Molly stared up at him. “Why do I feel dead?”

“You’re not.” His face was tender as he stared down at her. “You’re a fighter. You’ve been through hell. You lost your brother, so yes, hell, yes, you need to grieve.”

The tears kept sliding down her cheeks.

“But then . . . you’ll keep going. One day at a time. One step at a time. You’ll live. And you’ll see that there are still good things in this world.”

“What if he comes after me again?” Molly whispered.

“Then he’ll find me standing in his way.”

Sarah swallowed and eased from the room. The soft sound of Molly’s sobs followed her, tearing into Sarah with every breath that she took.

My father started this. He took Molly’s mother. He put the chain of events into motion.

Sarah didn’t believe that monsters were born. Not even Murphy. She thought they were made. Actions, environment, shaping and changing an individual until . . .

Either the good within triumphed.

Or the evil inside won.

“You okay?”

She looked up at Carlos’s low, growling voice.

“I need to hurt someone for you?” he asked.

Sarah shook her head. “Everyone’s already hurt enough.” She squared her shoulders. “Jax is at his bar? Shade?”

He nodded.

“Call him.” She didn’t have any clue where her phone was right then. “Tell him to get to the hospital. I think Molly needs to see him.” Then they could clear this up, once and for all.

Carlos pulled out his phone. Sarah waited beside him. Nervous energy filled her. She heard footsteps and glanced over to see Victoria and Wade heading her way. Wade looked tired, but otherwise back to his old self.

“Guess who got sprung?” Victoria said, a wan smile on her lips.

Sarah hugged Wade. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she murmured.

He squeezed her. “Can’t keep me down for long.” He let her go and glanced over at Carlos. A Carlos who was looking increasingly worried. “What’s going on, Sarah?”

“I’m trying to get in touch with Jax.”

Carlos put his phone down. “He didn’t answer.”

“Carlos?” She could tell, by the way he spoke, that something was wrong.

Carlos rubbed at the edge of his scar. “The boss always answers when I call.”

But he wasn’t answering then.

Brent came out of Molly’s room. Sarah grabbed him and practically dragged the detective down the hallway and away from the others.

“Lady, what are you doing?” Brent demanded. “Are you crazy?”

She pushed him into an empty hospital room. Slammed the door. “Call Jax.”

“Uh, what?”

“Call Jax.” She motioned toward his phone. “I know what’s going on with you two, okay? I know you’re the one who tipped him off about Molly’s ID, I know you’re the one who gave him access to Eddie Guthrie. Look, I get it. You’re on his—his payroll.”

Brent stiffened. “The fuck I am. I’ve never taken a bribe and I never will.”

“I don’t care exactly what sort of agreement you two have going on. What matters to me right now is that . . . if you call him, Jax answers, right?” Only he was supposed to answer Carlos, too.

Brent didn’t nod. His face didn’t change expression at all.

“I’m worried something is wrong.” Her guts were twisted in knots. “Just call him, okay? Please?”

Before something happens.

Chapter 13

JAX’S PHONE WAS RINGING AGAIN. HE STARED UP AT the old house, and his gaze slid over the windows. The ones on the first floor were boarded up. The windows on the second floor were covered by old, sagging shutters.

A balcony swept around the side of the place, and big, columns—columns that had once been a bright white but were now a faded gray—supported the structure.

He’d been led to this place. If he went inside, the bastard was supposed to be waiting for him. He’d been told to come without cops. Without backup of any kind.

Did the guy think he was a fool?

He looked down at his phone. Saw Brent’s number this time. Frowning, he picked it up.

“Jax!” Brent’s voice seemed strained. “Where are you and what the hell are you doing?”

He tilted his head back. “Five-oh-eight Dubois Street.” A street with overgrown azaleas and twisted oaks. “And I’m waiting for the cops to arrive.”

“What?”

“The man who took Molly Guthrie may be waiting inside or . . .” Jax exhaled slowly. “Maybe he just thinks I’m a dumbass who will walk straight into a building that’s probably wired to explode if I so much as breathe on the door.”

“Jax, stay where you are, do you understand? I’m on my way!”

He could see police cars rushing down the road. Their sirens weren’t blaring—a good thing. He’d warned them to come in silently, just in case. “Better hurry,” Jax told Brent. “Looks like the show is getting started.”

HE HUMMED AS he positioned his prey. Moving him a bit to the left, because he wanted this picture to be absolutely perfect. He’d sliced with his knife, a drive straight to the fool’s heart. In and out.

Easy.

He wondered when the body would be found. Who would find it. Oh, but he could hardly wait to see what would come next.

His knife tapped on his victim’s face. Then cut through the gag. But the guy wasn’t trying to talk anymore. He wasn’t doing anything.

He was stone-cold dead.

THERE WAS A line of police cruisers leading up to 508 Dubois Street. Lots of cop cars, but, thankfully, no terrible blaze rising into the air.

As soon as Brent braked his car, Sarah leapt out. She could see Carlos in the vehicle behind her. A silent guard who was still shadowing her. Sarah didn’t stop to talk with him. She ran toward the cops, calling, “Jax! Jax!”

“I’m here, Sarah.”

She turned.

He was leaning against the front of a patrol car. Looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. His arms were crossed over his powerful chest. He had on a short-sleeved, white T-shirt, and the shirt stretched over his muscles and contrasted with the dark swirl of his tattoos.

She rushed to him and had one of those instances in which she wasn’t sure if she wanted to yell at him for taking such an insane risk or if she just wanted to hug him tight.

But then, she didn’t do either thing. She stumbled to a stop in front of him. Sarah glared up at Jax. “Do you have some kind of death wish?”

One blond brow rose. “Not to my knowledge.”

Not to his . . . Her teeth clenched. “When a psychopath calls you, you don’t run out to confront him yourself!”

He was staring over her shoulder, at the old house. “He wasn’t here.”

Sarah wanted to catch that guy—so badly—but she was glad he hadn’t been there. “Good, that’s why you’re still alive.”

His gaze shifted to focus on her.

“He’s baiting you.”

“He said he would kill you. That he would slice you up, Sarah.” His hands closed around her shoulders. “You think I would let that happen?”

“And do you think I want anything happening to you?” No. “He’s pulling you into this mess because of me. Because he knows that we’re involved and he’s using you in order to get to me—”

“He knows things that he shouldn’t.”

Sarah shook her head.

“About my past.” Jax’s voice lowered. “He knows things that I only told you and your LOST members. The bastard said that if I came here, alone, he’d tell me about my past.”

“He’s lying to you,” she said. Couldn’t Jax see that? “I don’t know how he found out—maybe the jerk put a bug in Gabe’s hotel room—but he wasn’t going to tell you anything.”

“I know that.”

The bomb-sniffing dogs were running around, but they didn’t appear to be catching any scents.

“And he knew,” Jax continued roughly, “that I wasn’t coming over to talk. I was coming over to kill him.”

“Jax . . .”

He smiled at her. “But I changed my mind. I called the cops. I didn’t come armed to send the bastard to hell.”