Page 2 of Beautiful Scars: Unshakeable (The Beautiful Scars Duet #2)

Chapter Two

Levi

The blood drips from my knuckles, each crimson drop hitting the floor and marking time like some fucked up metronome. The man strapped to the chair is sobbing. He's pathetic and his weak mewling noises grate on my last nerve.

"I swear, I don't know anything else." He slurs the words through a mouthful of jagged broken teeth.

My fist connects with his jaw again. The crack echoes through the warehouse.

"Wrong answer." The voice coming from my mouth doesn't sound like mine. It's hollow, dead. "You work his territory. You move his product. You know something."

Seven years ago, I ran. Seven years ago, I left her broken and bleeding on that floor. I quietly accepted that she was gone. Not this time.

My phone buzzes—Colt again. Fourth call in an hour. I silence it.

"Please..." Blood bubbles from the dealer's mouth as he breathes. "That's not how it works. We never see him directly."

The rage builds, familiar and welcome. I grab his throat, squeezing until his eyes bulge. "Then who handles the deliveries? Who collects the money?"

Behind me, the warehouse door creaks. Footsteps approach—the measured tread I recognize as Wolf's.

"Jesus Christ, Levi." His voice carries equal parts horror and resignation. "This isn't helping."

I release the dealer's throat, watching him gasp. "Get out."

"No." Wolf moves closer. "You need to stop this. You're destroying every lead we might have. We need information, not bodies."

The memory returns, front and center—Sunny disappearing into a cloud of smoke, so still I thought for a moment it was already too late. My hand clenches into a fist.

"He's had her for two days." I choke on each word. "While we stand here talking, he's..."

I can't finish. Can't give voice to the images playing over and over in my mind.

"I know." Wolf's hand lands on my shoulder.

I shrug it off. "But we're working as fast as we can.

Colt has programs running facial recognition on every accessible camera within three states.

Zane's working his contacts. This?" He gestures at the bloody mess in the chair.

"This isn't helping anyone. Including you. "

The truth in his words burns. I turn back to the dealer who flinches away from me.

"Please," he whispers. "I don’t know anything.”

I grab his chair, tilting it back until he's staring straight up at me. "If you're lying..."

"I'm not! I swear on my kids' lives!" The panic in his eyes tells me he's telling the truth.

The memory shifts—Sunny at seventeen, crying in her backyard. The bruises on her arms. The way she backed away when I reached for her.

I let the chair go and it crashes backwards onto the floor. The piece of shit screams as his fingers are crushed underneath him.

"Get him out of here."

Wolf moves to untie him, but I'm already walking away. My phone shows eight missed calls—six from Colt now, two from Zane.

The warehouse door slams behind me. The night air hits my face, but it doesn't clear my head. Nothing does right now. It took me seven years to build everything I have, and right now I'd give every last bit of it away for one piece of usable information that would lead me to her.

I climb in my truck, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Nothing. One more dead end.

She's been gone two days now, but it feels like forever.

I drive too fast back to the house, my hands sticky with dried blood. The speedometer climbs up past ninety, but I barely notice. All I can see is Sunny's face telling me things are going to be okay. I can still feel her lips pressed into my cheek.

The tires crunch on the gravel and kick up rocks as I pull up to the house. Zane's waiting on the porch, arms crossed. His jaw tightens when he sees me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

I shoulder past him and go inside, heading straight for the whiskey. "At least I’m out there doing something.”

“You think beating people half to death is helpful?" Zane follows me into the living room, his voice rising. "You're destroying every chance we have of finding her. These people talk to each other Levi. They're going underground because of you."

I round on him. "While we sit here doing nothing, he has her. Do you understand what that means?"

"You think I don't understand?" His face flushes and he closes his eyes.

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Look. Levi. Think about this a minute. Please.

Garrett's watched her for seven years. He never made contact with her. She never knew he was there. He values her. Obviously. If he didn’t, he would've—"

His mouth slams closed. He can't bring himself to say the words that I can't stop thinking.

"Would've what?" Rage explodes out of me as his voice trails off. "Say it."

Anger flashes in his eyes at the challenge, but he stays silent. So, I continue, "Finished what he started all those years ago? Killed her? You know as well as I do that there are a hell of a lot of things worse than death, Z. You didn't see what he did to her last time."

"No, I didn't. But—"

There are no 'buts'. He has no idea of the damage Garrett inflicted on Sunny. There's no reason to think this time will be any different. End any different.

My fist curls and connects with his jaw before I can stop it.

