What if…
Before Dylan could formulate his thoughts fully, a notification buzzed and he picked up his cell phone.
Logan’s alarm system had gone down.
Gone down not breached.
What the fuck?
Seconds later Dylan had a screen full of nothing. None of the four cameras positioned around Logan’s house were working. He flipped to Luke’s house. The cameras were on. He randomly chose another house. Matt’s cameras were functioning.
The cameras were a separate system, not connected to the alarm. Both were down.
Lauren was home sick. She was alone.
Fuck.
Dylan went back to Logan’s feed, backed up five minutes, and watched. Nothing. Not from any angle. No one was lingering, no one walked past the house, not even a car had driven past.
The power.
An internet search showed a power outage. The entire neighborhood was out.
The knot in his gut started to ease until his gaze dropped back to the pictures.
Lauren was home alone.
Fuck.
Dylan scooped up the pictures, pushed out of his chair, and ran.
Lauren was alone in a house with no alarm, no cameras, in a neighborhood with no power. There wasn’t a storm rolling through, there hadn’t been a report of an accident taking down a pole, and that outage hadn’t been scheduled maintenance, therefore, Dylan didn’t waste time when he burst into the conference room.
“Have you talked to Lauren?”
The room became alert but it was Logan who went wired.
“No.”
Logan already had his phone out, dialing Lauren before Dylan could explain. “Power’s out on Logan’s block. No Alarm. No cameras.”
“Did you—”
Nick didn’t get the rest of his question out. “No one was near the house before the blackout. Something else.” Dylan tossed the pictures on the table. “Lucky’s not a person. Jace was right, Guy Stevens is building an empire.”
All eyes went to the pictures.
Finn and Guy Stevens in front of one of Finn’s fishing boats—the Lucky 7. Another image of Finn in the Lucky 6. A picture from May’s old Myspace page—she and her brothers in identical Lucky Brand tees, all pointing to the name with huge smiles on their faces.
A family affair.
An empire.
“What do you do when you have no muscle or street cred?” Brady muttered.
“You make up rumors, tell stories about a fictitious man, and spread that shit far and wide until you can recruit,” Jason answered.
“No one’s fucking seen Lucky because there’s no Lucky to see,” Trey put in and jogged out of the room.
Logan didn’t utter a word before he was gone.
“Fuck,” Matt snarled and followed.
27
I felt like I was floating, or rocking. My headache was gone but my body itched like I had ants crawling over me.
I wanted to scratch. I really, really needed to scratch but I was too tired. The air was cool and the sheets were soft, so soft they felt like silk or satin.
Oh, maybe velvet.
Velvet sheets would be spectacular. I wondered if I could talk Logan into buying a set.
Did they make velvet sheets?
I stretched and groaned when my legs rubbed against the silky coolness.
The ants were gone.
God, that felt so good.
I moved again and felt goose bumps rise. It felt like someone was using a feather to tickle my legs all over, not just a trail, and the feel of it consumed me. I wanted to feel it again and again. I wanted to roll around and see if I could make the rest of my body feel so good.
I felt fingertips travel up my back. The sensation was out of this world, so good I curved my back in an attempt to get closer.
“Logan,” I panted. “More.”
His fingertips continued to dance up my spine, and as they moved the pleasure started to build. I felt it between my legs—even though I wasn’t being touched there. My nipples tingled—even though they weren’t being touched. It was like my flesh was sensitized. Every inch of it tingled.
“Logan.” My groan sounded unnatural but I didn’t care.
I just needed more. More touching, more sensations, more tingling, more of everything.
His hand went into my hair and my scalp electrified. His fist wrapped around my ponytail and pain exploded. Top to toe. In an instant, everything hurt.
“Good, you’re awake.”
There was another vicious tug. More pain, more agony.
And that was when I knew something was very wrong.
Life-changing, soul-splintering wrong.
My mind was fuzzy but I knew Logan would never hurt me.
My hair was yanked again and the worst pain I ever felt in my life radiated.
“Please stop.”
Seconds later my hair was released. The relief was overwhelming. Then I felt a gentle glide of fingertips travel down my arm and like a switch pleasure bloomed.
“Do you like that, Lauren?”
“Guy?” I groaned even though I didn’t want to. I wanted to shout instead.
I was paralyzed but I wasn’t. I could feel everything but everything felt heavy. I wanted to move but couldn’t.
His hand continued to move up and down my arm. Whisper-soft but disturbingly good.
Yes, everything about this was disturbing.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? The slightest touch leaves you begging for more. But the slightest pain…” he trailed off and pinched the inside of my bicep and my back came off the bed as a scream tore from my throat. “Hurts like a sonofabitch, doesn’t it?”
He released my skin and I felt his lips touch my skin.
Wrong. All wrong. So, very wrong.
“Please don’t.”
“Soon, Lauren, as soon as the sedative I gave you wears off you’ll be pleading for me to take what you should’ve given me.”
Then nothing.
No more touching. No more pinching. No more noise.
I didn’t know how long I lay on those soft sheets falling in and out of consciousness. What I did know was when I came fully alert I would beg and plead.
Not for Guy to touch me.
I’d beg for him to kill me.
Unfortunately, my brain and body were completely disconnected.
28
I knew she was gone before I pulled down my street. I didn’t need to see my front door kicked in to know. I didn’t need to walk through the house or see our empty bed.
I fucking knew this morning.
I never should’ve left her at home alone.
“Logan!” Matt yelled from the living room but I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t stop staring at the unmade bed. The new comforter Lauren had picked out but my mother had bought, half off the bed. Same with the top sheet. I gazed around the room—nothing else disturbed. No signs of struggle, no blood. Just the sheets ripped off of her and taken right from her own goddamn bed. From her home.
“We need to roll,” Matt said from inside the room.
I still didn’t move.
I continued to look around. Lauren’s lotion and perfume were on the dresser along with a hairband. That was it. I knew if I were in the living room and looked around there’d be no pictures on the wall. No decoration. Not even a framed photo of the two of us together.