Max heard the ping of his phone in his pocket just after he and Rory stepped into the elevator at the office downtown. He glanced at his watch as he fished his phone out, expecting it to have been Darren, or maybe even his dad, asking why the two of them were running behind.

Rory clearly expected the same. "Tell 'em to calm the fuck down."

Why Rory was running late, Max wasn't sure. He, himself, had intended to stop for coffee, but after seeing the line as his favorite coffee shop decided against it. Choosing to bravely face his morning uncaffeinated...

But when he checked his phone, the text wasn't from his da or Darren...and when the elevator doors opened and Rory stepped out, Max didn't move an inch. He just stared at the image he'd been sent from Elise, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.

Rory stopped the doors from closing with a quick grab, but didn't speak initially. "You look sick. What's wrong?"

"...Chief and Terry aren't okay," Max muttered.

"What do you mean?" Rory asked as Max rushed past him. "Marcus?"

"Da!" Max yelled while he hit the call button just below Oscar's number.

There wasn't a lot that made Max panic or run, but this did both.

The phone rang...and rang...and rang.

He burst into his father's office with Rory on his heels, and his dad couldn't have looked any more confused.

"What in the fec-" his father started, but Max hissed out a shush. He'd heard a click that, for the briefest moment, he thought was Oz picking up.

"On the elevator he said something about Terry and Chief not being okay," Rory said, looking just as confused as James, and just as eager for an explanation.

But instead of that click being Oscar, picking up the phone and answering in some smart ass quirky way like he tended to do, especially when he was in trouble, Max was met with the impersonal electronic voice of a woman.

"You have reached the voicemail box of-" she stated in a stilted manner, followed by an awkward pause and then a clipped recording of Oscar saying his name in an unenthused tone. "Please leave a message after the tone, then hang up..."

"Marcus?" his dad again questioned, reading him like a book. Just like he could when Max was a child.

He was pale, trembling... Max couldn't even communicate. Instead, in his frustration, he tossed his phone onto the desk in front of his father like he'd just tried to pick up a searing hot pan with his bare hands. It made a loud 'clack' as it landed. And Max had to turn away, running a hand through his hair and then over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes tightly.

Whoever had sent the pictures of their driver and guard, both likely dead, had sent more than just that...

Pictures of a bloody heap lying somewhere on the bird-shit and dust covered cement loading docks of one of the piers not far from where they'd sent two of the Devil's Rejects to a watery grave. The shitty side of town. Commerce City.

That heap was Oscar.

He knew it was, and he didn't even know what state his little sister was in. There were no photos of her. Only a text with the flimsy promise that she'd not been hurt, and would stay that way, as long as Max agreed to show up where whoever had done this asked him to.

As his father studied the messages, Max had to swallow down the bile that rose into his throat. Oz couldn't be dead. He couldn't be.

Why the fuck had he let this happen? Why had he let them go out? Why hadn't he sent more security? How could he fucking fix this?

Before he even knew what he was doing, Max was punching a hole into the sleek drywall, a slur of obscenities streaming from his lips.

Oscar wasn't dead. Elise was okay.

He just had to keep telling himself that. Even as his father issued orders, and as tears threatened to spill down his flushed face.

Oscar wasn't dead... He took a deep breath. Elise was okay... Max exhaled.

His fist was throbbing, but it was nothing. Nothing compared to the fear constricting his chest.

Leaving the office with his father and the guys was a blur. All Max could think about was if Oz felt alone...and he couldn't stand it.

Someone had hurt, and possibly even killed, the love of his life, and that fact that he may have lost Oscar and wasn't even there by his side was the most agonizing thing Max had ever experienced.

And Elise...she had to be terrified. She didn't deserve to be dragged into this. Into beef that someone very clearly had with him. He was her older brother. He was supposed to be there for her. He was supposed to protect her.

Max took another shaky, but deep breath.

Oscar wasn't dead, and Elise would be okay...but whoever was behind this when he found them...they sure as shit wouldn't be.

He'd stop at nothing until he had his sister back. He wouldn't stop until he had Oscar back...

Oscar had only taken time to think about what death might be like once, when he was very high in a friend's basement.

He'd come to the conclusion that what came after death must be a lot like what came before being born, in the way that he didn't exist and therefore couldn't be bothered by the fact that he didn't exist.

But that wasn't what he was feeling at all.

He felt lost. He felt guilt. He felt...pain?

The punk's eyes opened and were met with a deep blue sky broken up by large fluffy clouds rolling by. The smell of asphalt, copper, wet cement and the sound of water lapping against the old dock.

He moved to sit up but was met with a blinding pain that forced him back down with an agonized grunt. It was followed by a whimper and heavy panting as he got himself to roll over and the moment he did, air hit his blood-soaked shirt, sending chills up his spine.

There was blood everywhere. He was covered and laying in it, but it still hadn't occurred to him that it was his.

His good arm fumbled around inside his jacket and, after a small struggle, managed to wiggle his phone free. There was a small plastic thunk, as the phone hit the ground and Oscar then saw why he wasn't dead.

A bullet was lodged into the center of the screen—meant to be in his lung or his heart, but he'd lucked out...maybe. He was still trying to decide if he'd rather be dead right now, rather than wounded at the edge of town without a car, or a cell phone...or Max.

"Shit... Elise!" That was right. Pasta boy and Luke still had her. That meant he needed to get moving.

With another chorus of whimpers, grunts, and sobs, Oscar struggled to his feet and began to walk, there was only one place nearby he could think to go...

"M-Mrs. Russell? Mr. Bradley is here to see you..." the receptionist's tone was off and that alerted her first but second was the name.

"Mr. Bradley doesn't have an appointment..."

Oscar had never arrived on time for an appointment even when they'd been court ordered visits, so the fact that he'd just walked into the office building on his own couldn't mean anything good and that intrigued her.

"I know, but-"

"Send him in and cancel my two o'clock."

The moment her office door opened, she saw exactly why her receptionist had sounded alarmed. Oscar was paler than usual and covered in blood, enough that she was surprised that he was even conscious let alone standing.

"Oh my—Sit down! Sit!" She urged, getting up from her desk so fast that she nearly made herself light headed. Once he was seated she collected herself as she pulled out her cell phone and looked him dead in the eyes. "Oscar, is that... Ahem, is that... your blood?" she tried not to sound judgmental, and that's why Oscar had always liked Mrs. Russell, because even though they both knew what she was thinking, she at least tried not to act like that's what she was thinking.

"Yeah... Yeah, I hope so anyway..." Oscar replied and a look of relief crossed the therapist's face.

"I'm calling an ambulance."

"Can you call someone else first?"

"Oscar, I really don't think that's the best idea."

"I want him to know what happened and that I'm okay...but someone else might not be."

"Then you need to go to the police and-"

"Can't trust cops...." Oscar grunted as he tried and failed to get comfortable in the ruined chair.

"I know we've talked a lot about trust, but if someone else is in danger, Oscar, the authorities will likely need to be involved."

"Please—I know, it's just-"

"You can't help anyone else unless we get you some help."

"One call. Just a quick call, then you can call the entire national guard for all I care," Oscar pleaded. "I need to make this call. Please..."

He's aliiiiive!!! But definitely not out of the woods yet... 😥

Shout out to CRAZYPRIYA !  Thanks so much for your support!!