Heart of Stone

by:

A.K. Hunter

Chapter Eighteen

"Every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time." —Death Cab for Cutie, "What Sarah Said"

Someone had bashed his baby sister's head in.

Probably the same someone who'd put a bullet through his chest. The same someone who at that moment held the two most important people in Kevin's world.

Anger didn't even begin to describe it. Fear and helplessness barely scratched the surface. Grief . . . Grief paled in comparison to the mammoth weight on his soul. If Kevin could crack his own chest open and scrape out his heart, cure himself of every feeling, he would.

He sat at Brigid's beside, holding her hand. Blood was caked underneath her fingernails, and tubes ran into her veins. Two of her fingers were immobilized in splints. Her other hand was trapped across her midsection in a cast. His other hand was cuffed to the wheelchair they'd used to deliver him to his sister's room in the ICU. What a pair they made. Misfits—the lone survivors of their burned down family tree.

Kevin stared at his shoes, listening to the cadence of the heart monitor and the hum of the ventilator. He breathed a little slower, rationing his breaths. He couldn't look at his sister, at the bloodied, broken pulp that Brigid had been turned into. Her hair wasn't blonde anymore. It was pink—stained by all the blood that had escaped her body.

He wished he could take her wounds, her pain, and give her his health, his cursed luckiness that forced him to survive while everyone around him died. Where had he been while she'd been brutalized? Working? Pouting about his sad, pathetic life? At least he had a life. At least he had a future.

Tears slipped down his face, landing on the cold linoleum as he recalled every unkind thing he'd ever said or done to her.

"Hey."

Kevin looked up at the familiar voice. Beckett stood next to him, her eyes troubled. She held out a tissue, and he took it.

"Thanks."

Kate pulled up a chair closer to her friend. "How is she?"

"Probably dying."

Her eyes widened, and Kevin swallowed thickly.

"The doctor said she was bleeding into her brain, probably for hours, before she was found. There's no telling when or if she'll wake up, or if she'll ever be a normal person again. I should have been there, Beckett—" He choked. "I should have saved her. She's my little sister..." A sob ripped up from his throat, and Beckett's arms wrapped around him. Kevin sank into the gesture, holding onto her with his one free hand.

"You can't save everyone, Kev," she whispered.

"I can't save anyone."

After a few moments, he pulled away, wiping at his face. "Any news?"

"We've got a lead on one of Sloane's men. A guy named Donovan."

Kevin nodded. "I know him. What did he say?"

She sighed. "He'd not talking, and we don't have anything to pin him with." Her words sped up at Kevin's aggravated expression. "We're watching him. It's only a matter of time before he slips up and gives something away."

"I can break him," Kevin insisted. "Tell the feds to let me off the leash, Beckett. I can get him to talk."

"I'm trying. You know they do everything in their own time."

"We don't have time!" he snapped. "It's been three weeks!"

"I know."

Kevin lowered his voice. "What about Hunt?"

"He's keeping his distance. The FBI can't know he's involved, or the entire investigation is at stake. All of Alexis' suffering will be for nothing if we can't use the evidence we've collected."

He exhaled raggedly. "I can't keep doing this, Kate. I can't keep waiting, watching while everyone I love is taken away."

"I know."

A tap at the door caught their attention. Javier stood in the doorway, looking grave. "Got the tox report from Lanie." The detective wouldn't make eye contact with his former partner.

Kate stood up. "I'll be right back."

"Tell me," Kevin said.

Javi shook his head at the exact moment that Kate said, "I don't think—"

"Tell me what it says, Esposito!" Kevin snapped, at wit's end. It was the first sentence he'd said to his former partner in years.

Javier nodded grimly. He licked his lips. "Lanie said the Sloane's drug is some kind of barbiturate, a heavy, super high-dose tranquilizer that depresses the central nervous system. She hasn't seen that particular kind of drug before, so it's custom made. Sloane probably has some drug contacts that you didn't know about."

