Page 78 of Dance for Me

Braun’s attention was caught by the broad guy riding the bike closest to the truck—the man rode without a helmet, his bulky form stuffed into black leathers. Silver hair streamed back from a craggy face as the bikes bulleted past with a whine of engines.

“Heisler,” Liam said tightly, “put your fucking foot on the gas. Now.”

“Liam?” Atticus spared a glance at him, then set his attention back on the road as he made the turn.

“Put your fucking foot down!” Liam had lost all color in his face and, to Braun’s horror, looked as though he wanted to cry. Never in all their years of friendship, not even after his asshole boyfriend took off with another man, had Braun seen William Carradine shed a tear.

He set his hand on his friend’s shoulder, pulled him back into his seat. “Tell me what’s going on, Liam.”

Stormy gray eyes met Braun’s, and the pain in them was equal to his fear. “That was Bodie’s father. The guy on the bike. It was Bodie’s father, Braun. You understand what that means?”

Braun resisted the illusion that the man might just be in the area. Criminals had their territories, but from what Bodie had told him, the city was his territory, which meant he could go anywhere he pleased, whenever he liked. But for him to pull out of a street leading directly to Bodie’s apartment?

Coincidence? He thought not.

“Atticus, step on it.” Keep a cool head, Fitzpatrick. “You got a first aid kit in here?”

The truck sped up, pressing them back in their seats as it rocketed down the dark street. Buildings blurred past, then Atticus wrenched the wheel, spinning them around a corner on what felt like two wheels, then slammed on the brakes as they careened into a compact parking lot.

The headlights spotlighted the dusty little wreck Bodie liked to think was a suitable method of transport.

“First aid kit under Jasper’s seat,” Atticus said as they bailed out.

Braun’s were the first feet to hit the ground, and he was running before he realized it. His heart stopped as he saw the broken driver’s window, the jagged glass still in the frame smeared with blood. He hauled the door open, swallowed hard when he saw drops of blood spattered like fine rain on the wheel.

A flash of blond caught his attention and he sprinted after Liam, catching up with him in seconds. Footsteps thundered behind them, and he knew he had good friends at his back. “Which apartment?”

Liam skidded to a halt outside a door, and Braun noticed the lights were off in the apartment itself. Everything around here was deathly quiet—no screaming babies, no blaring televisions, no nothing. Just an eerie silence. “This one.”

Braun shouldered his friend out of the way when he hesitated, gripping the door handle and pushing. “Fucking thing’s locked. Move,” he snapped, knocking Liam away into Loki, who looked stunned by the events which had unfolded as he slept.

With terror and fury boiling his blood, Braun reared back and kicked the door. Wood squeaked, and he thought it bowed under the pressure. A second kick splintered the frame, and a third broke the lock, slamming the door wide open.

“Loki, keep Liam with you. Guard the door in case someone comes back.” Braun fought down the urge to be sick as he stepped into a dark, narrow hallway. The scent of damp and mold was almost as nauseating as the idea of something bad happening to Bodie. “Atticus, Jasper, with me.”

There was no protest from Liam, but from the look on his face, he knew something Braun didn’t. He wore the expression of a man watching a doctor walk toward him with bad fucking news. The boy was grieving.

Braun found the light switch, flicked it on. His stomach turned once, his brain envisioning his subbie living in this rotting excuse for a home, before he steeled himself and strode into the dark living room.

He paused, feeling Jasper at his back, then took a deep breath and grimaced. There was more than damp and rot here—there was the sickly-sweet scent of blood. “Bodie, sweetheart, can you hear me? Don’t be scared, baby. I’m here; we’re all here.”

There was no reply, not even a whimper.

He slid his hand over the wall to his left, found nothing. Repeating the action to his right, his fingers brushed the hard plastic of the light switch. With a harsh breath, he flipped it on and let a barrage of profanity escape as he faced a scene straight out of a crime documentary.

The room was damn near empty. A lone armchair was tipped on its side. He spotted a hole in the drywall, a big one, and felt his stomach twist. But it was the blood, all the fucking blood, which scared him most. Splatters of it across the walls, a pool of it not two feet from the toes of his boots. And a trail, a swath of crimson, leading toward a door to his left.

“Motherfucker,” Jasper breathed. “That’s a lot of blood, Braun.”

He swallowed, nodded. “Wait here.”

“Brother, I think you should let me check that room. Whatever’s been done here...you shouldn’t have to see it.” Jasper’s hand was firm on his shoulder, but Braun shrugged it off. “Braun, listen to me for once in your goddamn life.”

His feet were already moving toward the door, drawn to whatever waited for him beyond it. His heart balanced on a precipice, ready to plunge into eternal suffering. The room, Jasper, revenge...they all faded into nothing, his vision blinkered and focused on that goddamn door.

The handle was cool in his hand, squealed in protest as he twisted it. When the door swung inwards, he was struck by the odor of blood and urine, years-old damp and mildew. It was colder in here, stinging his skin as his breath puffed out in a visible stream.

Before he shed light on the inevitable, he said simply, “Call an ambulance, J.” His voice was hollow, strained. He didn’t need light to know Bodie was in here. He could feel her. “Call an ambulance, and the cops.”

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