Page 39 of Straight to You

LOGAN

T he second I have the address from Matt, I’m done waiting. I’m not trusting the cops to handle this. I’ll only call them when I know for sure that Ryder is there. Right now, my only priority is getting there.

I’m going to get him back, if it’s the last thing I do.

I strip to put on the fresh clothes Dad brought back from my place, barely noticing what he packed until I see one of Ryder’s shirts in the pile. It makes the need to get out of here even more pressing.

The nurse cleared me, but even if she didn’t, I wouldn’t stay here another minute. I’m not feeling one hundred percent, but I’m good enough. I can rest more after I get Ryder back in my arms.

I grab my keys, turning toward the door, but Mom steps into my path.

“I know you’re going after him, and I know nothing I say will stop you.” She inhales sharply, her hands twisting together. “But Logan, we love you. Your dad and I—you’re our whole world. ”

The words hit me like a gut punch, and I feel like a horrible son. I know she’s scared I’m walking into a death trap, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to love someone so much that you’d tear apart the entire world to save them. Or maybe she does, and I’m breaking her heart right now.

“I love you too, Mom,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “But I have to do this. He’s my whole world.”

She nods with unshed tears in her eyes, and she steps out of my way.

“I’m coming with you,” Dad says, clapping a firm hand on my shoulder.

And that does it. Mom breaks out into an uncontrollable sob, and now I officially feel like the world’s worst son. At least they have Michael. The worst thing he’s done is move to Baltimore.

“Dad, no,” I say, shaking my head. “You can’t. You need to stay with Mom.”

“I can’t let you go alone. We have to swing by the house first. I have to get something, then we’ll go.”

I have a feeling I know what he’s getting, so I nod. We both hug Mom and tell her we love her before we make our way out of the hospital and to the car.

After a quick stop at my parents’ house, we pull up a block away from the address Matt sent.

As expected, the place looks dark and abandoned, with dozens of broken windows, and it’s right near the old harbor.

It feels eerie. All I want is to get Ryder and get the fuck away from here as fast and unharmed as possible.

I swallow hard and look at Dad after taking in my surroundings. His face is set in stone, and I’m grateful he came with me because my nerves are at an all-time high. When I reach to open the door, he stops me. “Wait. ”

Dropping my hand away from the handle, I turn to him and watch as he pulls a gun from his jacket. Then he shows me a second one tucked in his waistband.

“Just in case,” he says, handing me the one from his jacket. “I need you to be protected this time. Do you remember how to use it?”

Shit, do I?

It’s been years since I’ve been to a shooting range with him.

It was something he insisted on when I was probably around twenty-one—one of those ‘just in case’ lessons.

He always said it was better to be prepared and never need it than to need it and not be prepared.

Turns out, I’m glad he took me, even if I feel a little rusty.

I wrap my fingers around it, and the weight of it makes my stomach sink with the reality of this situation.

“I think if it comes down to it, it’ll come back to me. Right? Like riding a bike?”

He hesitates, then nods, eyes serious. “It’s loaded and the safety’s off, so don’t touch the trigger unless you mean it. Keep your finger outside the trigger guard, not on the trigger, until you’re ready to use it.”

I nod. Finally, we open the car doors and step out.

We move slowly and cautiously toward the building. I wouldn’t put it past Kyle to have this place rigged with cameras, but I don’t see anything. We creep around the first corner of the building, doing our best not to draw attention to ourselves.

An unmistakable scream comes from somewhere inside, and my entire body stops dead for a second before I lunge forward without thinking, but Dad’s arm shoots out, stopping me before I can rush in.

“Wait,” he demands. “We don’t know what’s inside. We need to call Santos first and tell him to meet us here. We need all the help we can get because we don’t know what we’re walking into.”

I fumble my phone out of my pocket, my fingers shaking so badly I nearly drop it as I hit his name.

Pick up, pick up, pick up, I chant to myself.

“We’re still looking, Logan.”

