Chapter Twelve
“How is Mads?” I asked as Kenna walked into the room. After what felt like an hour that would never end, we were finally at the house, but that didn’t mean everything was fine. My cousin had been transported to the hospital. Micah had gone with Mads, while Brock, Kenna, Grayson, and I were all anxiously waiting to hear some news.
The second Kenna’s phone rang, we were all on the edge of our seats. None of us had been able to concentrate on anything else. Not the bombing. Not Carter. Only Mads.
A few long, tense minutes later, Kenna slumped into one of the oversized chairs, her cellphone in her hand. “Micah said she’ll be okay. Her parents are with her now.”
“Thank God.” A long, exhausted sigh breezed through my lips. “Are they keeping her overnight?”
Kenna shook her head. “No. They ruled out a concussion, seeing as she didn’t hit her head. Just a panic attack. They’re releasing her in a few minutes.”
Brock scrubbed a hand over his chin. “What a fucking night.”
“That bastard,” Grayson fumed, still fired up about Brock’s car and the Maddy scare. “He went too far this time.”
Everything about this situation was out of hand. Liana hadn’t taken the news of her three children being involved in a small car bombing well. Her poor heart. She’d already been through so much with her kids. Kenna’s breakdown. My kidnapping. And Sawyer’s death. She wouldn’t be able to handle it if anything happened to one of us, and who could blame her.
Chandler had made her a cup of tea after explaining the situation. She shed tears, hugging us each, including Brock. Chandler had finally gotten her off to bed half an hour ago, assuring her that we were all safe.
But were we?
None of us knew where Carter was. Or what the psychopath might do next.
Kenna, like the rest of us, still wore her torn clothes. She had a rip on the side of her Elmwood hoodie. Her chestnut hair tangled around her face. “I don’t understand. Someone explain to me why Carter is trying to kill Brock,” she demanded, a tad hysterical. “None of this makes sense.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t like what he found on my computer,” Brock said with a sharp edge of sarcasm.
“What was on there?” I asked, pulling my legs up on the couch beside him and resting my chin on top of my knees.
A muscle ticked at the side of his neck. “Video of him doing what Carter does best.”
Vague as usual. I understood he didn’t want to upset Kenna or me further, but in this, ignorance wasn’t bliss. It might do more harm than good.
“If you have that, then why haven’t you turned it over to the police? What’s stopping us from getting him convicted?” Frustration brightened her eyes, an emotion all of us felt too often when it came to Carter.
“Are you willing to testify against him, because you know if I turned in what I have to the police, that is precisely what will happen,” he stated, reminding Kenna that she had refused to do just that two years ago.
She wrestled her lower lip in between her teeth, not saying anything.
“That’s what I thought,” Brock affirmed. “Not that it matters, but I had planned to take what I gathered to the police, until—”
“Until what?” Kenna shrieked. “So you’re saying there’s no other way than for me to publicly humiliate myself? He’s already done that a million times to me!”
Brock’s gaze met mine, and my eyes flickered to the white butterfly Band-Aid not far from his brow, a reminder that things could have been worse.
“You’re kidding,” Kenna bit out. “Why does everything have to do with her?”
I blinked, trying to keep up with the conversation and the attitude I was getting from Kenna.
“Kenna,” Grayson warned, his voice dropping in disapproval. “Josie didn’t ask for this any more than you asked for Carter to drug you.”
“I know that,” she huffed. “I just want this to end.”
“We all do,” Brock agreed, his hand moving to my leg, curling around it for no other reason than needing to touch me.
“How did Carter know that you’d be at Lazy Ray’s tonight?” I asked as my calf warmed from his touch.
“Everyone knew,” Kenna piped in. “There might as well be an Elite tracking app available to download. Word spreads like wildfire once one of the guys has been spotted. If there is one, the others aren’t far behind.”