"What are the side effects?"

"There's no documented—"

"What are the potential side effects then? What can this do to them?" Kevin demanded.

Javier sighed, for the first time looking genuinely sad for his former friend. "Regularly administered or give in high doses, that class of drug can cause addiction, delayed fetal development, fetal hemorrhage, depressed respiration, and death."

The fine thread holding his broken pieces together snapped. "Get the feds."

"Kevin, we're try—"

"I want to talk to Shields!" he snarled, standing up, yanking restlessly at the cuff connecting him the wheelchair. "Get him now!"

Beckett nodded to Javi, who left the room in search of the agent.

"I know this is difficult—"

"Does Castle know? Does he know what's going to happen to them?" Kevin demanded.

"We don't know anything for sure right now."

"I know that every minute they're with Sloane is another chance for him to kill them!"

"You don't think I know that?" Beckett screeched. "I love her, too, Kevin! We all love her, too. You're not the only one whose heart has been torn in half!"

"What's going on in here?" Shields stepped into the room, eyeing Kevin.

"Let me off the leash," Kevin insisted. "Let me find this son of a bitch. I'll break him. I'll get the information we need. You have to let me go."

"I don't have to do anything."

"Did Esposito tell you about the tox report?"

"No."

"They're going to die!" Kevin screamed. "They're going to die while you sit on your ass and do nothing!"

Shields held his hands up. "You need to calm down."

"What do you want from me? I'll wear a wire. A tracking bracelet. I'll be your man on the inside. I'll get you whatever information you need! I'll do whatever you want! Just let me find them! PLEASE!"

Shields stared at him for just a moment, and Kevin stared back, tears sliding down his face, never breaking eye contact.

"Fine."

Kevin was taken up short. "What?"

"What?" Beckett echoed.

"I assumed you were insincere from the beginning, but I'm willing to reconsider my previous opinion. If you can find Donovan, you can question him while wearing a wire and a camera, and after that we'll discuss your options." Shields stepped forward and unlocked the cuff on Kevin's wrist. "Come on. If time is as critical as you say it is, we need to get started right away."

Shields held out his hand, and after a beat, Kevin took it.

"It's about damn time."

Donovan was a creature of habit, and his favorite place in the entire world was a strip club over in Queens. The feds and the NYPD knew this, more than once, Donovan had been picked up at the club. Unfortunately, the man was as slippery as the pomade he slicked into his filthy, black hair, and unwinding with a lap dance wasn't illegal. There wasn't much that law enforcement could do besides watch him and wait for him to slip up. Kevin, on the other hand, had no such limitations.

Shields' instructions were simple: get the intel through whatever mean necessary and leave no trail to the FBI or the NYPD. The audio feed and button camera weren't terribly uncomfortable against his bandages. Kevin had been surprised when Shields had pressed the gun into his hand, fully loaded, telling him this was a test run and that the feds would be displeased if he killed someone.

"A test run?" Kevin had asked.

"I want to see if you're really as capable as your history implies."

"Why?"

"We'll talk more later. For now, think of this as an audition."

It was then that Kevin realized the agent hadn't relented out of kindness, that there was more than just a hostage rescue in the FBI's purview. If he hadn't been so worried about Alexis and the baby, he might have felt betrayed. As it was, he didn't give two fucks about what the FBI's plans were. All that mattered was Alexis' safety.

Kevin sipped his glass of water on the rocks, watching as Donovan enjoyed the lap dance that Kevin had paid for. It didn't even occur to the dumbass to wonder or worry about who was sending drinks and beautiful women his way. Sloane sure knew how to pick them. He flagged down another scantily clad waitress. "My friend over in the corner needs a refill, and I'd like one, too." He handed her his water glass.

"Sure you don't want something stronger?" she asked, clearly confused by his order.

"Don't got the blood for it," Kevin answered honestly, slipping yet another twenty under the waistband of her skintight shorts. "Quickly, please."

