“You found him.”
“He’s in bad shape. They’re working on him now, but you need to hurry.”
I look at Mercedes, who is watching me. “I’ll be right there.”
Mercedes rolls her eyes as I disconnect. “Saved by the bell. Who’s Ezra Moore?” she asks. She must have read my phone’s screen.
“Come—”
“Who did he find?” she asks tightly.
“I’ll get you back to the house.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I continue.
“Raul will take you to visit your friends for lunch,” I say, deciding it on the spot. Because she knows exactly who he found, and I need a distraction.
Not bothering to wait for her permission, I grip her by the waist and hoist her up onto Temperance’s back before mounting my own horse and riding back, anxious as my phone dings with the location, which, at a quick glance, tells me is a motel about two hours out of town.
“Judge,” Mercedes says when I leave her once we’re in the house.
“I need to go, Mercedes.”
“It’s your brother. You’re going to see him.”
“It’s not like you think.”
“No? How is it then?”
“We’ll talk later. I need to go.”
“I won’t talk later.”
I sigh, but I can’t fix this now. If Ezra said it’s bad, it’s bad.
I drivemyself to the address Ezra sent, and when I pull up to the door, I see Ezra’s car and one other. Neither looks like they belong here. Someone peers out of their motel room as I park my Audi and hurry to knock on the door. I didn’t want to bring the Rolls in case anyone recognized it.
“Judge,” Ezra says, opening it right away and stepping aside to let me take in the scene.
“Jesus.” The room has been destroyed. Every glass surface shattered. Every piece of furniture splintered. The bed leans on broken legs. And on the disgusting blanket lying in a stain I’m sure is his own blood is my brother. My barely conscious brother who is almost unrecognizable. His face has been beaten so badly that both eyes are slits, the skin around them black and blue. His lip is cut, and blood has dried on his chin. His neck. His shirt has been ripped open, and what looks like cigarette burns mark almost the entirety of his chest. His feet are bare, and I’m pretty sure that dark spot on his jeans is dried piss.
The doctor who is cleaning a wound gives some instruction to his assistant. She nods and gets what he needs out of the medical bag. Theron already has an IV in his arm.
On the broken nightstand and lying on the floor are traces of white powder and a used needle.
“Is that…?” I start, but Ezra answers before I can finish.
“Cocaine.”
It’s what I suspected the night I found him in the punishment room. He was high.
“We’ve managed to stabilize him,” Ezra says. “He’s lucky we got here when we did.”
“What the fuck happened?” I snap.
Theron groans at the sound of my voice. He turns his head, and I see how much it costs him.
“He was overdosing. The hotel manager called the local police. Luckily, I know the woman manning the desk there. She recognized his description. I sent my own doctor over. He was able to reverse the overdose.”
“He’ll be okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I say, more relieved than I expect to feel.
“And I’ve already paid the manager. It’ll all be kept quiet.”
I nod, but that’s not what I’m thinking about now. I step closer to the bed. “Who beat him?” Because I didn’t do this.
The nurse working with the doctor cuts away his jeans. Theron hisses through his teeth. I see why. Because as the denim is pulled away from his thighs, the sliced, shredded skin comes into view. Whoever did this wanted to deliver maximum pain.
Ezra shakes his head as I take in the damage. “A dark SUV was seen speeding off the grounds. The manager had received a complaint from one of the nearby rooms about noise.”
“Jesus, Theron.”
I don’t expect him to answer, but he gurgles something I can’t quite make out.