The little girl was swinging on an old tire hung from a big thick tree. Twin dark ponytails streamed down her back, tied off with pink ribbons. She was laughing, glancing back as Margo pushed her higher. Not enough.

“Go faster.” She pumped her tiny legs, flailing them as her cheeks turned red with exertion and impatience.

Margo sighed. “You’re going fast enough, Raine.”

“Daddy, you. You do it, Daddy.” She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him, her big blue eyes hopeful. “You push me highest.”

“I don’t know, lemon drop. Your mama said no. And she’s the boss.”

“No, she isn’t. She isn’t even here anymore.”

He turned to where Margo had stood beside him. There was only an empty space. The wind kicked up, rustling the grass, and he shifted back toward the swing and his little girl.

She was gone too. The swing twisting in the breeze.

Simon turned around again, panic grabbing him around the throat. What the hell? Where had they gone?

His family.

His life.

His world, shattered in an instant.

“Simon. Simon, wake up.”

That voice. Normally, it was arrogant with that hint of a British accent. Stronger now. Just a rasp, thick and deep.

“Simon. You need to wake up now.”

Simon jerked up, his fingers fumbling for purchase. The slick acrylic surface beneath his palms made him frown. A table. Gray and utilitarian. Plush chairs.

Jesus, he was sitting at a conference table at Ripper Records.

His eyes were bleary and hot, a sure sign he hadn’t rested long. But he was at work, for fuck’s sake. Why was he sleeping at all?

All at once, it all rushed back at him. Talking to his wife on the phone, first while she readied for her realtor appointment and then a little while later in the car as she drove to their house. It wasn’t theirs yet, but it would be. It was meant. All of this was. Them, the baby, the house. Margo laughing. Telling him she needed to go because Lila was calling.

Then her screams and the horrible cacophony of noises that made no sense. Him calling her name, begging her to answer. Just silence.

Until there were other sounds. A door opening. A man’s voice. “She’s unconscious.”

After that, nothing. Just Simon shouting into a phone that wasn’t answered. A moment later, the call disconnected.

He hadn’t been able to race to the scene fast enough. There hadn’t been time to tell anyone what had occurred, if he’d even understood. He’d just gone out to the parking lot to grab his car, then remembered he’d had a driver pick him up that morning. Fuck. Margo had his car. She had her own too, but she liked to drive his—

Simon stabbed his fingers into his eyes. Goddammit, what happened? Where was she?

“Simon.”

His name made him whirl around in the chair, the wheels spinning as he yanked away from the table. His brother stood beside him, his hair scraped severely away from his face. Making it obvious that his eyes were red-rimmed and wet.

Eyes so much like his own even in their differences.

“Why are you here?” Simon stared at Ian, feeling as if he was looking at a ghost.

Not that Ian was dead.

That he was.

He’d crossed to the other side and this was his hell.

It wasn’t enough that Margo was—

He exhaled a shuddering breath. And who was left behind with him? This reminder of the parents he hated.

No, not hated. Wasn’t a strong enough word. Despised.

Loathed with every fiber of his body that wasn’t consumed with sheer terror.

And now he had to look at Ian, to accept that somehow they’d come from the same wretched place.

Somehow he wasn’t supposed to hate Ian simply for existing. He didn’t want to remember that hellhole he’d been born into. Hadn’t he done everything he could to extinguish its very existence?

Tear down the house.

Rip apart every memory that had tethered him to that worthless bastard and the woman who’d given birth to him.

To them.

Now there was a them, and he didn’t want it. There was no comfort in knowing you had someone seated beside you amidst the flames.

He’d always been alone.

Fucking always.

“I asked you why you’re here.” Simon shoved the chair beside him at Ian, hitting him hard in the hip.

Ian scrubbed a hand over his face, but he didn’t step back. Didn’t even react to what Simon had done.

Just fucking stood there as a tear wound down his cheek like blood seeping through flesh.

And just like that he knew.

Knew without a doubt what Ian had done.