She scurried away, and Kevin watched Donovan grind against the woman who was lavishing attention upon him. His face was flushed from his drinks and his desire. His eyes were glazed. After the next drink, he'd be ready for Kevin to question.

Kevin's fingers tapped impatiently against his glass as he downed the rest of his water. His chest ached, but he pushed that to the side. He'd be fine. Slowly and carefully, he approached his mark, jerking his head to the side when the woman on Donovan's lap looked up at him. She wasted no time leaving them alone, and Kevin took a seat next to Sloane's man.

"Donovan," Kevin greeted him.

The man's drink-dimmed eyes bugged out. "I thought you were dead!"

"Wishful thinking, huh?"

"No!" The man was quick to try to appease Kevin. "I told him not to—"

"Spare me. I'm not here to kill you. I just want to talk."

He ran a hand through his greasy black hair. "I, uh, I don't think I should be talking to you."

Kevin leaned forward with a smile, casually resting the barrel of his gun against the man's kneecap. "I'm not asking."

Donovan's face went white, and he gulped. "Alright."

To his credit, the man didn't scream or kick or even fight as Kevin guided him to the men's room. As soon as the door swung behind them, Donovan turned on him with gun in hand, and Kevin wasted no time yanking the man's wrist back. The bullet lodged in the mirror behind them, and Kevin yanked the man forward, slamming his face against the sink. The gun dropped to the floor, and Kevin kicked it away before slamming Donovan's face against the porcelain once more for good measure.

"Nice try," Kevin taunted, pushing him down to his hands and knees. Blood poured down the man's face, and he spat out a broken tooth onto the floor.

Donovan flinched when Kevin latched the door behind them, and immediately became apologetic. "I couldn't believe what Sloane did to you and Nolan. It's not right."

Kevin shrugged. "We're not exactly good men though, are we?" He pulled his gun out from his lower back, the click echoing around them. "Here's how this is going to go: I'm going to ask you a question. If you give me the answer I need, we can move on with our lives. If you try to lie to me, or if you don't give me the answer I need, well, you'll catch on."

"W-what do you want to know?" Donovan whimpered.

"I'm looking for someone. Someone your boss took from me."

"I-I don't know—"

A bullet embedded itself in the floor next to Donovan's head, and he shrieked, backing away.

"I told you not to lie to me," Kevin said, seemingly unconcerned with the other man's hysteria. "Now, let's try again. I'm looking for a pregnant woman. A redhead. Does that ring a bell?"

Donovan's eyes widened. "Sh-she's yours?"

"Where is she, Donovan?"

"I... Sloane would kill me if I told you."

"That's unfortunate. Because I'm going to kill you if you don't tell me where she is."

"You said—"

Another bullet found it's mark just short of the hysterical man's body. "I'm a liar," Kevin shrugged. "Now tell me where she is."

The man began to tremble.

"Come on, Donovan. You know I'm good for it. You know what I'm capable of."

"You should just cut your losses," he tried to bargain, his voice shaking with fear. "You don't want Sloane's leftovers."

Kevin froze, every limb in his body tensing with fury. He turned to the man. "What did you just say?"

"The last time I saw her she had her mouth on his—" He shrieked as Kevin put a bullet through his foot; blood splattered on the tile around them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Donovan screeched.

Kevin cocked the gun, pointing it at Donovan's head. "I'll ask you once more. Where is she?"

"I can't—" he howled as Kevin put a bullet through his other foot, and he dragged his feet behind him, leaving angry red streaks on the floor as he tried to back away.

"Give it up, Donovan. I've got more bullets than you have limbs."

The man was openly sobbing. "Sloane... Sloane's keeping her in his safe house upstate. Near Liberty."

"Tell me exactly where," Kevin snarled, getting up in the man's face. "And if you lie to me, I'll make you beg for death."

The man began to sob out directions, which Kevin memorized. "Was that so difficult?" he spat, slamming the gun across the man's face, knocking him out cold.

