58 Gone

**Date = 25 June**
*Three days and in a second things go bad*
**Place = San Francisco (Inferno parking / On the road)**
*Following the location of a phone*

**POV - Enrique**

“WHERE IS LEE?” Jackson strides into the private parking, fury radiating from him in waves, hair tousled as if he walked through a tornado. His boots slam against the concrete like he wants the whole floor to crack. His eyes are wild. Dangerous. Deadly.
His expression isn’t readable. It’s etched in rage. He doesn’t seem to see anyone as he heads straight to us, phone to his ear. Axel gives me a warning look from where he’s leaning against the bonnet. A storm is coming.
“You better fucking hope I don’t find you before I find Lee,” he sneers, deadly calm. It’s not a threat, it’s a statement. I wonder who the unfortunate person on the other side is. Or where Lee went this time. Or why it matters so much.
But I have bigger problems than his tiny roommate.
He stops. Drops his hand with the phone. His eyes cut through me like blades.
“Let me see it!” And with *‘it’* he means the video I’ve received. I send it.
Background noise wails through the air. The space is tense, vibrating with static energy.
“It’s … sick … fucking barbaric. These people … much worse than we thought,” Axel speaks fast, his hand runs over his face, slow and tense.
Jackson doesn’t say a word when the file pings through. He just presses play. The air fills with muffled laughter, sickening sounds, and the kind of shadows you don’t want to watch twice. His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring as the scene unfolds, each frame darker than the last. He doesn’t seem to breathe. Doesn’t blink. His throat is working like he’s choking down acid.
By the time the video cuts to black, his knuckles are white. “Is that —?”
“They wanted us to see …” I mutter, voice tight, low, dangerous.
Jackson doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to — the look on his face tells me enough. His shoulders are taut, fists already curling, eyes flicking toward the exit like he’s seconds from tearing the world apart.
“Lee is missing. Now this.” The rage inside him is more than fire — it’s an inferno looking for something to burn.
Jackson doesn’t move. He stands rigid beside the Jeep, hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying to keep them from breaking something. His jaw grinds so tight a vein ticks at his temple.
His phone rings. He puts it on speaker.
“Diabo,” a strong male voice says. I frown. Who is this? And why is he using Jackson’s middle name? We all have one … Portuguese… thanks to our Brazilian nanny. But we never use it.
“We found your Rolls. It’s okay.”
“You think I give a shit about the car? That’s metal. Lee’s —” He cuts himself off, breathing hard.
A moment of silence as if the other man is taking a deep breath to continue. “It’s at the hospital.”
“Surveillance?” Jackson grunts.
“Getting it now,” the voice says quickly. Professionally. “Eh …” the man stutters over the phone.
“Anything else?” Jackson gruffs grimly, eyes befitting his second name.
“We’ll find Lee.”
“Call me.” He drops the call and drags in a breath that sounds more like a growl. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at Axel either. His stare is fixed on the concrete at his boots, as if burning a hole clean through.
His chest heaves once, sharp, like a man surfacing from water too deep.
Then he explodes.
“FUCK!” His roar ricochets off the concrete, echoing through the garage. He drives his fist into the Jeep’s hood so hard the metal groans under the hit. He doesn’t even flinch at the pain. He hits it again. And again. “Sick fucks! I’ll gut them all!”
I jolt but don’t move to stop him. I know better — this is Jackson’s way of surviving the sight burned into his head, mixed with his worry for Lee.
Axel stands nearby, arms tense, eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting enemies to crawl out of them. “You think they have Lee?”
“They …” Jackson spits, chest heaving. His face is carved in fury, eyes wild, jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might snap. “If they did that to her …” His throat locks for a second, the words tearing out of him like barbed wire. “What the fuck do you think they’re doing …”
My stomach drops. My phone buzzes in my palm. With hands trembling around the phone, I answer, voice tight. “Ava?”
The nurse’s breathless voice floods the line. “Enrique — it’s Aria. She’s gone. Brick found her boots in the parking.” She takes a deep breath. “A man’s been shot …”
For a moment, I can’t process. The world tilts sideways. I grab the Jeep to steady myself.
Jackson’s head snaps around, eyes locking on me. “What?” His voice is sharp enough to cut steel.
My throat closes, but I force it out. “Aria’s missing.” My twin looks at me as if to make sure I’m not going to faint on him.
The silence that follows is suffocating, shattered only when Jackson slams both fists against the Jeep, bellowing like an animal caught in a trap. Axel swears under his breath. I feel my chest cave in, panic and guilt ripping at me.
“Where is Alejandro?” my twin asks. He looks darker than usual. I shrug. Alejandro called us here, but now he’s nowhere around.
As if summoned, a low growl echoes from the stairs, followed by sharp footsteps and a short bark. Jinx, as if feeling the tension, snarls lightly.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Alejandro says, tall, dark, and stone-faced. “We’ve got a situation.” I’ll say we have. A damn serious one. We glare at him to continue.
“Bomb threat … Luke’s school.” I’m starting to feel sick. Is Luke gone, too? “Nine-one-one call saying there’s a suspicious suitcase that ticks.”
My stomach flips.
Jackson’s eyes sharpen. “What?”
Alejandro nods grimly. “False alarms. Evacuations, chaos, but no bomb.”
“And late last night, Lee sent my father a message, saying he should take his family to a safe place. To not send Luke to school.” Alejandro’s voice is cold as ice. “It’s not a coincidence. They fucking wanted Luke.”
“He’s safe, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. They’re with Garcia at Black Pit.” He looks at Jackson. “I need to talk to Lee, but I can’t reach him.”
“Lee’s gone. Aria, too. And there’s this.” Axel shows him the video. Alejandro lifts his head. His eyes are glassy, not from tears. From fire. “Fuck.” His voice cracks, sharp and dangerous. “Who are these bastards?”
“This isn’t random. If Lee made that call, there was a reason,” Jackson sounds more optimistic. “A plan.”
“A shitty one, if it got Aria taken,” I fret, pulling a long face. I don’t trust Lee.
“Maybe Aria was where she wasn’t supposed to be …” His voice hardens like steel cooling.
Axel and D-Boy straighten. Alejandro takes a half-step forward, cautious, prepared.
“Maybe Lee was doing something shady … he could be working with them.” I’m pushing the boundaries, I know that. But right now, I don’t care if my brother maims me, as long as I get Aria back.
A tense silence follows. Then Jackson slams his fist against the hood of the Jeep again, hard enough to dent it. No one even flinches — we expected as much. I expected worse.
He opens the driver’s door, fury simmering just under his skin. Then stops, voice quiet and dangerous.
“Get in.”
“Where are we going?” Alejandro asks. Jackson shrugs and sighs.