What had been brought to their doorstep because of this man.

Again, the goddamn misery of his birth had tried to ruin the only perfect thing in his life. Like fucking hands grasping out of the grave, determined to pull him down into the fresh earth.

Not fucking happening.

“What did you do?” Simon stood up so fast that the chair rolled away, slamming into the wall. He stepped toward Ian, who didn’t move. Didn’t seem to even breathe. “You have one fucking second to start talking and then I make sure you can’t talk anymore. Ever.”

“I’m helping,” he whispered, and that was all Simon needed to hear.

“You’re helping, are you? Helping to fix what you caused? Or to make it worse while you’re pretending to give a shit? Standing here and crying. How fucking dare you? You did this. You know you fucking did this.”

Ian’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he hauled in jerky breaths. “It was never supposed to happen this way.”

Simon reared forward, his hands locking around Ian’s throat. And he didn’t look away as Ian’s eyes bulged and his face grew red.

The fucker didn’t even fight back.

Simon might not have stopped. His hands were like iron clamps around Ian’s neck, and he could feel the life draining away. It wouldn’t take long. He deserved to pay. To fucking hurt for what he’d done to Margo—

Margo.

Christ, he couldn’t do this. He had to be here for her. To be the man she loved and make sure he brought her home. Where she belonged.

Her and their baby.

He let Ian go and stumbled backward, hardly cognizant of how Ian sagged to the table. Draping over it as he gasped for air and clawed futilely at the tabletop.

The door swung open, slamming against the wall. The sight of Nicky standing in the doorway, his jaw locked tight and his eyes wild, made Simon turn away and bend to brace his hands on his knees.

He couldn’t do this.

Couldn’t say the words that would make it real.

“You.”

Some part of Simon almost felt bad for Ian. Nicky wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t even pause.

In the neighborhood they’d come from, they didn’t wait for explanations. Or apologies.

Ian was as good as dead.

“Don’t you fucking touch him.”

Simon’s head whipped around at the sound of another voice, sharper and female. The blond shot into the room like a bullet, sliding between Nicky and the conference table where Ian was pulling himself to his feet.

Zoe. Ian’s girlfriend. Lila’s fucking cousin.

Nicky stepped back, blood in his eye. His hands fisted.

“You did this,” Nicky said in a low voice as if he didn’t hear the tiny blond who gripped his shirt. “You did this to Margo as surely as if you’d slammed into her fucking car.”

Ian said nothing, just frantically rubbed his throat. Probably couldn’t speak. Served him right.

Fucking mute Judas.

Except he wasn’t. Because he’d never been on Simon’s side in the first place, so he hadn’t had to turn.

When Ian didn’t say anything, Nicky advanced on him—until pint-sized Zoe reared up and slapped him dead in the face.

Lila’s cousin indeed.

“What did I just say to you? Step the fuck back.”

Nicky didn’t even look down at her even as he wore her handprint across his cheek. “Why don’t you tell your little defender what you’ve done? Or are you not even man enough to be honest?”

Zoe shoved Nicky back and moved to Ian, reaching up to cup his face. The show of tenderness despite what he’d done—what he had to have done, because there was no other explanation—made Simon’s hands ball up again.

He should’ve fucking finished the job.

“You saw what Simon did to him.” Zoe touched Ian’s throat, though he gripped her hand and pulled it away. As if he didn’t want her comfort.

But he didn’t let her go.

No, of course not. He wasn’t alone right now, but Simon was.

“What he did to him wasn’t nearly enough.” Nicky stalked closer to Simon, saying nothing but standing at his side.

Not alone. Just not with Margo, and anything else felt like being surrounded by dirt falling into a gaping hole.

Before anyone could explain how the fuck Nicky and Zoe knew what had happened in this room before they’d even arrived, Lila stepped inside and shut the door.

Normally, Donovan’s right-hand woman was unflappable. Her face was most often an emotionless mask.

Now? She appeared pale. Stricken.