Z staggers back, his eyes wide with shock. The surprise only lasts a second. I take a step backward as his expression falls—replaced with a cold calculating calm. Seconds tick by as the silence stretches out between us.

Without warning, he launches himself at me. I ball my fist and swing wildly not caring where it lands. The impact vibrates up my arm and through my shoulder. He backs off, his eye swelling and turning a deep shade of red.

He blocks my next swing easily, deflecting it to the side. His counter-punch catches me in the ribs—controlled, precise, brutal. It steals my breath, and I double over gasping.

Everything Z does is measured. Perfectly controlled. Always.

I hate him for it right now.

With a loud roar I charge forward, slamming into him and throwing him off balance. My ribs scream in agony as we fall, crashing through the coffee table in an explosion of glass and wood. We land hard, both stunned.

Splinters and shards of glass dig into my palms as I brace myself and push back up to my feet. Z gets his legs under him quickly and we circle each other, waiting for an opening.

He hesitates for just a moment and I take the opportunity. I drive my fist into his stomach. Once. Twice. His knee comes up, catches me right under my ribs in the center of my chest. The air is forced violently out of my lungs.

Z uses the moment to take a hard swing. His fist crashes into my mouth. I taste copper and my mouth fills with blood. The room spins but I launch forward again. We slam into the wall hard enough to crack the drywall.

Sweat runs into my eyes. I blink it away, my vision blurring. Z's face swims in front of me—calm and focused despite the purple forming around his eye, his split lip and the blood coming from his nose.

When I step back, still swinging, his defense is textbook.

Finally, I land a solid punch. His head snaps back. Before he can recover, I grab his shirt and drive my knee up into his side. He doubles over and I bring my elbow down onto the back of his neck.

Z drops to one knee. I follow him down and lock my arm around his throat and squeeze. His pulse hammers against my forearm as he fights to free himself. His fingers claw at my skin, drawing blood. I tighten my grip and it goes quiet. The only sound is ragged breathing. My ragged breathing.

Z's struggles begin to weaken. My arms shake with the effort of holding on to him. Blood drips steadily onto the floor—mine or his, I can't tell anymore. I only know that this feels good. My mind is empty. Quiet. There's nothing but pain and blood and the harsh burn in my lungs.

"Boss." Rex's voice cuts through the red haze. "Let him up."

The words don't register at first. I can barely hear him over the blood pounding in my ears and the satisfying weight of Z as he goes slack under my arm.

Rex repeats his command. Several times.

I ignore him each time.

Cold metal presses against my temple. The contact snaps me back into the room—to Rex standing next to me with his weapon drawn and ready.

"I said let him go."

For a split second, I consider my options. The gun. Rex's positioning. How fast I'd need to move.

When I make my decision, I move fast. Much faster than Rex expects.

In one smooth movement I release my hold and grab Rex's arm pulling myself up.

I force the gun away and drive my elbow up into his face.

His nose breaks with satisfying crunch and the gun clatters across the floor.

He swings, but I catch his arm, twisting until something snaps. His scream echoes through the house.

Zane pushes to his feet, gasping and coughing, trying to recover. "You've lost your fucking mind." He staggers back and grabs Rex's good arm as he straightens up, contempt clear on his face. "I'm going to change and then we'll get you to the hospital. Wait for me outside. Now."

Five minutes later, Z appears. His face is bruised, but clean and he's changed his clothes. He leaves without even looking in my direction and slams the door behind him.

"Well, that was productive." Colt's voice is flat, humorless. He stands in the doorway to the command center we've set up, looking at me like he doesn't know who I am. Maybe he doesn't.

"Don't start."

"Someone has to." He gestures for me to follow him.

Multiple screens show surveillance feeds from cameras set up in different parts of town.

One screen flashes an endless cycle of faces searching for a match.

"You're making this harder. Every person you terrorize is another dead end.

Rats scatter. You're making it impossible to find a lead out there. "

"We don't have time to sit around and wait for someone to decide to talk."

"No?" He turns to face me. "Then what's your plan? Beat up everyone between here and who the fuck knows where? How's that working out?"

Point taken. "I can't just sit here."

"You need to get your shit together." His voice hardens. "Either figure out how to help us find her or get the fuck out of here. As in, go back home for a while. Because right now? You're doing more harm than good."

He leaves me alone with the screens, with my thoughts. With blood drying on my hands.

The rage that's driven me for two days starts to crack, revealing something darker underneath. Something that feels too much like fear.