Shields called his cell phone, and Kevin answered. "You heard that?" he asked.

"Yes. Now come back. We'll dispatch a team to the safe house."

"I'm going after them. Get your team up there," Kevin answered, ending the call and turning off the cell phone. He dug through Donovan's pockets until he found his car keys. The man probably wouldn't be driving for a while.

Kevin peeled out of the parking lot, tugging the camera and audio feed off of his skin and tossing them in the back seat. He sped through the city streets, Donovan's words echoing in his mind. If what he'd said was true, Kevin was already too late. He'd already failed to protect her when she'd needed it most.

He would never forgive himself.

The days had taken on a terrible routine for Alexis. She'd counted almost three weeks since Sloane had brought her upstairs. Since they'd struck their bargain—in return for letting her keep the baby, she had to do whatever he wanted—Alexis' days started and ended with taking care of Sloane's needs. He hadn't forced her into having sex with him yet. She wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but she was grateful to still hold onto at least one shred of her dignity. She suspected her pregnancy had something to do with his hesitance. While he had no qualms about demanding that she take care of him, he never attempted to reciprocate. As relieved as Alexis was to not be forced into having sex with him, as glad as she was that he left Rosie alone, she knew it couldn't last. It wasn't as easy to ignore a newborn's existence.

Alexis had to get away from him before that became an issue.

She stared at herself in the mirror. The dress Sloane had picked out barely covered her ass, and the low sloping bust and the empire waist made her belly less noticeable by showing off her cleavage. If she was in any other situation, she might have thought it was sexy. She would have worn it for Kevin—

No! She put her mental guard up before the grief could slam into her. She couldn't think about him. If she wanted to stay strong and not fall to pieces, she couldn't think about him. Her eyes were haunted with deep, dark circles clinging to them. The skin around her left eye was yellow-green from a healing bruise. Sloane's patience with her grief had run out some days earlier, when he'd caught her sobbing in the shower after their time together.

I'm so fucking tired of your tears!

He'd given her a black eye and had locked her in the basement for the night. Alexis didn't mind the bruise, or the isolation. She'd take a night in the basement over sharing a bed with him. Still, she didn't cry anymore. Sooner or later, he'd realize that Alexis didn't really care what happened to her own body and would start taking his anger out on the one thing in her life she still did care about—her baby. She stared at her reflection, at her haunted eyes and swollen lips, at the fingerprint-shaped bruises on her neck, her arms, the upper part of her breasts. How had this happened? How had this become her reality?

She shook her head, trying to loosen the hopelessness in her mind. She had to focus. She couldn't mess this up. Alexis counted seconds in her head, listening to Sloane's massive form stomping around in the bedroom. The only upside to her new life, her new hellish routine, was that she now knew exactly what to expect and when to expect it.

A booming knock shook the closed bathroom door. "Baby, come to bed."

Sloane's words weren't quite as clipped as usual, and several syllables slid together. He'd be well into the bottle by now, another part of his routine. Every night for the past twelve days, while Alexis showered and prepared for bed, he indulged in expensive whiskey. More often than not, he'd gotten totally intoxicated. She suspected he considered her thoroughly broken; it wasn't as much of a risk to let his guard down. Alexis had let him continue thinking that, waiting, learning, and planning to make her escape.

The door rattled again. "Baby, come on."

Alexis took a deep breath. Show time.

The door was locked from the inside, and she shook the handle, pretending to be unable to open it.

"I can't," she called through the door.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I think it's stuck."

"Did you lock it?" His voice had taken on a mean tone, and Alexis began to tremble. If this didn't work, she wouldn't be able to escape his anger.

"No!" she cried, her anxiety only partially fake. She carefully ignored the terrified voice in the back of her head that told her to stop. "No, you told me not to lock it. And I didn't! I listened to what you said. I wouldn't break the rules—"

"Christ," he muttered. "Okay, okay. Just shut up for half a second."