Just as he was.

When her eyes met Simon’s, hers overflowed. He didn’t push her away when she hurried forward to wrap her arms around him, even if he wasn’t capable of hugging her back.

Lila loved Margo too.

“We’ll get her back. I promise you that.” Lila reached for his hand with one hand and Nick’s with the other. “We’re family. Family doesn’t let each other down.”

Simon said nothing. He didn’t have words left. It was as if he’d closed off his own windpipe when he’d nearly strangled the life out of his brother.

Lila turned to look at Zoe and Ian. Ian was staring down at the floor, his hand still wrapped around Zoe’s. She had her eyes closed.

“Family, Zoe,” Lila said. “Pick wisely.”

Zoe’s eyes flashed open. “How am I supposed to pick when I still don’t know what the fuck is going on?”

“Why don’t you ask your man that? Oh, that’s right. He can’t talk right now.” Lila crossed her arms. “Maybe he could write us a note.”

Ian’s pose never changed. Eyes cast down at the floor, hand wrapped securely around Zoe’s.

“You clearly know. So why don’t you explain why I woke up to my place surrounded by big dudes with guns? I figured some bad shit had gone down, but no, they were there for me. Me.” Zoe let out an unsteady laugh. “Next thing I know, I was being ushered into an armored truck. I was brought here and locked in a room here like a prisoner. Then you and Nick came, and I finally got to see Ian—on a screen in this goddamn room. No explanations. Nothing to even tell me if he was still alive until that point. And then he nearly kills him.” She pointed at Simon.

“Nearly was the mistake,” Nicky muttered.

“I wish we could’ve finished getting what he knows out of him before you rendered him mute, but I think Donovan did well in that regard. He sung like a canary when it came to Zoe being in danger.” Lila released Simon and walked over to Ian, poking a finger in his chest. “Wrong woman though, hmm? Too little, too fucking late.”

“Tell me what happened. Please.” Zoe finally stepped away from Ian to stare at Lila. “Don’t make me guess. Not now.”

“Tell all of us,” Nicky said quietly, sliding a glance at Simon.

He felt the weight of his best friend’s stare, but he couldn’t return the look. He didn’t have the energy left.

It was as if everything inside him was going numb. Shutting down like circuits on a board. This sector closed down. That sector offline. One by one turning off until he was just a shell.

“I’ll tell it.” Ian’s voice was low and gravelly, and he immediately started to cough. No one moved to help, so he went to the drink cart in the corner and splashed something from a decanter into a glass and knocked it back.

“Let’s sit.” Lila nodded at Nick and Zoe, who both glanced at Simon.

Simon shook his head, and for once in her life, Lila didn’t push.

“I got in some trouble a few years ago.” Ian gazed down into his empty glass. “I robbed a bank with some other men. We were caught. Jailed. I was looking at a certain term behind bars.”

Nicky’s sound of disgust echoed like a gunshot. “Why I am not surprised? Fucking punk.”

Ian didn’t seem to hear him. “I avoided prison, partly because I made restitution to the bank for not only my share of the heist, but the other men’s. They still did time though, but reduced sentences.”

Simon wanted to yell, what the fuck does this have to do with my wife? But he didn’t have the voice.

That had gone too. The last part of him to shut down.

“And let’s guess, you didn’t get that money from collecting bottles and cans. Who did you sell your soul to, asshole? And why is Margo paying for it?”

Simon tipped back his head. For once, his best friend was saying exactly what he wished he could.

If he could even stand to talk to that bastard.

“My stepfather. And my mum. Our mum.”

Our mum was on repeat in Simon’s head.

“I don’t have a fucking mother.” Simon locked his jaw. “Just like I don’t have a brother.”

Ian didn’t flinch. Nor did he look away.

“She’s obsessed with you.” Ian let out a racking laugh. “I didn’t even realize how much.”

Simon took a step forward, his palms tingling. It would be so easy to finish this out. He didn’t want to hear this bullshit. He wanted Margo found. Would fucking find her himself.

