Page 49 of Twisted Control

I get it.

I’m properly fucked.

“There we go,” Levi says, nodding toward the Westmere.

Our intel said Jamie’s shift started at five. We watch as an older bellhop steps away from the entrance, and Jamie shuffles out to replace him.

“I see why you called me for backup,” Levi says. “Real apex predator right there.”

Jamie is barely five foot tall, early twenties, and shaped like a sack of mashed potatoes in a cheap uniform.

“You never know,” I snap back. “Could’ve been six-five with a black belt.”

Levi glances at Jamie—who looks like a thumb in a uniform—then back at me with a flat stare.

I roll my eyes and shift in my seat. “Look on the bright side. At least we get to catch up. I know you’ve spent the last few weeks staring at the empty passenger seat, crying yourself to sleep.”

Levi tests the edge of his knife against his thumb, completely unbothered.

“Yeah,” he mutters dryly. “Been inconsolable.”

We’ll have to wait until Jamie steps away, but at least we’ve got eyes on him now. The Westmere’s security is decent—cameras everywhere—but we’ve done this enough times to know exactly where the blind spots are.

I reach behind my seat for a bottle of water, and my hand catches on something soft.

Frowning, I pull it out.

A navy sock with a green stegosaurus stitched onto the side.

I stare at it for a second before looking over at Levi.

“This yours?”

His eyes flick over for half a second. Something in his face changes. “Put it back.”

“You been abducting kids? What the fuck⁠—”

“It’s my brother’s,” he snaps, snatching the sock and shoving it into the glove box with more force than necessary.

“Theo?” I frown, trying to remember the scraps of family history I’ve picked up over the years. “I thought he was in Nevada?”

Levi doesn’t answer. His jaw stays locked, gaze fixed hard on the hotel entrance.

Getting information out of Levi has always been like pulling teeth with plastic tweezers. Today is clearly no exception.

“So what, you’ve been out to Nevada?” I push.

Nothing.

“How’s your mom?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Why not?”

“She’s dead.”

Shit.