Page 4 of Rett

He opened the back door and got his answer. There she was, lying broken on the steps of the tiny back porch.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”

Kneeling beside her, he barely touched her neck to check for a pulse. He knew it wasn’t there. Her neck was broken, her body bloodied and beaten. His clothes were covered in her blood.

He turned to see if anyone was even close to the small house, but there was no one. Then he saw the trucks in the distance coming around the narrow road below him. Ramos’s men.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Back in the house, he grabbed anything he thought he might have touched. Condoms, water bottle, anything. Taking off toward the village, he walked into the small inn where he’d been staying, going through the back door and up the steps, and gathered his pack from his room. His phone was dead, but he took it anyway.

With no clue when his transport would arrive, or where, he had only one choice. Run. On foot.

Weeks of running. Weeks of hitching rides, trying to explain why he looked like the devil himself. No matter how hard he tried to wash all the blood away, it always seemed to come back to stain his clothing, and his soul.

He’d washed the blood from his clothes several times, only to fall down ravines, hills, and mountains, bloodying himself again. Hungry and without food, he broke into a small market and took only what he needed. When there was nothing near, he would attempt to fish or trap his meal. With no way to charge his phone and too afraid to ask for help, he kept going. Kept pushing himself. He just needed to get home.

Just get home.

CHAPTER THREE

Casey Islip had one helluva few months. She thought she’d found her father, only to realize he was just a man with the same name. Then did find her father, only to discover he was dying. During all of that, she was plummeted into a mystery that had her begging for her life.

Lucky for her, she had a few guardian angels watching out for her. Now, the men who had kidnapped her were in another state, hopefully gone for good.

She finished cleaning her knives, sheathing them in the leather purse that held them. Otto, Gabe, and Luc watched her carefully, worried about her mental state. Sensing their eyes on her, she turned, staring at them.

“Guys, I’m good. Really. They’re headed to Galveston. I don’t have anything to worry about. You can go.”

“Let us walk you home,” said Otto.

“Please. Let me do this. I’ll be just fine.” Otto looked at Gabe and Luc, knowing that she needed to feel a sense of independence and her own safety.

“Okay. But we’ll be seconds away if you need us,” he said, handing her a necklace.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s an alarm that will come straight to us. We’ll hear it no matter where you are. Depress the button on the back, and we’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling it over her head. She walked the men to the front door, locking it behind them all. They waved at her as she walked down the street. It was still relatively crowded despite the late hour, but then again New Orleans could be busy twenty-four-hours a day.

“She’ll be okay,” said Otto with a serious expression. He watched her until she walked out of his sight. Gabe and Luc smirked at one another.

“You trying to convince us or yourself?” asked Gabe.

“Fuck off.”

Casey looked behind her, seeing the three men watching her as she walked toward her small apartment. It was literally only a few blocks away, but they were concerned for her once again. Turning the corner, she smiled, seeing the clear path to her front doorstep. As she approached, she heard someone shuffling in the space beside her stoop.

“Who’s there?” she called, holding the necklace in her hand.

“Please, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just need help. I haven’t eaten and drank anything. Can you give me some food?” asked the man.

“Show yourself,” she said, finding her courage.

The man stood beside her steps, his nearly six-feet-five of muscle and tanned skin glistening in the gas lamps of her street. His black hair was cut neatly but dirty, his cheekbones and jaw chiseled from granite. But what caught her attention more than anything was the blood on his clothing.

“Are you injured? Do you need help?” she asked.

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