We get into the Jeep, one of the armored Blackburn ones, designed to carry soldiers and high-tech weapons, among other things.
As soon as we’re seated, Jackson’s phone rings. He puts it on the car speaker.
“Diabo,” the same strong male voice says.
“Aria and Lee were taken. A blonde woman in red shoes and that T-Bone fella. We found a wounded man in the hospital parking garage. Two shots to the abdomen. And two smashed phones … Aria’s and …”
“Lee’s,” Jackson interrupts.
“No, Rock’s. The bodyguard,” the man says. “He says Lee asked to borrow it.”
“Recon done … everyone reported in,” the guy says.
“Except Aria and Lee,” Axel chips in.
“Lee’s phone is ringing, no answer,” the man continues.
“Check in with any news,” Jackson growls.
“Will do.” The voice answers, and then he’s gone.
“Great.” Jackson gives Axel his phone, hands shaking lightly. “Open it,” he mutters in a tight, raspy voice. “Let’s see where Lee is …” I’ve never seen him this on edge. Never.
Axel nods to confirm. I move forward in my seat.
“And how are you gonna see where Lee is?” I ask dryly.
“I’ve put this tracking app on his phone.” We all turn our heads to glare at him. He put a fucking tracker on his roommate’s phone. Now that’s not weird at all.
“Oh, fuck off.” He drives the Jeep to the exit, this time with cold focus instead of rage.
I should be the one to go crazy here, but instead, I feel entirely depleted, drained of every inch of energy.
“Location shows an industrial area … go over the Oakland Bay Bridge,” Axel directs.
“Hurry,” I scream anxiously.
“We’ll find them, bro,” D-Boy says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Woof!” Jinx yaps from the seat between us, as if he agrees.
“So, Lee took the Rolls?” Axel asks carefully. Jackson must be upset. His customized Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire Droptail is his favorite roadster. None of us is even allowed to drive the black monster.
“Fucking twit sneaked out … and stole the car. The most expensive one in the lot.” A small, dark grin appears on my brother’s broody face. Totally juxtaposed to what I was expecting.
“Who was the man on the phone?” Alejandro asks the question that’s bothering me, too. Who was that? Furthermore, how does he know Jackson’s middle name … it’s not something we advertise. Very few people know about that.
“He’s one of the men watching over Lee,” he says, now as calm as a fucking daisy.
“What men?” I poke some more.
He rolls his eyes. “Just men.” And knowing my brother, that’s the end of that.
***‘You don’t need to be Prince Charming to me, I just need this to be real, I don’t need no Fairy tale’***
Soft music fills the car. For a moment, we all glance around, wondering where it’s coming from. Then Jackson pulls a ringing phone from his pocket with a frown. Mel’s stupid-ass ringtone.
***‘You don’t need to kill a dragon for me’***
“It’s Darren,” he says, sounding surprised. I guess no one expects a call from the grave. His face is bitter, his eyes blazing. Tension crackles in the air.
“Answer it,” I say sharply. My nerves are raw.
***‘Ooh, ooh … I don’t need no Fairy tale’***
“Hello,” he answers, calm as wind before a storm, putting it on the car speaker again.
A click. Static. Then a voice filters through. Distorted. Mechanical. Drawling. Southern.
“Oh, dark and gloomy … this must be Jackson,” the robotic voice, speaking perfect English with a Southern accent — with a twist — reverberates through the car. Using a voice changer. Ug. Does that mean we know the guy? Could it be Graham? He has a Texan accent.
Axel gestures to take the I-80. Jackson is breaking all speed records.
We drive over the bridge and continue on the I-80, heading North now, following Lee’s location. Or at least his phone’s location.
“I thought I’d rather give you a call … I don’t know what Darren was thinking with those stupid mayday messages.” At least we agree on something. And now we know for sure he knew Darren. That’s another fact for the board.
“Who are you?” Jackson still sounds placid and tranquil, but his eyes are stormy hurricanes. I marvel at how he can control his composure like that. His eyes narrow.
Silence on the line. A low, robotic chuckle.
“Call me whatever you want.”
“Where the fuck is Lee and Aria?” His control is slipping a little.
“Oh … so you do care. Good. I was beginning to wonder.” Jackson’s face pales as if he knows he’s made a mistake. He forces back calmness.
“Why are you calling?” My twin’s tranquil voice is a paradox with his bleak, tense expression.
“Want to know what you think of my movie?” the voice says just as calmly.
“Can’t say I liked the script,” Jackson brawls.
The urge to puke claws up my chest, but the laugh from the phone comes first — sharp, ugly, the kind of laugh that doesn’t belong to someone sane — “I liked it.”