Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(85)

My blood turns to cherry slurpy, and my stomach bottoms out like a runaway elevator. “Where are you?”

My brothers catch up with me when the engine of my G Wagon springs to life, disturbing the otherwise quiet evening. They hop in, both as tense as I am, both silent when the hands-free system activates, and Johnny’s voice seeps from the speakers.

“Restroom upstairs. This doesn’t look good. I’m so fucking sorry! I had her, I watched her all the time, but your brothers started a fight downstairs. Thirty assholes joined in! We were kicking them out and...” He pushes a shaky breath down his nose. “Mia went back in to grab her bag—” A loud thud sounds in the background, and someone cries out in pain. “What did I say?! Stay there! Don’t fucking move!”

“Johnny!” I snap, gripping the wheel tighter as I back out of the parking space, wheels squealing. “Where’s Mia?”

“She’s throwing up. Fuck, it’s a bloodbath here. I don’t know what went down but from what I can make out, this is too much to handle. She was gone five minutes tops before we started looking!” Another thud, quieter this time. More of a thump, really, as if he hit the wall with his fist. “Goddamnit! Where are you?!”

“On my way. Ten minutes. Pull yourself together.” I press my foot down, imagining the scene from the little information I have. Blood. Mia—scared enough to puke. Two men. I grind my teeth, praying those fuckers didn’t touch her. “Is she hurt?” I rasp, my throat tight, words struggling to come.

“I don’t think so. She’s not said anything. Just told me to get you. I think... oh, man...” he whines, clearly distraught. “There’s blood everywhere.” He takes a few steps; the sound of his heavy boots beats out of the speakers. Another thud—a kick to someone’s stomach judging by the cough and whimper. “What did you do to her?!”

“Johnny!” I boom again, hands shaking like I’m coming down from a week-long drinking session. “Tell Mia I’m on my way. Did you call the cops? Are the triplets there?”

“Yeah, they’re here. I’ve not called the cops, not yet.”

I don’t have to tell my brothers to get it done. Theo pulls his phone out immediately.

“Clear the club and don’t let those motherfuckers get away.”

“On it,” he says quickly. “I’m on it, boss.”

I hack the wheel again when he cuts the call. My pulse is going so fast the drumming in my ears borders on painful.

“Shawn’s on his way,” Theo says, weighing every word.

He knows I can barely hold my composure as I redial Johnny.

“Stay on the fucking line!” I snap when he answers. “Shawn will be there soon. How’s Mia?”

“She stopped puking. She’s okay, not hurt.”

I should be there with her. I should hold her. Calm her down. Calm myself down. Instead, I’m veering around traffic on Main Street, breaking too many laws and willing the miles away. “Are those fuckers still there?”

“Yeah, both unconscious now.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “One isn’t breathing, Nico.”

My foot falters on the gas pedal.

Not breathing? Fuck. Gruesome scenarios flood my brain, but I push them away.

Mia’s safe.

She fought them off.

She’s okay.

Not hurt.

I turn left, then right, and left again, speeding down the street before I slam the brakes, stopping by the curb. I’m out the car in two seconds flat.

There’s a small crowd outside Q. Most guys are bleeding, and a few try arguing their way inside with the bouncers. Half the college football team watches me shove guys out of my way.

“Clear the fucking club,” I tell the head of security. “Right now. Everyone out!”

“We’re getting it done, boss. Ten minutes tops.”

I break into a sprint the moment I’m inside, my brothers hot on my tail. Every second stretches like bubble gum. I feel like I’ve been running for hours when I push the restroom door open, and stop, taking in the scene.

One guy lies on his side in the middle of the room, unconscious. Blood seeps from a large gash on his skull. His mouth hangs open, eyes shut, his back arched in an unnatural position.

The other guy’s half-sitting, half-laying under the sink, pale like a ghost. What looks like a scrap of t-shirt is tied around his limp, purple, injured dick. His hands and clothes are smeared with blood. There’s more all over the place, including the fucking walls. Red splashes here and there as if someone flicked paint all across the off-white tiles.

The floor is littered with broken pieces of what must’ve been a ceramic cover from a toilet’s water tank.

Images of Mia swinging the heavy cover fill my head. How scared—how pumped up on adrenaline—was she to rip that thing off in the first place?

I’m jolted back into motion when my eyes come across the triplets. Colt and Conor stand by the cubicle, and Cody crouches by Mia, gently stroking her back, his eyes on me, face twisted in disbelief. All three of them look as scared as I feel.

“Move,” I say, elbowing my way to her.

She’s on the floor, her shoulder against the left wall of the cubicle, hair, face, neck, and dress stained by blood. She looks like Carrie. Pale, tearful, covered in red, scared, and so fucking helpless it makes my heart break clean in two.