Sarah Gilman - Deep in Crimson

Vin leaned forward between the two seats. “Lex, I need you to stay here. I can’t have you in the middle of this confrontation.”

“I’ll stay,” she muttered. She knew better than to be a distraction for the Guardians or put herself in danger. Bryce had already lost one sibling. So long as she was nearby, she could tolerate waiting on the side.

“Good. Thank you.” Vin turned to Jett. “I’m going to the motel office to book a room, so the humans don’t tow us. I’ll meet you and the others in a moment. They have weapons for you.”

Vin got out and Jett opened his door to follow, but she grasped his arm. “Jett.”

He stared at her hand and gently pulled his arm away. “If Bryce is here, I’ll bring him back. If he’s not here, I’ll find him, and bring him back. I promise you.”

“Thank you.” Her voice trembled. “Be safe, all right?”

He paused, looking for all the world like no one had ever expressed concern for him before, and he didn’t know what to make of it. “I will.”

After accepting a gun and extra ammunition from the Guardians—though he preferred his knife and his fangs when it came to fighting—Jett led the procession through the woods. They discussed basic strategy as they traversed the undergrowth, quick and silent. One of the Guardians, Vin’s fastest runner and a skilled spy, listened to Jett’s directions and ran ahead to scout, vanishing in seconds.

Jett had been in this section of forest only once before but knew it well. The previous trip—after Lawrence sold Jett to a group of archangel poachers headed by Thornton—played through his memory like a video in reverse.

At that gnarled old maple tree, Thornton had shoved Jett to the ground and smashed his fangs with a rock. At that stream, Jett had tried to run after stopping for a much-needed sip of water, only to get backhanded by his new “owner.” Here, in the section of white pines near the house, Jett had hoped Thornton would be kind, that he’d taken Jett away from Lawrence as a mercy, that a better life awaited.

Jett cursed under his breath and slowed the pace.

Ahead, the trees thinned and the forest brightened with light. An involuntary growl ripped from his throat. Thornton had been dealt with eleven months ago. The poacher had wronged the archangels in far worse ways than he’d hurt Jett, and Wren had finished off the wretched human.

Now, it was Lawrence’s turn to die. Jett’s turn for abso-lution.

A night raid would have been beneficial, but he’d be damned if Bryce would have to wait. Besides, Lawrence wouldn’t expect a noontime assault from demons.

He tracked the scout’s scent and climbed a massive pine tree. Vin followed, and at the top, the three of them had an unobstructed view of the house. The brick colonial sat on the crest of a hill, surrounded by a brick wall.

“There’ll be numerous cameras, and he always kept dogs in the yard…” Jett paused, straining to see the details of the distant building. Even with his sunglasses, the sunlight added a washed-out quality to his vision as it beat down on the scene. The light glinted off haphazard edges of broken glass in a window. A knot formed in his stomach. “That’s not right.”

“What?” The scout glanced at him, then back at the house.

“There’s a broken window. Lawrence never tolerated loose threads on the carpet. The staff should be falling over themselves to fix a broken window.”

The scout nodded. “There’s been no movement.”

Jett scanned the property. One of the apple trees on the hillside had lost a branch, and no one had picked it up. The grass, overgrown.

“No!” Jett hurried down the tree and ran full tilt out of the woods. He traversed the tall grass to the driveway, continued up the hill, and stopped at the gate. The Guardians kept up with him, except for the scout, who ran ahead and climbed the wall. He stood, balanced, with his gun drawn, ready to cover them if need be.

A wasted effort.

The gate, which had begun to rust, stood open a few inches. Jett shoved it inward. The hinges creaked and tall weeds clung to the iron bars, trying to hold the gate in place.

“Son of a bitch,” Jett said through clenched teeth.

The front yard had been taken over by tree saplings and weeds. A doghouse sat rotting and collapsed. Bits of trash dotted the ground. Judging by the size of the young trees, Lawrence had vacated the property not long after Jett had left with Thornton.

However, the faint odors of bitter, human sweat and vehicle exhaust mingled in the air. Jett studied the ground. “It does look like a vehicle pulled up to the gate and turned around. Someone was here.”

Vin sniffed the packed dirt. “Lawrence’s henchmen would’ve had his new address, one would think, but this is the scent of the human who drove off with Bryce. It’s faint, though. He’s long gone.”

“Yes.” Jett inhaled, tasting the familiar odor of leather and cigarettes. “I don’t smell Bryce. However…”

He had to be sure.

Steeling himself against his past, he kicked in the front door. The Guardians spread out, some going around back of the house, some following him inside.

Bare wood floor. Bare white walls. After a quick glance in the empty rooms where Lawrence had dined and slept, he tracked the kidnapper’s scent up the stairs to the laboratory.

The damned place reeked of chemicals as if the foul mix of odors had sunk into the drywall, diluting the human’s trail. He moved further inside.

Dirty walls, black lab benches, dust. The door to the walk-in refrigerator stood open, the fist indentations and fingernail gouges on the inside of the door a lasting testament to how the tiny, freezing space had once been used.

Turned out a demon could ignite fire no matter how cold, unless drenched with water first.

“What the hell? ” a Guardian murmured, inspecting the door and glancing in Jett’s direction. Jett turned away. Their concern, after all, came years too late. As a child, what he would’ve given to see one of these demons opening that door…

Bryce. Bryce was still that child. Jett focused on the floor, searching for footsteps in the dust.

Vin stalked around the far side of the room, glancing into the closets. Jett pushed ahead to the rest of the research area. The cell-culture room, empty. The computer and microscope room, empty.

He paused in the entrance to the deserted surgery suite, nausea overpowering him, phantom pains shooting up all over his body. Memories. Nightmares. Too many of them.

A muffled cry drew his attention, breaking the cold grip of the past.

“Bryce?” Jett rushed down the hallway in the direction of the sound, Vin’s footsteps behind him.

The smothered voice called out again.

He reached the door at the end of the white, featureless hallway, and found it open. Inside, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall bars divided the room in half and simple bedroom furniture occupied the space beyond. Just in front of the bars, a black trash bag lay on the floor, the contents squirming and kicking.

Jett fell to his knees, grasped the heavy-duty plastic, and tore it wide open. Curled up in the bag, Bryce met his gaze with wide eyes. Duct tape secured his mouth.

Cursing, Jett ripped the plastic more. The humans had wrapped the tape around the child’s legs and secured his arms behind his back. But the difference between finding a dead body and a living child was the hole in the plastic Bryce had managed to make with his fingers.

The other Guardians gathered around, silent. Jett shoved the wretched plastic away. Kneeling, Vin freed the child’s arms and legs. Jett eased the tape off the boy’s face. Unlike during the first rescue attempt in the woods, Bryce didn’t scream or cry. Eerily silent, he sat up, leaned against Jett, and shut his eyes. Bruises marked the side of the child’s face and neck, and blood stained his fingernails. He’d gotten a piece of his would-be executioners at some point.