Chapter 7

Brady clenched his jaw. He’d known that was a possibility. Having the evidence at his fingertips made him a little sick to his stomach.

Blood oozed out of the lower curve, collecting in a fat bead before starting a languid path down Cole’s ripped abs. He caught the flash of Cole’s tongue over his lower lip, but otherwise, he remained still, waiting for Brady to do something.

“What were you doing there?” He asked the question, then realized there was a small part of him that was glad Cole sported the same wounds. He’d never think of Cole as a victim—not this version of him, anyway—but better to have him closer to that category than he was to the perpetrators. “I want names, descriptions, anything you think is relevant.”

“Why? You know you’re never going to find them.”

“No, I don’t know that.” It was a lie. A big one. Pressing the gauze to Cole’s skin, he wiped away the blood and tossed the pad into the bin. “How many of them were your kills?”

“None.”