Page 41 of The Auction (The Black Ledger Billionaires #4)

I slide to a stop so hard the back tire skids. Kickstand down, kill switch flicked, helmet off—done in seconds.

I take the steps to her front door three at a time and don’t bother knocking. Don’t bother breathing. I shoulder the door open like I own the place.

Jon’s in the foyer with a concerned-looking Shanae.

“This doesn’t sit right,” she says, her voice tight.

Jon turns toward me just in time for me to rear back and drive my helmet straight into his face. The crack is sickening, satisfying.

“You’re right, Shanae,” I say, calm as steel.

Jon staggers back, cursing, blood already running. I swing the helmet again, harder this time, and feel his nose break under it. He drops like a sack of bricks, head bouncing off the hardwood. Dazed. Moaning.

I look at Shanae. “She’s not here, is she?”

Her lip trembles. Then she shakes her head, tears welling.

“No. I found her phone on the floor—broken.” She points to the foyer table where it sits, dead and useless.

“Her purse is here. And look—” She points to the wall.

A divot in the drywall, right at Cassidy’s height. Like someone slammed her into it.

The sight makes the edges of my vision burn.

I kneel down in front of Jon, forearms resting on my knees, staring at him like the snake he is.

“He knows where she is,” I tell Shanae, my voice low.

She gasps.

“Because he’s the one that sent her there.”

I fist his shirt and haul him up until his feet barely touch the floor. “And he’s going to tell me everything.”

Jon’s still half out of it, but his mouth twists into something ugly. Blood covers his teeth when he grins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I don’t take my eyes off him when I ask Shanae, “Where’s Lilly?”

“In her room. Resting,” Shanae says quietly.

Now I look at her. “Don’t tell her what’s going on. And don’t worry.” My voice hardens as I glance back to Jon. “I’m going to get her.”

Jon chuckles wetly. “You’ll be too late.”

I lean in, close enough he can smell the threat on my breath.

“For your sake,” I murmur, “you better hope I’m not.”

I half drag Jon down the path, gravel crunching under my boots. He’s stumbling, mumbling, too dazed to fight back. His shoes slip in the dirt when we hit the stables.

Big Ben’s inside, brushing down one of the mares. He glances up, that big, calm frame filling the space.

“You may want to take a walk,” I tell him, shoving Jon forward. “Close the doors behind you.”

Ben’s brows lift, but I’m already dropping Jon onto the dirt floor. The bastard groans, clutching at his ribs. I cross to the corner, grab a chair—the same one Mrs. Hayes had to sit in while Jon’s hired trash tried to take the horses. The memory only tightens the coil in my chest.

I haul Jon upright and slam him into the seat. He nearly folds sideways. I have to set him straight before I head for the workbench, scanning for rope.

Behind me, the heavy stall doors thud shut. I glance over my shoulder. Ben’s still here.

“This is about Cass?” His deep voice doesn’t need to rise above a murmur.

“Yes. He sent her somewhere.” My tone is flat, deadly. “And I’m going to get it out of him any way I have to. You don’t need to be part of this.”

Ben doesn’t leave. Instead, he turns to his own bench and starts going through his tools—slow, methodical. The sound of metal shifting, clinking, setting down on wood.

“I wasn’t always a horse master,” he says, voice gone darker. He lays out a few pieces—old farrier tools, pliers, something with a hooked end I don’t recognize. “If it helps find Miss Cassidy faster, I’ll help.”

I loop the rope around Jon’s legs, pulling tight, binding his wrists behind the chair. I look up at Ben. “As long as you know what you’re getting into.”

His eyes meet mine, steady and cold. “I know. Do you?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Jon’s head lolls forward, blood dripping from his nose to the dirt. I grab a bucket from the corner, slosh water into it from the pump, and toss the whole thing in his face.

He jerks like a fish on a hook, sputtering, eyes wild. I slap him hard across the cheek. “Wake the fuck up.”

He groans, twisting against the rope.

“Where is she?” I demand.

“I don’t?—”

I backhand him. “Don’t start with that.”

He smirks through the blood. “You’ve got nothing, Kane. I made sure of it. No calls, no cards, no GPS. You won’t find her.”

He’s not wrong—there wasn’t much of an electronic trail. Jon knows I’d tear through his life in minutes if he left one.

I glance at Ben. “You ever get information out of someone before?”

Ben’s mouth curves in something that’s not quite a smile. “I have. And I was very good at it.”

“What do you suggest to get him talking fastest?”

Ben doesn’t hesitate. “A finger.”

I hold out my hand. Ben drops a pair of cutters into it. The weight is cold, solid.

I drag the sharp point down Jon’s cheek, slow enough for him to feel every inch of it. The tip bites into his skin, a deep gash that oozes bright red blood.

“I know you sold her to Lord Greville,” I say, voice steady. “I just need to know which property. He’s got too many to waste time guessing—and I’m eager to get my future wife back where she belongs.”

