Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(22)

“We’re here to teach you a lesson,” Malice told him. “The quicker you cooperate, the sooner you’ll be released.”

“Look what I found hanging on the wall outside,” Psycho said.

Malice lifted an eyebrow. They had no plans to dismember Brad or do him any lasting bodily harm, but scaring him was definitely on the table. “Those pruning shears look sharp. What do you plan to cut off first?”

Brad was at it again, wriggling around, screaming beneath all the tape. He clenched and unclenched his fists, attempting to loosen the bindings around his wrists.

Malice stood and headed for the spiraling iron staircase leading upstairs. “I’m going to check on Cleo and take a look around, see what I can find. Could one of you let the others know we’ll be staying on schedule?”

“We’re going to stay here?” Bug asked.

“Yes. We need to stick to the plan.”

“What about neighbors, family, coworkers?”

Malice frowned. “What about them?”

“Somebody could stop by, ring the doorbell, call the police if they think something funny is going on.”

“Stop worrying,” Psycho told Bug. She pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’ll contact the others.”

Malice didn’t see The Crew members in person often. Psycho wore a tank top that revealed dozens of scars. Some were thicker than others, a mass of raised tissue. Others were shiny and red.

Psycho noticed her staring and said, “He did a good job of stitching me up, don’t you think?”

Malice said nothing. Upstairs, she found Cleo passed out on the king-size bed in the master bedroom. She found a strong pulse. “Cleo,” she said. “Wake up.”

Cleo stirred, moaned, but didn’t open her eyes.

Malice left the lights off as she made her way around the bedroom, opening drawers and searching through Brad’s things. He was neat and tidy, his socks in perfect rows. T-shirts and boxers all folded in perfect squares. Impressive.

“Where am I?”

Malice turned toward the bed. Cleo was sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “What happened?” Cleo asked. An expression of terror crossed her face suddenly, and she scrambled from the bed. “Where is he?”

“It’s okay. Bug was able to get to him before he could touch you.”

Every part of Cleo was shaking. “Fuck.”

Malice nodded.

“Is this his house?”

“Yes.”

“If he had taken me somewhere else—anywhere—I would have been literally and royally fucked.”

“But you weren’t. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” She clamped her head between her palms. Seconds passed before she looked at Malice. “Months of planning, texting that asshole, exchanging pictures, and flirting.” She shivered. “For what? He was in control the entire time.”

She’s right, Malice thought. Things could have turned out much worse than they had. Cleo had been lucky. Lily had told them exactly what Brad was capable of, and yet he’d still managed to get the upper hand.

Next time, things would be different.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Sawyer climbed out of bed after tossing and turning for most of the night. The cold crept under her clothes and caused goose bumps to gather on her arms. She grabbed her sweatshirt from inside her bag and pulled it over her head. On her way to the kitchen, she smelled coffee brewing. Mom was putting away dishes.

“Good morning,” Sawyer said.

Mom gestured toward the cupboard. “Coffee cups are over there.”

Sawyer grabbed a mug on her way to the coffee machine, filled it up, and took a seat at the kitchen table. Since she wouldn’t be staying long, she knew the best way to move on from last night was to simply apologize. “Sorry I didn’t tell you what time I was coming yesterday.”

“Today’s a new day,” Mom said in a chirpy voice. “It’s behind us.”

She’d forgotten about Mom’s favorite saying: “It’s a new day. Let bygones be bygones.”

A part of Sawyer felt bad for not trying harder to stay in touch with Mom and Dad. But it worked both ways, didn’t it? Was it solely her job to make the effort to connect? She thought of Harper and how she made sure to call Sawyer at least once a week. Their conversations were short, but it was nice being checked on. Harper was a good mom to her kids—a great mom. Since the day Sawyer found her sisters, it was Harper who’d gone out of her way to include her and make her feel welcome.

Mom finished with the dishes and was now collecting eggs and milk from the fridge. “How are your sisters?”

The question blindsided Sawyer. Mom rarely asked about Aria or Harper. They only talked about her sisters if Sawyer brought one or the other up in a conversation. “Aria is doing great. She works more than one job, which keeps her busy.” Sawyer sipped her coffee. “Three days a week at the SPCA and part-time at a coffeehouse for the health insurance. Every once in a while, she drives for one of those on-demand transportation companies.”

“That’s too bad,” Mom said without looking up from what she was doing. “I always thought Aria would be a doctor—you know, a veterinarian. She was the smart one out of you three.”

“And Harper,” Sawyer said, ignoring the impulse to tell her mom that she was also smart and had graduated with honors, “is a wonderful mom to your grandchildren.”