Shattered (LOST #3)(66)

Molly looked up at Sarah. “My brother’s dead.”

And my father killed your mother.

Sarah took a step back. She didn’t want Molly to make that connection. Not then. The woman had been through too much.

“He wanted me to—to suffer . . . just like my mother.”

And her mother had suffered.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah told her.

“I don’t have anything. There’s nothing for me . . .” Tears were filling Molly’s eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

Sarah wanted to reach out to her—

But Brent was already there. He brushed back Molly’s hair. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You beat that bastard. You got away. You’re alive.”

Molly stared up at him. “Why do I feel dead?”

“You’re not.” His face was tender as he stared down at her. “You’re a fighter. You’ve been through hell. You lost your brother, so yes, hell, yes, you need to grieve.”

The tears kept sliding down her cheeks.

“But then . . . you’ll keep going. One day at a time. One step at a time. You’ll live. And you’ll see that there are still good things in this world.”

“What if he comes after me again?” Molly whispered.

“Then he’ll find me standing in his way.”

Sarah swallowed and eased from the room. The soft sound of Molly’s sobs followed her, tearing into Sarah with every breath that she took.

My father started this. He took Molly’s mother. He put the chain of events into motion.

Sarah didn’t believe that monsters were born. Not even Murphy. She thought they were made. Actions, environment, shaping and changing an individual until . . .

Either the good within triumphed.

Or the evil inside won.

“You okay?”

She looked up at Carlos’s low, growling voice.

“I need to hurt someone for you?” he asked.

Sarah shook her head. “Everyone’s already hurt enough.” She squared her shoulders. “Jax is at his bar? Shade?”

He nodded.

“Call him.” She didn’t have any clue where her phone was right then. “Tell him to get to the hospital. I think Molly needs to see him.” Then they could clear this up, once and for all.

Carlos pulled out his phone. Sarah waited beside him. Nervous energy filled her. She heard footsteps and glanced over to see Victoria and Wade heading her way. Wade looked tired, but otherwise back to his old self.

“Guess who got sprung?” Victoria said, a wan smile on her lips.

Sarah hugged Wade. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she murmured.

He squeezed her. “Can’t keep me down for long.” He let her go and glanced over at Carlos. A Carlos who was looking increasingly worried. “What’s going on, Sarah?”

“I’m trying to get in touch with Jax.”

Carlos put his phone down. “He didn’t answer.”

“Carlos?” She could tell, by the way he spoke, that something was wrong.

Carlos rubbed at the edge of his scar. “The boss always answers when I call.”

But he wasn’t answering then.

Brent came out of Molly’s room. Sarah grabbed him and practically dragged the detective down the hallway and away from the others.

“Lady, what are you doing?” Brent demanded. “Are you crazy?”

She pushed him into an empty hospital room. Slammed the door. “Call Jax.”

“Uh, what?”

“Call Jax.” She motioned toward his phone. “I know what’s going on with you two, okay? I know you’re the one who tipped him off about Molly’s ID, I know you’re the one who gave him access to Eddie Guthrie. Look, I get it. You’re on his—his payroll.”

Brent stiffened. “The fuck I am. I’ve never taken a bribe and I never will.”

“I don’t care exactly what sort of agreement you two have going on. What matters to me right now is that . . . if you call him, Jax answers, right?” Only he was supposed to answer Carlos, too.

Brent didn’t nod. His face didn’t change expression at all.

“I’m worried something is wrong.” Her guts were twisted in knots. “Just call him, okay? Please?”

Before something happens.





Chapter 13

JAX’S PHONE WAS RINGING AGAIN. HE STARED UP AT the old house, and his gaze slid over the windows. The ones on the first floor were boarded up. The windows on the second floor were covered by old, sagging shutters.

A balcony swept around the side of the place, and big, columns—columns that had once been a bright white but were now a faded gray—supported the structure.

He’d been led to this place. If he went inside, the bastard was supposed to be waiting for him. He’d been told to come without cops. Without backup of any kind.

Did the guy think he was a fool?

He looked down at his phone. Saw Brent’s number this time. Frowning, he picked it up.

“Jax!” Brent’s voice seemed strained. “Where are you and what the hell are you doing?”

He tilted his head back. “Five-oh-eight Dubois Street.” A street with overgrown azaleas and twisted oaks. “And I’m waiting for the cops to arrive.”