“Told you I’d be seeing you soon, sweetheart,” another said, and I would have recognized that disturbing voice anywhere.

“We need her.” The third spoke directly to my captor, his eyes never once looking at me.

The man holding my arm pulled me behind him. A move the first two didn’t miss. “You’ve gotten by fine without her, Marco. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Moving me to his other side, and closer to the wall, he began walking again. Not four steps later, pain spread over my scalp, and a cry burst from my chest as I was yanked back by my hair. My captor’s arm moved around my waist as he put himself between Marco and me, and his other arm was straight in front of him with a gun pointed at Marco’s head.

“Someone’s moody.” Marco never flinched. But a smile slowly crossed his face as he let my hair fall from his fingers. “You have beautiful hair. What a shame.”

“No. One. Touches her,” my captor said low, his words full of warning.

“Just f**k her and get that pent-up anger out of your system already,” he said to my captor, his smile never fading. Marco stepped back to the other two guys, his hands raising up in mock-surrender. “Until next time.”

My captor quickly pushed me back, the hand not holding the gun never leaving me until we were in the room I’d originally woken in. Scrambling away from him, I darted toward the mattress and pressed myself to the wall. Our eyes never left each other until I broke down crying. My adrenaline had faded, and the fear of seeing the other men consumed me as I shrank down until I was sitting with my knees pressed to my chest.

I wanted to know what Marco had meant by “What a shame.” I wanted to know what my captor planned on doing with me. I wanted to know why it felt like he’d just saved me, when he’d been the one to take me from my house. And I wanted to know why, for those few minutes, I had felt safe next to him.

7

Kash

“WELL WHAT ARE THEY DOING to try and find her? How are they going to get her back? Will those men in prison say anything? Will they give any type of hints? How could you wait two days to tell us about something like this, Logan? How could you keep this from us?!”

“Marcy, stop.” My dad cupped Mom’s shoulders and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

I rested my head in my hand and propped my elbow up on the granite counter as they spoke softly back and forth to each other. Well, Dad spoke softly. Mom was borderline hysterical and getting louder by the minute.

“She’s been through enough! That poor girl has been through enough!”

“Marcy, sweetheart, why don’t you go lie back down and—”

“No! No, we need to go find her, we need to call the news station, and we need to get people looking for her!”

“There are a lot of people doing everything they can . . .” Their voices slowly faded as Dad pulled her out of the kitchen and I just sat there, staring.

Not really seeing anything. Not really thinking anything. And sure as shit not feeling a damn thing. I was numb. I didn’t even remember driving to Mom and Dad’s, actually, I didn’t even know if I’d driven or walked. I just remembered seeing Dad’s face as he opened the door for me near five this morning, and finally telling him and Mom everything that had happened. I’d spent so long doing jobs where I couldn’t tell them anything, that a part of me had been subconsciously rebelling against telling them; whereas the other part had finally realized that I was keeping it from them, and I couldn’t continue to.

Chief was forcing me to take the week off. I’d spent all day and night yesterday going over everything I remembered from Mason’s and my time with Juarez, and coming up empty. I hadn’t slept, I couldn’t remember if I’d eaten or not, and I felt like I was going insane with trying to make connections to other gangs that I knew weren’t there. If I didn’t get Rachel back soon, I was going to lose my goddamn mind.

Dad breathed heavily through his nose as he sat down on the barstool next to me. For a long time we both just sat there without saying anything. Eventually he got up, made coffee, and sat back down after placing a mug in front of me as well.

“She’s not mad at you, you know. Your mom, that is. She’s just scared.”

“I know.”

“Are, uh . . . shit, Logan. I don’t even know what to say. I want to ask if you’re going to be okay, but I wouldn’t want someone asking me that.” He set down his coffee mug and lifted both his hands in the air before letting them flop down onto the counter. “I just can’t believe this is happening. This doesn’t seem real; this is something you see in movies, and on TV shows. It’s something you read about in the newspapers, but you never think about it happening to your family.”

“This is my reality. This happens all the time in my job, but it wasn’t supposed to happen to her. I caused this, Dad—”

“No, Logan, don’t start going down that—”

I dropped my arm and looked up at him, noticing for the first time the redness and fear in his eyes. “But I did! My job, what I’ve done . . . that is why she’s gone.”

“I’m not going to let you put blame on yourself for this. I had to watch you blame yourself for what happened to her back in Texas when you did everything you could to prevent it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Logan. It’s not your fault; none of it is your fault. Blaming yourself is only going to make it harder, it’s only going to cause you to go down a path that is dangerous for you.”