"Devin," she whined, fearfully egging him on. She couldn't give him too much time to think. Sloane wasn't stupid, and though the alcohol numbed his deviousness to a certain extent, Alexis knew if she didn't keep him occupied, he'd see through her pathetic ruse. "I'm claustrophobic, Devin! I can't stay in here. Get me out!"

She heard a clinking sound: glass on glass. Was he drinking more? Good. She licked her lips and prepared another verbal onslaught.

"Devin!" she shrieked, shaking the door again. "Why are you doing this to me? I've been good! Why are you punishing me?!"

"Jesus God, woman!" he cursed. "Fine! Just calm the fuck down. I've gotta get something to take the handle off..."

Alexis pressed her ear against the door, listening as his booming steps carried him away. The bedroom door slammed behind him. Excitement and fear poured into her veins. Had that actually worked? She quickly unlocked the bathroom door and hurried into the bedroom, half expecting him to jump out and attack her. Nothing. He'd really left the room.

This was the hard part, the part that would cause the most harm if she didn't succeed. The bedroom she'd been held in was locked from the outside. Even if she'd managed to take Sloane down in the bathroom, she still wouldn't be able to get out of the bedroom. Alexis grabbed a small, bronze lamp from the bedside table. It was heavy enough to do serious damage, and her sweaty hands held tight to it as she stood next to the bedroom door, waiting for Sloane to return.

He heard a key in the lock, and her heart sped up so fast she couldn't breathe. Don't choke. Don't hesitate. This is your only chance. Sloane pushed the door open, stepping directly into her line of fire. The lamp made a satisfying thunk on the side of his head.

"The fuck?!" he yelped, falling sideways, disoriented by the force of the blow.

Alexis shoved him out of the way, pushing the door open, and as she stepped into the hallway, something sharp dug into the back of her calf, dragging downward. She shrieked as her leg was pulled out from under her and she hit the floor, catching most of her weight on her hands and arms. Something hot and wet slid down the back of her leg, and she screamed at the sight of Sloane stumbling toward her. A bloody screwdriver fell from his hand and onto the carpet. She pushed herself back, trying desperately to get away from him.

"You little bitch!" he slurred, blood poured down the side of his face as he groped in his pockets. A syringe flashed in his hand before he lunged at her, and she caught his hand before it drove the needle into her neck. She couldn't let him drug her again. It would be all over. She wouldn't be able to fight anymore. While both of her arms were busy keeping the needle at bay, he punched her in the face, the blow landing on her already bruised cheekbone. Her head slammed against the carpet at the force of the blow, and for half a second, she lost focus. The sharp edge of the needle tickled her skin, leaving shallow scratches. Some of the drug oozed out of the needle and onto her neck. With a desperate gasp, she pulled her knee up and jammed it into his crotch.

All the air left his lungs in a wheeze, and Alexis leapt at the small window of opportunity. She twisted his wrist back until the syringe fell to the floor, totally unprepared when his free hand wrapped around her slim throat. His weight settled over her, and she bucked her hips to loosen his hold.

"You've always been more trouble than you're worth," he snarled at her. "No more. You need a reminder of who's really in charge here." The hand she'd just disarmed gripped ruthlessly at her thigh, and her underwear was torn away with a loud rip.

Alexis sputtered, spots appearing in her vision as she flailed beneath him. NO! No, she'd been so close! Rosie kicked around inside of her like she knew something was wrong.

"You belong to me. You and that baby. You're both mine." He squeezed her throat harder for emphasis, leaning close. "And as soon as that little bitch is out of you, I'm selling her off to the highest bidder."

Sloane's words echoed in Alexis' darkening mind, and something inside her shattered. Her palm slapped against the carpet, her fingers wrapping around the syringe. She let her body go limp, loosening Sloane's hold for one precious second as she slammed the needle into his flesh. The plunger was mercilessly pressed in, depositing the tranquilizer into his bloodstream. She didn't let go, not when anger made his fingers dig deeper into her flesh, not when her vision faded to white and her chest screamed for air.

