Nothing is Thicker Than Blood - Appetite For Destruction Sequel

Take Me To Church

They say that when someone goes missing, there's a 48 hour window. That's it. 48 hours. That's 2,880 minutes. 172800 seconds. In the grand scheme of things, it's such a laughably miniscule amount of time to be searching for someone until all hope is lost.

But this was a proven fact. 48 hours and the percentage of finding the person - alive and still in one piece - drastically drops until, mathematically speaking, there was no hope to find them.

48 hours.

"How long has it been?" Stiles' voice derailed my thoughts, but I didn't lift my head from my hands. I pressed the heels of my palms deeper into my eyes until lights erupted behind my closed lids.

"Four days." I couldn't muster the energy to be embarrassed about how my voice sounded like I was holding back tears. Derek had been missing for four days and I hadn't slept for three of them. Four days ago I'd returned to the loft to find it locked with the alarm system set, the floor inside littered with brass bullet casings and blood, and no sign of Derek.

Four days of Peter, Jackson, and myself running around trying to find any trace of Derek. Four days of long days and longer nights. Four days before Peter told me to round up the others and admit I needed help.

"These were left here," Chris spoke up, and I looked up to find him holding out one of the bullet casings to Scott, who took it and examined the skull engraved on it. "It's the mark of a family of Hunters based out in Mexico. The Calaveras."

"What would they want with Derek?" Lydia was the one to ask.

Stiles glanced at me before voicing his next question. "You don't think they killed him, do you?"

I swallowed the anxiety threatening to overwhelm me. "I... don't know." I admitted, fingernails biting into my palms as I clenched my fists. I looked up at Lydia. "I was hoping you could tell me."

I grabbed the box I'd put the bullet casings in and held it out to Lydia, who reached in and took a handful of the casings, rolling them around in her hand before closing her eyes and letting them drop from her fingers. They hit the floor with dull metallic clicks that were unnaturally loud in the silence.

No one said anything for a tense few seconds, everyone watching Lydia stare at the casings, entranced. "Is he dead?" I asked, trying and failing to keep my voice steady.

"No." I breathed a sigh of relief. "But I'm not sure he's alive either."

"What does that mean?" Stiles frowned at her, and the anxiety threatened to drown me again.

"I don't know." She admitted, looking frustrated with herself. "There's something not right, I just... I don't know."

"So if the Calaveras have him, how do we find them?" Scott asked when I put my heads back in my hands, gripping my hair in frustration.

"I know the Calaveras." Chris said. He put a hand on my shoulder in some semblance of comfort that, remarkably, helped me a little. "Their leader, Araya, used to work with my father."

"Would she listen to you?" I asked, lifting my head to direct my question at Chris. He shook his head.

"The last time I spoke with Araya she wasn't happy with me, more specifically my retirement." He said. "And even if she was willing to talk to me, she wouldn't just hand Derek over. If we're going to do this we're going to do it the hard way."

Stiles let out a breath through his nose that might have been a laugh. "Looks like we're going to Mexico."

-x-x-x-

The Mexican village sat high atop a mesa in the desert. The last time I'd been in a place like this I distinctly remembered that there had been more alcohol and celebration involved, though not this time around. This time, I was sitting in Chris' SUV, tugging at the sleeves of Derek's leather jacket I was wearing and wondering if James Bond ever felt like puking before infiltrating somewhere.