But these pieces would help. Logically, he knew that, just as he understood Donovan and Lila would make sure the proper steps were being taken when he was incapable of doing so.

Sometimes it felt as if he’d joined a cult instead of signed on with a record company, but here and now, he was grateful for Lewis’s high-handedness.

He hadn’t been when Donovan’s security people had followed Simon to where he’d discovered Margo’s car off the side of the road on the way to the house—their house—and insisted he come with them, that Lewis would take care of all of it.

Simon had fought them. Raged and shoved and shouted at a sky that hadn’t given a shit about his feelings of futility.

He’d seen her blood in that car. Not much. Just a few drops. But it had been enough to send him to his knees and make him retch on the side of the road like the wino he’d once been.

Never had he craved alcohol since he’d quit like he had today.

Never had he given less of a shit if he fucking incinerated his vocal cords.

Without her, he didn’t have a voice left. She was his everything. He was amazed his heart continued to beat and blood continued to flow in his veins. Nothing should work without her.

Nothing could.

Ian was still talking. Something about a man named Jerry, who’d been the one in charge of collecting Ian’s debt. The man who’d hatched a plan to bilk Simon out of money to pay for the return of his mother, who was unfortunately being held against her poor little will.

Or so the story went.

Simon laughed, so hard that tears sprung to his eyes. He laughed until his throat was as raw as Ian’s, or damn close.

“If you believe for a second that I would pay one fucking dollar for her, you’re not only a lowlife, you’re a moron too.” Simon wiped his arm across his face. His eyes were damp, but he didn’t care. It was a goddamn miracle he was still on his feet.

“I figured that out today, but I was too late. I was so goddamn late.” Ian coughed and took a step toward the table where everyone was clustered, and then he thought better of it and stayed where he was.

First smart move he’d made.

“She called me today. Our mum. My mum,” he corrected when Simon turned away and braced his arm against the wall.

Even pressing his streaming eyes against his flexed forearm didn’t begin to stem the tears. It was as if once the manic bout of laughter had shaken them loose, there was no stopping them.

“All this time, I’d been pushing them off. Jerry especially, since my mum played the role of the broken woman who was under his control. She played it better than an actress. I was the fool who fell for it, again and again.” Ian exhaled raggedly. “I sent them the money I made. As much as I could spare. I didn’t have a lot yet, but I didn’t want to do this. God, I didn’t want to do it.”

He paused, maybe waiting for someone to take his side. To say anything at all.

There was only silence.

“Only today did I fully realize you were so much smarter than me. You wouldn’t pay anything to get her back, even if that story had been true. I was the idiot who would pay for her, if I even could. The fool who was still trying to get her to love me.”

Simon pushed away from the wall before he put his fist through it. Hopefully, with Ian’s head in between. “So, my pregnant wife is God knows where because you’re a fucking pathetic prick with mommy issues?”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until he caught a glimpse of Lila’s shocked expression. It cracked something open inside of him, something he didn’t know if he could ever hope to repair.

He wasn’t aware of slamming his fists into the wall until Nicky came up behind him. He didn’t stop him. Didn’t say a word. Just moved close until he was caged in.

Blindly, Simon turned and grabbed hold of his best friend. Not in a hug. It was as if he was under water and he had no choice but to reach out or drown.

Or die.

Even through his own blur of confusion and grief and panic, he heard Ian’s anguished voice.

“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. My God, I didn’t know.”

Nicky held on to Simon, and together, like the pair of drunks they’d been more than a few times over the years, they moved toward the table. Simon didn’t protest when Nicky shoved him into a chair and pulled up his own so their knees were touching.

Through the tears, all Simon could see was Nicky’s face.

“We’ll get her back. She’s fucking ours. Ours. We’ll find her, and she’ll be just fine.” Nicky swallowed hard. “Her and the baby.”

Simon nodded and closed his eyes, because it hurt to keep them open. But the moment he did, the dream came roaring back. The empty swing. The empty yard.