Jon’s eyes flare with something ugly. “Fuck you.” Then he spits—right in my face.

I wipe it off, calm as a priest at confession. “Underestimating the lengths, I’ll go for her is a mistake you won’t make twice.”

Before he can say another word, I take the cutters and snip.

The sound is wet, sharp, final.

Jon screams like an animal caught in a trap. Blood pours over his hand, onto the dirt.

I grab the severed pinky, shove into his mouth, and clamp my hand over his jaw. “Swallow.” I growl, tightening my grip until his teeth sink in.

His eyes roll back as he gags it down, the sound echoing in the stables.

“Now,” I say, leaning close enough for him to feel every word, “let’s try this again. Where the fuck is she?”

He put up a fight—longer than I expected.

Two more fingers—both currently digesting—and a meat hook to the thigh before he finally broke. The moment Ben started pulling it down his leg, tearing through skin, muscle, and tendon like he was dressing out a deer, Jonathan’s resolve crumbled and the words spilled out.

He gave me the location, and I sent it straight to Lucian.

His reply came within seconds:

LUCIAN: He’s on the way.

LUCIAN: You need my jet?

JAXON: Mine’s faster.

But I wasn’t done with my old friend.

I wanted the truth.

And what came out made my stomach turn.

Jonathan inherited his father’s business and burned through the money with a coke habit. He’d started running drugs through the operation, and for a while it worked—until greed pushed him into deeper waters he couldn’t swim in. When the walls started closing in, he needed a bailout.

Lord Greville wanted a wife and an heir. Jonathan had a sister. Done deal.

He told Cassidy it was for their mother’s cancer treatment, that when she was well again, she could divorce him and be free.

But that was never his plan. He intended to let the house go, sell the horses, and pocket the cash.

The payout from Greville would line his own pockets.

Once Cassidy was gone, he would have walked away from his mother without a second thought, leaving her to spend whatever time she had left alone in a hospital bed.

Greville would own the Hayes’ enterprise and run whatever the fuck he is into through it.

My phone buzzes with more information about Greville from my senior engineer. He’s got a lot. Drugs. Strip clubs. Entertains the scum of the world so his property is a fortress and has round the clock security.

I’ve heard enough from this piece of shit, and I want my girl.

I look at Ben. “Keep him tied up. I’m going to get her.”

Ben moves toward Jonathan with a slow, deliberate stride, like he’s approaching a dangerous stallion. He hooks his tool beneath Jonathan’s chin, applying just enough pressure to lift his head. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “And if she’s hurt, boy, you won’t die quick.”

I find a rag on the workbench, soak it in the bucket, and scrub the blood from my hands and arms before pulling my phone again. May need a few more guys, I text Lucian, attaching everything we’ve gathered on Greville.

His reply is immediate:

LUCIAN: I’ll tell my guy to hold and we’ll regroup.

JAXON: She can’t get hurt.

LUCIAN: We’ll get her out of there.

I pocket my phone and head for the barn doors, feeling sharp gratitude for having a friend like Lucian Vale in my corner. I’ve just pulled them closed when a piercing shriek cuts through the air.

Shanae bursts out onto the porch, panic written across every line of her face?—

“It’s Lilly,” Shanae gasps, her voice breaking. “She tried to go to the bathroom on her own and fell—hit her head on the sink. She’s hurt bad. She’s not… she’s not responding.”

I’m already running and take the porch steps two at a time before I even process what she said.

I bolt up the staircase, my feet pounding the same path I ran a thousand times as a kid, straight to Cassidy’s mom’s bedroom where I’d never been allowed in but always knew.

She’s there, sprawled on the cold tile of the ensuite bathroom, her skin pale as porcelain, a dark pool of blood blooming around her.

“Call an ambulance,” I snap.

“I already did,” Shanae says, her voice shaking so hard the words almost don’t make it out. “If she dies while Cassidy is gone?—”

“She’s not going to die.”

I kneel beside her just in time to hear the faintest moan. Her head shifts toward me, and I finally breathe for the first time since I heard the scream.

“I’m cold,” she whispers.

Against every rule in my head about head injuries, I slide my arms under her and lift. She’s so light and I can feel her trembling. “We’ll take you outside, wait for the ambulance.”

But the ambulance doesn’t come.

Shanae’s pacing, phone clutched tight to her ear. “There was an accident,” she says, eyes wide with panic. “Multiple fatalities and all services are being rerouted, They’ll send someone when they can.”

I look toward the drive, cursing under my breath. My bike’s useless for this. But Shanae’s SUV is parked by the fence.

“Get your keys,” I tell her.

She nods, takes off toward the house.

I glance down at Lilly, keeping my voice steady for her sake. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Where’s my baby girl?” She asks with a voice too frail.

“I’ll go get her.” I promise. “I just need to get you to the hospital, and I’ll go get her.”

I look at the night sky. The full moon moving across it and send up a prayer.

Please, please don’t let me be too late.