Broken Hands

78. She has to live

Grayson sped down the dimly lit street, the bike humming beneath him as his thoughts raced even faster. The cool night air bit at his face, doing little to ease the knot in his chest. He'd barely processed the events at the hospital, but as the house came into view, his heart sank into his stomach. Damien would find out, or he just had to tell him.

The lights were on, illuminating the yard like a stage, and parked out front were two police cars, their flashing lights casting eerie red and blue hues against the house. Grayson's breath hitched. What the hell is going on?

He slowed the bike, got off, and walked through the gate. He pulled it over to the curb and killed the engine once in. His boots crunched against the gravel as his eyes darted around the scene. His pulse quickened as he took in the three men standing by the driveway, their wrists bound in cuffs. Three black masks lay discarded nearby, the sight of them striking something in his memory.

Grayson's blood ran cold. He froze for a second, the realization dawning on him like ice water pouring down his spine.

He started moving again, his steps quick but hesitant. As he approached the entrance, he saw Damien standing with a police officer, speaking in low, serious tones. Alex stood beside him, his face lined with worry.

It was Damien's appearance that made Grayson's stomach churn. His white t-shirt was stained with blood, the crimson stark against the fabric, and there were smears on his pajama pants. Alex, though unharmed, looked disheveled, his hair messy and his expression tense.

The moment they spotted Grayson, both men froze, their faces flashing with a mix of surprise and relief.

"Grayson!" Alex was the first to move. He strode over quickly, his worry turning into urgency as he pulled Grayson into a firm hug, his hands checking over him as if to make sure he wasn't hurt. "Are you okay? Where have you been?"

Grayson nodded stiffly, though his throat felt dry. "I'm fine," he said, his voice quieter than he intended. "What happened?"

Damien's sharp voice cut through the air like a whip. "Do you know how worried sick we were, Grayson?"

Grayson cringed, instinctively lowering his gaze. He didn't have an answer for that—at least, not one Damien would want to hear.

Alex placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice more measured than Damien's. "Go inside," he said firmly. "We'll talk about this later."

Grayson hesitated for a moment but nodded, not daring to argue. He stepped past them, his legs feeling heavier with each step as he entered the house.

The living room was eerily quiet compared to the chaos outside. Julian and Russell sat on the couch, their faces pale, their eyes darting nervously toward the door when they heard him. Julian was the first to react, shooting up from his seat and rushing toward Grayson.

"I thought they took you, again!" Julian exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Grayson in a hug that was surprisingly tight for someone so lean. His voice trembled with emotion.

Grayson's arms hovered awkwardly for a moment before he patted Julian's back. "I'm fine," he said, though the guilt gnawed at him.

Russell, still seated, shot him a stern look, his lips pressed into a thin line. "You freaked everyone out, Grayson," he hissed, his tone sharp. "Did you sneak out?"

Grayson looked away, guilt pressing down on him further as his eyes flicked toward the couch. Stray was curled up in Julian's spot, her usually energetic self replaced by a motionless heap. She didn't even lift her head as Grayson approached, though her tail gave a faint, sluggish wag.