His eyes go wide, and he shoots to his feet. “Get your fucking shit.Now.” He’s up and gone. I quickly reach out to a contact who is an expert hacker to see if they can find who sent these messages or even where they’re from.
Lucas walks back in just as Keir’s grabbing two guns and sliding them into a shoulder holster.
“Where are we going?” he asks, ready to go. No need to tell him why. He’s always ready for a kill.
“Where does she live?” Keir asks.
I know he isn’t referring to our mother, so I rattle off the address, the one I am not meant to know, as another message comes through.
“Who was that?” Keir pushes.
I show him my phone. This one is a picture of Adora asleep on a bed.
“Should have killed him when I had the chance,” I mutter, grinding my teeth.
“That’s not how things work, and you know it,” Keir says.
“Now look at where we are. This fucker has my wife and my mother.”
“Not your wife. But definitelyourmother.”
“How do we know it’s him?” Lucas asks, and we both turn to him.
“It’s him.” I growl.
Lucas shrugs his shoulders.
My phone buzzes, and I read the text out loud.
“Seems Scott went through customs last night.”
“Maybe you should have killed him,” Lucas says.
“No shit,” I add.
We load into the car and peel away from the curb. Piper is behind us in another car with a few other men as an address comes through on my phone.
It isn’t Adora’s address.
It’s our mother’s.
“It’s saying Mom’s home,” I tell them.
“At her apartment?” I show him the text that shows an address.
“Fuck.” Usually, we would send someone else in first, but in this case, it’s our mother, so Keir and I are first through the door of our mother’s apartment. All the lights are off, but when he flicks them on, we see blood on the floor. Stepping farther in, a soft moan is heard, and everyone stops breathing to listen. Walking over to the couch, I see her curled up in a ball, her face and body covered in blood.
My mother.
Whoever the fuck did this is going to die a slow, painful death. This woman may be hard, but she loves hard and is always fair.
“Mom.” My voice is soft as I approach her.
She opens one eye, the other swollen shut from bruising. “He wants her,” she croaks before I put my hands under her legs and lift her off the couch.
“Where are you going?”
“To the fucking hospital.”