. Then silence.
