The Break (Unbroken Raine Falling 2)

That was it. Bill was dead.

Liam surged at the man with a snarl of fury, all semblance of control gone. When Hammer held him back, he fought like a wild man.

“Steady...” his friend warned in a low voice. “Let’s find out what the bastard knows first.”

Hammer barged his way into the house. Liam followed, ignoring the old man’s stench.

Bill stared, and Hammer glowered at the man, his face every bit as threatening as Liam had ever seen it. “Where. Is. She?”

“Who?”

“Raine.”

“Why would I know where to find that ungrateful little bitch?” Bill sneered. “Does it look like I have her tucked up my sleeve?”

Killing was too good for Bill. Liam would tear off his head with his bare hands, pour kerosene all over him, then light him on fire. When he lunged at the old man, Hammer held him back again.

“Did she come here?” Hammer demanded.

“You can’t find her? That’s priceless.” Bill laughed.

“Answer the question now or I’ll tear you limb from limb!” Liam couldn’t contain his rage.

“If I know something…” Bill turned to Liam, eyes crafty. “What’s that scrawny piece of ass worth to you?”

“How much do you want to live?” Liam growled, unable to believe this asshole had any genetic resemblance to the woman he loved.

“You going to hit me?” Raine’s father challenged.

When Bill least expected it. “Answer us. Do you know where to find Raine?”

Hammer cut him off with a sharp jerk of his head. Right, he was supposed to be sweeping the rooms, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t find her lying in one of them, half dead.

“Raine’s whereabouts aren’t up for sale today,” Hammer said. “You get your monthly stipend and that’s all. You and I are going to have a problem if she’s here—or if she came to see you and you didn’t call. Do we have a problem so far?”

“Did she run away from you, too?” Bill jabbed.

“Is she here, yes or no?” Hammer demanded. “I’m running out of patience.”

“Maybeeeee,” Bill taunted.

Liam prowled past the foyer and navigated a path through the piles of old newspapers littering the hall. He recoiled. The manicured façade of Raine’s house was an illusion, pretty enough on the outside, but neglect and decay permeated the walls.

He searched the spare bedrooms from top to bottom but found only wrappers, junk mail, discarded boxes, and trash—even in the wide open closet doors. Everything stunk to high heaven. He choked back the urge to retch.

Liam knew the bedroom that had once been Raine’s. The walls were a faded pink. A crinkled old poster of Justin Timberlake hung askew off one wall. A big fuzzy “R” dangled from a string above an old twin bed, stripped bare. Now the room had become a ten-by-ten trash can. Somehow, it made him hurt for her all over again.

As Liam hauled into the master bedroom, he coughed, forcing down the urge to heave. Inside, discarded takeout boxes, empty gin bottles, and overflowing ashtrays lay strewn everywhere. Hell, an atomic bomb couldn’t have done more damage. He called out for Raine, jerking open the closet. Smelly clothes, stiff sheets, loose change, and old porn magazines assaulted him.

The master bathroom fared no better. Liam tried to ignore the filth of old whisker shavings and cheap aftershave mingling with the black ring of grime in the tub and urine stains on the floor. The linen cabinet was filled with ratty towels and more garbage. The cloying reek of body odor pervaded the air.

“She’s not in the bedrooms,” he called to Hammer, coming back down the hall and dusting his hand down his pant leg, trying to rid himself of a prickly, crawling sensation. Once he knew Raine was safe, he’d welcome the chance to return to Shadows and scald himself with clean shower spray and antibacterial soap.

How had Raine ever lived here? She wasn’t mental about cleanliness, but she liked a tidy space and didn’t mind putting in the work to make a room spick-and-span. More than likely, she’d cleaned up after the repulsive old man, and he hadn’t bothered after she’d left.

Liam backtracked to the kitchen—and stopped in the doorway. Bill had obviously exhausted his supply of dishes and flatware years before. Paper plates caked with old food cluttered every surface. Cockroaches and rodent excrement mingled with other less identifiable layers of filth. The stench nearly dropped him to his knees.

Again, he opened every door and every cabinet, calling out, but no Raine.

The garage held nothing but a late-model economy sedan that had more than a few dents, a rusted-out washer, and a tilted dryer. Liam checked the interior of all and found no signs of struggle, blood, hair—or anything that led him to believe Bill had inflicted any trauma on her here.

The access to the attic was directly above Liam’s head. He pulled on the cord, and the attached compact stairs unfolded. After a brief climb, he discovered the space occupied by insulation and a hot-water heater. Crawl spaces were laid out in plywood. He climbed up. The odors from the house had risen, and it smelled like a landfill. Thankfully, the area was small. His visual check took under a minute. Given the undisturbed inches of dust, Liam realized that Raine couldn’t possibly have been here.