Everyone he loved gone.

The chair on the opposite side of him bumped into his leg and his eyes flew open as Nicky snarled.

“Do you have a death wish, mate? If you want to go out of here in a body bag, just keep pushing it. I’ll make it happen.”

Ian didn’t so much as blink. His eyes were so impassioned that for a second, just one, Simon felt something. A tug. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t appreciate it. Hell, he hated himself for that unfortunate pull on a bloodline he would’ve burned out of his own body if he could have.

Because he was the reason Margo had been hurt, even if he hadn’t been behind the wheel of that car today. She could be in pain or worse. So much worse.

And God, the baby. Their baby they hadn’t been prepared for but wanted so goddamn much.

“Donovan is working the angles. He knows people, and I told him everything I know, right back to the beginning. I swear to you, I didn’t leave out a detail.”

Simon squinted at him as if he was a fucking alien. He might as well have been.

“Did you hear what I said? She’s fucking pregnant. A car rammed into her, at least once, possibly twice—” He choked and shook his head, pushing away Nicky. “Your goddamn details are just a little late.”

“They changed the script on me. It was never supposed to go down this way. It was just about money. Not people. Then today on the phone, she got brassed off when I told her I was done being her puppet. I was through. I’d send the money, but I wouldn’t dance to their tune any longer. Jesus, Simon, we sang together today, do you think I could just walk out of there and bleed you dry?”

“You are right now.” His own voice was flat. Emotionless. “You are far more than if you’d tried to get my fucking money. I’d give away every cent to have her back. I’d not sing another goddamn note in my life. Do you understand that?”

Ian’s gaze cut to Zoe, but she’d turned her face away. His Adam’s apple moved and he glanced back at Simon. “I do, right down to my marrow. I didn’t before I came here. You can’t understand that. I wouldn’t ask you to try. But I’ll fix this.”

“How?” Lila demanded, her voice icicle-sharp. “Tell me what you could possibly do to help instead of cause more hurt than you already have.”

“They must have taken her for ransom, so they’ll be making contact soon.”

Simon wiped his hand down his face. He’d already come to that conclusion himself. “They can have whatever I have. I’ll give them it all.”

Ian nodded as if he’d expected nothing less. “Once the money changes hands, I’ll tell Donovan to send me in her place. They’ll do it. I’m who they want, not Margo.”

“No.” Zoe leaned forward, her eyes narrowed and wet. “If you do that, they’re going to kill you. You were nothing but a tool to them. If they don’t have that use for you—”

“It’s what I deserve,” he said quietly, tipping back his head as Zoe let out a sob.

Lila reached out to grab Zoe’s arm, her fingers curling in as she stared hard at Ian. “You’re serious.”

Ian looked at Zoe one more time, his chin wobbling before he locked his jaw and nodded. “I’m serious.”

Lila rose. “I’ll tell Donovan and see if that changes our options.” She glanced at Simon for a second, her throat rippling, before she walked out of the room.

The closing of the door echoed through Simon’s head.

“What if it’s too late?” He didn’t expect an answer.

No one knew.

He wanted to believe that if Margo was critically hurt—if she was gone—that he would know. In his heart. His gut. They were so tightly linked that he couldn’t imagine not feeling it acutely if she—

No. He couldn’t go there.

Wouldn’t.

He pressed his fists into his eyes. But maybe that was what he was feeling now. How could he know? He couldn’t untangle what he felt anymore, or why.

Just that he couldn’t sit there a moment longer.

He jerked to his feet and Nicky stood too. As if he knew Simon wasn’t capable of walking on his own, Nicky grabbed his arm, steering him to the door and out into the colorless hall.

“Let’s go outside. Get some air.”

When Simon didn’t move, Nick gave him a little push. “We have our phones. They’ll tag us if they…hear.”

“But what if they don’t?” His eyes met Nicky’s and the reflection back at him was pure pain. “What if that call never comes?”

Another question without an answer.