“Well, stop. We found him. I’m texting you the address. Get here now. Bring backup. We heard screaming.”

“Copy that,” he says without hesitation.

I hang up and immediately text the location. Seconds later, his reply comes through: Ten minutes out. Wait for us. Don’t do anything stupid.

Ten minutes.

Fuck, that’s too long.

“What do we do?” I ask, turning to my dad.

He contemplates for only a second before saying, “Let’s keep going. Maybe we’ll be able to locate them if we keep moving.”

We continue circling the perimeter of the building, my entire body humming with adrenaline. Everything looks empty and lifeless, but we don’t stop moving. This must be where he is, based on the scream we heard.

When we first came around the other side, it was hard to see inside.

The windows were too high, and what we could see was just scrap wood, busted concrete, and old office walls collapsing in on themselves.

There was no clean line of sight across the whole building.

But now, as we move around the back side, we can see in and when I notice it, I suck in a breath.

Dead center in the otherwise empty space is a single, jarring structure. A room that looks like it’s under construction— the only part of the entire building that’s new. It’s made of plywood, with no windows, but it does have a door.

But that has to be it.

That’s where he is.

Dad and I both look at each other now, and then back to the makeshift structure where we hear muffled noises reach us from inside.

Please let that be Ryder.

Please let him still be alive.

I yank out my phone and fire off a text to Santos, giving him our exact location. They should be about three minutes out now.

That’s when I hear Ryder’s voice yell, “Fuck you!”

Three more minutes isn’t something I can wait for, so I quickly text Santos again: Going in. Ryder’s hurt.

Dad meets my eyes again, and I’m so grateful he isn’t trying to hold me back; he just gives me a nod. I nod back, gripping the gun in my hand tightly as we move up to the plywood door. There’s no time for being quiet, we’re going in and we’re going in now.

Dad raises his gun and fires at the handle. The sound shatters the air. I don’t hesitate for another second before I slam my shoulder into the door, and it swings open?—

And what I see makes me stare, wide-eyed in horror.

Kyle is standing inches from Ryder with a knife pressed to Ryder’s throat.

He’s got his disgusting fingers in Ryder’s wet hair, and there are cuts all over his torso, arms, and legs.

He’s naked, except for his boxer briefs, covered in goosebumps, and he’s bound to a chair.

I want to shoot Kyle right then and there.

I lift my gun back up and point it at Kyle’s head, but he’s so close to Ryder.

Ry’s eyes are terrified and glassy, but he’s still breathing and conscious, even if he looks like he’s barely hanging on.

His body must be crashing after fighting for so long, and there’s so much blood pooled on the floor underneath him.

“Thought you’d be six feet under by now,” Kyle sneers, tightening his grip on Ryder’s hair. “Guess I’ll just have to fix that.”

“Let him go,” I say, my voice low with rage. God, I fucking hate him.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Kyle says, like he doubts how much I love Ryder. He doesn’t understand that I never want to see his face again—never want him to take another breath of the same air Ryder breathes. “You don’t have it in you.”

Ryder doesn’t speak, but his eyes lock with mine as a single tear slides down his cheek, and with a voice so soft it almost breaks me, he whispers, “I love you.”

His eyes close, and his body sags slightly in Kyle’s grip, like he’s stopped fighting.

And that’s when everything inside me goes still.

He can’t be saying goodbye, not when I’m this close. I can’t take it anymore.

“I heard that,” Kyle says, voice eerily calm, pulling Ryder’s head back more. He presses the blade into his neck enough to draw blood. My whole body panics watching a thin crimson line dripping down his throat.

“Stop fucking touching him!” I yell, enraged at seeing his grimy hands on my Ryder.

A faint wail of sirens cuts through the distance, and while the sound fills me with relief, it’s enough to send Kyle into a panic.

“No,” he growls, the blade pressing deeper. “They’re not taking you from me. I won’t let them. No one gets to have you but me .”

