Shelby

“You can’t keep me prisoner in here, Wyatt.”

He sighs, his head falling back in frustration. “Jesus Christ, woman. I’m not keeping you prisoner. I’m keeping you safe until I know what this asshole wants.”

I glare at his retreating back with my arms crossed, looking like a petulant child, but I don’t care. I want to know who this HayDay911 is. I want to know what he knows about Hayden.

A shout from outside wafts through the window, and I forget all about Wyatt as I turn and run to look. At first, all I see is a wall of men. It seems like every single member of the club is there, forming a barricade between whoever’s standing out front and the clubhouse.

I see Judge and Wyatt through the spaces between them, talking to someone, but I can’t see who.

And then, the men part, each of them turning toward the clubhouse, but waiting for Wyatt to pass. And beside him is the kid who’d had Hayden’s phone.

Oh, hell no. I’m not hiding in here like some china doll, knowing this kid could lead me to my daughter.

I whip open the door to Wyatt’s room and hurry toward the common area, getting there just as Wyatt places a cold bottle of water on the table in front of him.

“Goddamnit, Shelby,” Wyatt snaps when he sees me.

A couple of the guys chuckle, but I pay them no mind. Instead, I focus on the kid. “Where’s my daughter?”

He looks up at me, and that’s when I notice his face. Somebody beat him up real good. His lip is split in three different places, his left eye is swollen shut entirely, and his face has more purple on it than normal flesh tone.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice raw and hoarse. He has bruises around his throat, like he’d been choked as well.

“Shelby,” Wyatt urges. “Just come and sit. Let him talk.”

I don’t want to come and sit. I want this kid to tell me where my daughter is. I want to hit him myself for luring her away from me. But for once, I take Wyatt’s advice and sit across the table from the kid.

“Talk,” Judge orders, dropping down at the table with us, a beer clutched in his hand.

“The last time I saw her, Hayden was okay,” the kid informs us. “But my uncle saw you. He saw you questioning me, and he saw that I had Hayden’s phone. I was supposed to get rid of it, along with her backpack.”

“Who’s your uncle?” That question comes from GP.

“Randall McDade.”

All the men around the room start talking at once, angry questions coming from every corner. It scares me, so it’s not a shock when the kid shrinks back in his chair.

On instinct, I reach out and place my hand on his. “Please,” I whisper. “Hayden is my daughter. I know you’re scared, but focus on me now, okay?”

He nods.

“Where is Hayden?”

“I don’t know. Once my uncle saw me with you,” he says, looking to Wyatt, “he was really angry. He took me out back and punished me.”

“By punishing you, do you mean he beat the shit out of you?” Judge asks, his nostrils flaring in anger.

He nods. “He knew I’d kept that phone, and said I was a traitor. He said…” A sob rips from his throat, and like a tidal wave of emotion, he breaks down. “Please,” he cries. “He has my sister. He said the only way he will keep the men away is if I bring him more girls. I never meant to hurt Hayden. I just wanted to keep my sister safe.”

I frown at Wyatt, confused.

Luckily, Judge seems to get it. “So you’re saying your uncle has your sister? That he promised to keep her out of danger as long as you keep bringing him girls?”

The kid nods.

“And when he saw you with the phone and Hash over there, he figured you for a traitor?”

The kid nods again. “He punished me. I was unconscious in the alley behind the store until the nighttime. And when I went home, my house was on fire.”

“Do you think your uncle set that fire?” Judge asks.

“Yes. He must have moved the girls. I don’t know where they are, and my sister…”

“Okay,” Judge says, trying to soothe the crying boy. “Your name’s Kevin, right?”

He nods.

“Kevin. Go back, and tell me the story from the beginning.”

For the next twenty minutes, we all sit silent, listening as Kevin reveals a story that no child should ever have to tell. His mother had passed away four years ago, and his father had walked out when his sister was born. That meant their only living relative was their uncle, Randall.

His sister was only eight years old then, and Kevin himself had been twelve. Randall hadn’t even given them time to grieve. He’d already had two young girls in his basement, and each night at eight o’clock, men would come and pay him to spend time with those girls.

He was going to put Kevin’s sister, Natalie, in the basement with them. He was going to sell her.

“I begged him not to do it,” Kevin asserts. “I told him I’d do anything, and that’s when we made the deal. I could come and go as I pleased, and he would keep Natalie away from those men as long as I brought him another girl every few months. I thought I could find a way to escape, but he’s always watching. He keeps Natalie close, and he lets those men see her, but never touch her.”

This time, he looks at me, his one good eye as red as blood. “I’m sorry about your daughter. I never wanted any of this, but I didn’t know what else to do. And now they’re gone, and I don’t know where any of them are, and I …” Sobs cut off his words. As both a mother, and as a human being, I can’t let this go on.

I stand from my chair and approach him, wrapping my arms around him. “Shh,” I soothe, pressing him tight to my chest. “You’re safe now, and these are the good guys. They’re going to help you save your sister and Hayden.”

The only sound in the room is my soft whispers of encouragement, and the sobs of a broken boy. The men allow us that time, each of them likely itching to get their hands on that bastard Randall. I know that’s what I’m feeling, even though I’m trying to keep it together.

Finally, Kevin sniffs and pulls away, offering me a weak smile, pulling at the cuts on his lips. “Thank you.”

I smile back, giving him one last squeeze of reassurance before I let him go.

Wiping his eyes, he sits up straight and meets Wyatt’s gaze. “I saw the patch on your jacket and knew you could help me. My uncle was there, though. He was right behind us, listening to everything.”

“The other man in the shop,” Wyatt mutters.

“You’ve got to help them,” Kevin pleads. “Uncle Randall’s losing it, and now that he’s burned down his own house, I don’t know what he’ll do. I’m afraid he’s going to do something worse to the girls.”

Judge clamps his hand down on Kevin’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, bud. We’re gonna end that motherfucker.”