Page 108 of Corpse Roads
Tomorrow, I must reckon with the past.
But for tonight, I can rest.
Nothing can hurt me here.
CHAPTER 20
LEIGHTON
THE SEARCH - NF
My feet thump against the treadmill in a steady, brutal rhythm.
Thump, thump, thump.
I picture Harlow—asleep and at peace next to me on the sofa, her thumb wrapped between her lips in a child-like gesture that reveals her vulnerability. But she’s so much more than that.
Thump, thump, thump.
I hate her little whimpers of pain as she battles invisible demons, thrashing in her sleep, running from my touch when I try to help. Even unconscious, she doesn’t trust the unknown.
Thump, thump, thump.
Fuck, I hope she’s okay right now. Hunter’s a drill sergeant. He’ll keep her safe and secure. This entire trip is a terrible idea, but Giana insisted on meeting her daughter in person.
They’ve already been gone for two days. Apparently, a storm rolled in, so they’ve holed up in the hotel to let it pass over. The idea of Hunter and Harlow stuck in close quarters is laughable.
Enzo will riot and tear the country to shreds if this Giana woman even thinks about taking Harlow from us. She belongs right here, far from anyone that would dare hurt her.
I run until I feel like I’m gonna puke. Falling off the treadmill in a sweaty heap, I stare up at the ceiling of the basement gym. Exercise is what kept me alive in prison.
It provided a brief solace from the chaos of living with thousands of angry, trapped men. That place broke something in me that can’t be fixed. But since Harlow, I’ve been feeling more like my old self.
After catching my breath, I rest against the wall and knock back a bottle of water. My workout shorts are drenched with sweat. I’ve been at it for over an hour, too restless to sit around.
Enzo should be home from the office soon, but fuck knows. He’s been a miserable, sleepless bastard since they left. I fucking miss Harlow. She sweetens him up.
Cleaning the equipment in silence, I nearly drop the towel when a deafening crash reverberates down the stairs. The sound of smashed glass and someone shouting is unmistakable.
Fuck!
No one else is home.
Reaching under the weight bench, I grab the gun that Hunter taped into place. Checking the chamber, it’s fully loaded. You don’t grow up around our old man without learning to shoot.
Creeping upstairs, more crashing sounds echo through the empty house. It sounds like someone is beating the shit out of some china plates. I cock the gun in front of me, ready to shoot.
If that psycho bastard has come looking for Harlow, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes, and then in his dick. The others can have what’s left of him to finish off.
“Enzo?” I shout. “Is that you, man?”
Someone gasps in pain from inside the kitchen. Keeping the gun positioned, I creep through the hallway and into the dimly lit room.
“Theo? What the fuck?”
Every single glass, bowl and plate we own is smashed into pathetic pieces across the marble floor. Sitting cross-legged amongst the carnage is a sweating, bleeding moron.
“Leigh,” he slurs.