That’s when I realize he doesn’t care if he kills Ryder because if he can’t have him, then no one can. All it takes is one wrong move, one flick of his wrist, and Ryder’s gone before I can even take a single step forward.

I need to end this.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

I look to Dad quickly, and he gives me one curt nod, telling me to do what I need to do.

My vision tunnels, every detail sharpening into high definition.

I haven’t fired a gun in years, but I remember him telling me that if I ever had to hold a weapon, it had to be with purpose.

That I couldn’t afford to hesitate. That if you’re going to take the shot, you better know in your bones what you’re aiming at and why.

And I do. I do. I know exactly what I’m aiming at and why.

Kyle’s standing to the left of Ryder, so I need to aim as far away from Ryder’s head as possible.

I keep both hands on the grip, squeeze tighter, try to control my breathing, but I can feel myself unraveling from the inside out because if I miss, I’ll never recover.

My stomach churns, and I hear the approaching wail of police sirens, close enough now that I know backup is seconds away.

And for a second, I think maybe I should wait.

Maybe I won’t have to be the one to pull the trigger.

Maybe if I wait one more minute, the cops will burst through the door and handle it.

Maybe I won’t have to be the one who?—

Then Kyle chuckles, and I decide it’s time to put a bullet in him and knock that smug smirk off his face once and for all because his hands are still on Ryder. My Ryder .

I take one final breath and pull the trigger.

The sound is deafening in the small room—a single, brutal crack rips through the air and echoes off the plywood walls. The recoil jolts up my arms, but I don’t flinch, and I don’t breathe until I see the impact.

Kyle jerks violently as the bullet tears into his shoulder, his grip on Ryder releasing all at once. The knife clatters to the floor, spinning across the concrete as he stumbles backward, shrieking in pain, both hands flying to the wound.

But then he snaps, lunging forward, blood pouring down his arm.

“You fucking ruined everything!” he howls at me, eyes wild. “He was mine!”

He staggers toward us, fury overtaking pain, and I should’ve known he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Dad steps between us, raising his weapon and planting himself in Kyle’s path.

“Take one more step, and I swear to god, I will kill you,” he growls, his voice low and deadly.

Kyle stops dead in his tracks, panting hard, hatred burning in his eyes as he clutches his shoulder. “Fuck you! You don’t get to have him.”

I know Dad’s got this, so I rush forward and drop to my knees beside Ryder, heart pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else.

My fingers fumble at the ropes, shaking so badly I can’t get a grip, can’t work fast enough, can’t think past the desperate, all-consuming need to get him out, get him out, get him out.

Dad comes to help, keeping his weapon raised and eyes locked on Kyle like he’d already made peace with pulling the trigger if he had to.

He crouches down beside me, handing me the knife Kyle dropped, and starts slicing through the ropes. His calm focus is the only thing holding me together as my lungs burn, my hands tremble, and every part of me screams with one singular thought: Ryder needs to be free now .

When the last rope falls away, Ryder falls forward from the chair into my arms, like he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore.

I catch him, wrapping my arms around him, one hand braced behind his head, the other gripping his waist. I need him anchored against me, need him to know he’s safe, that I won’t ever let go again.

The police storm in seconds later with guns raised, shouting commands.

I turn my head and see Dad lower the gun he had pointed at Kyle as Kyle starts screaming nonsense.

I hear the sharp bark of an officer telling him to stay down, and hear the clink of handcuffs closing around Kyle’s wrists as they start to read him his rights, “You have the right to remain silent...”

The words drift somewhere past me as everything else in the room fades into the background. Because all I can see is Ryder. He’s clinging to me, shaking and crying, as the warmth of his blood soaks into my shirt.

We’re holding on to each other like a lifeline, and I pull him as close as I possibly can.

He’s alive.

He’s breathing.

He’s here.

And I am never letting him out of my sight again.

I hold him through it, whispering, “I love you,” and “I’ve got you,” and “you’re safe,” on repeat until the paramedics rush in and we’re loaded into the ambulance together.