Page 51 of Doxed

My body jolts forward as I wake up and gasp for air.

My shoulder and side hurt like a bitch, but I think the bulletproof vest stopped most of the rounds.

I’m definitely hit in a few places, though.

I can feel blood flowing freely down my torso.

I push off of my kitchen floor and stagger to the island.

My body hurts everywhere, but I need to find Briar.

It’s too quiet in the house, so I know the traffickers have left.

My hand lands on my phone that I shoved under a pot holder and I dial for help.

Mason picks up on the second ring. “What’s up?” he asks, a slight hint of apprehension in his voice. And it should be. I don't call him often. I limp to my office while I talk. I need to check the house.

“I need a doctor. One that won’t report gunshot wounds.” I stop walking and hold my hand to my side while I take in pained breaths. “I also might need you to take me.”

“I can take you to Merrill Hill Memorial. We have some cops on payroll that’ll push this under the rug and bury it.”

“Okay. Get over here then. I have to look for Briar.” Pushing through the pain, I limp the rest of the way to my office.

“On my way,” he says before he hangs up, and I slide my phone into my pocket and unlock my office door.

I look around the small room, but she isn’t here. She couldn’t have gotten out through the door and no one got in, so she had to go through the tunnel.

Gingerly, I sit down in my chair and roll it to the desk. I pull up the cameras for the tunnel and watch as she runs through and out the door on the other side. I don’t have cameras in the woods, so I check in on the only one in my helicopter hangar.

At the very corner of the frame, I can see her hands open the door. And just as she’s about to push it all the way open, I see gloved hands wrap around her face and plunge a needle into her throat.

“FUCK!” I roar, shoving my screens backward off the desk. They crash and clatter as they smash on the floor on top of each other; nothing left behind but a tangled mess of strained wires.

They took her again.

With my phone, I open the gates for Mase and wait for him on the porch. I don't want to be inside this house anymore.

I’m tossing my vest onto the concrete as headlines light up my driveway. I take two very deep breaths to calm myself down from taking off my shirt and the vest. I thought I was going to cry when I had to lift my right arm to get them off.

Mason pulls up to the door and hops out of his pickup, not even closing his door. The sun has long since gone down; I didn't even bother turning on the porch light. I just sat out here in the dark and thought about how to get my girl back.

He kneels in front of me and turns on the flashlight on his phone. Shining it on my body, he examines my wounds. “Are these the only two places you were shot?” he asks, his green-blue eyes looking up at me.

“I think so,” I answer, although it’s strained.

He uses his light as a pointer. “This one on your shoulder isn’t bad, but this one.” He moves the light to my left side. “This one is bleeding pretty good. Might have nicked something.” Mason wads up my tee shirt and holds it to my side.

“Yeah.” My body chooses this time to start feeling woozy, and I sway.

“Ohhh kay.” Mason swoops under my right arm and lifts me to stand.

“Let’s get you to the hospital.” He helps me get into his pickup, but before he shuts the door, he asks, “Is Briar here?” I shake my head and he pauses before going to his side and getting in.

“Where is she?” he asks hesitantly, tearing down the driveway.

I stay quiet, not knowing if I want to share this. “Come on, Miles. We’re friends.”

He’s right. “The traffickers that raided her club came back for her,” I share.

“The club will help you get her back,” Mason declares.

I shake my head, sucking a breath between my teeth when he takes a sharp turn and I press the shirt into my side harder. “I can’t have the club looking into this. It’ll cause too much commotion. They think they left me for dead. They need to believe I am.”

Mason sighs as he pulls under the bright lights of outdoor loading for Merrill Hill Memorial’s ER. “Okay, but if you need anything, we got your back.”

My bullet wounds scream at me as I lift myself over the ledge and kneel beneath the window.

It’s been two days since the nurse at Merrill Hill’s ER fished the bullet out of my shoulder and abdomen; she said I was lucky that the one in my side did such minor damage.

I shouldn’t be out of bed right now, but the second that I was released from the hospital after my surgery, I hopped on Cooper’s jet and flew down here.

It’s been two days since they took my girl, and I have no fucking idea where she is and not a lot of options for places to look.

Inching up, I check to be sure no one’s in the room before I place two strong suction cups to the window and slowly lift it open.

For such a powerful man with a fuck ton of enemies, he sure doesn’t do shit to protect himself other than hiring all muscle, no brains bodyguards.

Fucking idiots were watching TV while I snuck past the guard station on foot.

But maybe he’s too arrogant to think someone would come for him here.

Well, he’s about to get a rude awakening, and he won’t need them after tonight.

The door to the bedroom opens and I drop my ass, turning and resting my back against the brick wall of the house. My face scrunches in pain from twisting like I did, and I listen through the partially open window to the clacks of his designer loafers as he crosses the wood floors.

The sound soon fades so I stand again, slowly, and check the room. The bathroom light is on and the shower is running. Lifting the window the rest of the way, I climb in on soft feet and make my way across the grand room.

Peeking into the bathroom, I see Carlos’ silhouette in the foggy shower, but as I turn back, something discarded in the trash catches my eyes: a weathered and bloody patch, like the ones on Mason’s cut, but this one has President on it.

I wait until the shower turns off and then I watch through the cracked door until Carlos’ back is to me to enter.

He turns on the water and applies toothpaste to a toothbrush.

He puts it in his mouth and reaches a hand up to wipe at the steamy mirror; just as I’m yanking the toothbrush out of his mouth and covering it with my gloved hand, my other pressing the blade of my knife to his throat.

He stares at me through the small gap in the mirror; the condensation dripping down the place he wiped and distorting my face.

I didn’t bring my mask. I wanted him to see me.

I wanted him to see the death in my eyes.

He’s the one who tried to have Briar taken from me the first time. This all started with him.

“You took someone from me. A woman I care very much about. Where are the traffickers that took Briar Anderson?”

Carlos’ eyes go wide with panic.