Slowly, his grip on her throat loosened, and he slumped forward. Alexis pushed him off of her and scooted back, gasping, her body shaking as small whimpers escaped her abused throat. Sloane's cold eyes locked on hers as he fought to stay conscious. "I'll... find you." His breath came in labored gasps, and after far too long, his eyes fell shut.

Without even a moment to celebrate her victory, Alexis crawled over to Sloane, searching his pockets for a cell phone. Nothing. Where would he have hid it? Pain shot up her calf, and blood seeped down to her ankle. Her head spun, and she forced herself to her feet, leaning hard against the wall. Rosie was moving inconsolably, and Alexis pressed her hand against her belly. Her abdomen cramped hard, and she barely held back the shriek of pain. Warm fluid gushed down her thighs.

"No," she whispered, pressing her palm harder against her belly, against her daughter's fluttering movements. "It's too soon. You're not supposed to come out yet."

Alexis glanced over at Sloane's prone form. He would wake up, and he'd hunt her down. She had to get out. She had to save her baby. That was all that mattered.

Step by excruciating step, Alexis forced herself forward. She found the front door and pushed it open. Frozen air wrapped around her, snowflakes sticking to her skin, and her eyes landed on a pair of large, men's boots next to the door, along with a coat. The coat smelled like cigarettes, whiskey, and Sloane's soap. She slid her bare feet into the boots and her arms into the coat, which covered her from shoulder to thigh. Snow and barren trees spread out in front of her as far as she could see into the dark night. She had no idea where she was. She knew, somewhere, in the back of her mind, that Sloane would have needed a vehicle to get here. His man, Donovan, drove up to the house sometimes, too. The tire tracks in the snow said that much. She didn't know where he kept the keys; she didn't know if the garage required a code, and she didn't want to lose precious time searching.

Another cramp split her abdomen in two, and she whimpered, tears slipping down her face. She had to get out. She needed to leave; she needed to get help. Her over-sized boots sank into the snowpack as she walked parallel to the road, leaning against the trees to stay upright. Blood spotted the snow behind her. Chills ripped up and down her body, but she kept moving, she kept putting one foot in front of the other, hoping and praying that help wasn't far away.

Kevin sprinted to the front door before the car was even in park. The front door was wide open, and cold air seeped into the house.

"Alexis!" he yelled, out of breath from his short run to the door. He steadied himself against the wall for a moment, breathing deeply. A small splotch of blood stained the left side of his shirt. He left the foyer, searching the house, and soon came upon Sloane's prone form on the carpet. Blood splatters stained the floor along with a bloody screwdriver. A syringe was sticking out of his neck. Kevin approached him slowly, then realized the man wasn't breathing. He checked for a pulse. Nothing. Sloane was dead. He'd been killed by his own drug. Relief flooded through him, freezing in his blood when his eyes landed on the torn panties in Sloane's dead hand.

No.

Kevin stormed from one room to another, stopping in a small bedroom with no windows. There was something about the room, something about the energy... He stepped inside, noting the messy bedclothes and the dirty laundry piled in the corner. A satin negligee lay over the headboard, and anger and nausea almost knocked his feet out from under him. No, he couldn't think about that right now. He couldn't fall apart. Not while she was still out there, still missing. Kevin searched through the house, calling her name, desperate for some indication of where she'd gone.

Once his search had proved fruitless, Kevin circled back to the body, looking for clues that he might have missed in his haste. Tiny drops of blood marked the carpet leading to the front door. Sloppy, red-tinged bootprints picked up outside the door. Fear slammed into him. Alexis was out in the cold. She'd gotten away and was on the run.

Kevin rushed into the kitchen, stopping at a toolbox on the table. He dug through it until he found a flashlight, then turned his cell phone back on. He texted Shields three simple words. "Outside. Bring help."

Flashlight in hand, Kevin sprinted out into the frozen darkness after her.