Untamed, Page 6

  Off the radar is an understatement. Over the last couple of weeks, Detective Stale has spent hours searching for the town, even using satellites to try to get a location. But he’s come up with nothing, so either Brooks is correct and the place doesn’t exist, or…

  Maybe he’s paid off people, I scribble down.

  By he, I mean Donny Elderman, but I never jot his name down. If I did, I risk the chance of the paper falling into the wrong hands.

  Brooks leans over the table, reads what I wrote, and then sinks back in the chair. “Do you know how many people he’d have to pay off to keep an entire town under the radar?”

  I collect the pen again, thinking, Yeah, but if anyone could do it, it’d be Elderman. I don’t write that down, though, choosing my words carefully. I rub my hand over my face and then press the tip of the pen to the paper. I’ve heard detailed, gory stories of the things that happened down in this warehouse, man. I don’t see why people would just make it up.

  “People make shit up all the time. It’s how legends are created and how myths get turned into wild stories that people believe.” He scratches at his wrist, and I notice a small, fresh cut.

  Eyeing the scratch, I mouth, What happened?

  Shaking his head, he yanks his sleeve down. “Nothing. I just cut myself on a stupid nail while I was helping my father in the shop.”

  My brows furrow as I mouth, Shop? What the hell? I’ve never heard of this shop before, and Brooks rarely helps his father due to the fact that he blames him for his brother’s death.

  Brooks shakes his head again and gives me a pressing look, begging me to understand something he can’t say.

  I resist the overwhelming urge to look around the room again, and instead scribble, Are you okay, man? I shove the paper across the table.

  “I’m fine,” he replies then scoots the chair away from the table. He slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

  He’s supposed to be working here for another hour. Something’s definitely wrong.

  As I start to stand up to chase after him, he turns around and mouths, Don’t. They’re watching me.

  Even though I desperately want to run after him and force him to tell me who they are, I make myself stay put. If Brooks is being watched, then I’m guessing I probably am, too. No wonder Doc knew I snuck Emery out last weekend.

  I pick up the pen and write for the rest of my break, pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. Pretending I’m not desperate to get the fuck out of here and text Stale.

  They’re watching.

  But who?

  The Devil himself?

  Or his allies?

  Eyes, eyes everywhere,

  hiding in the dark,

  always watching

  every move I make.

  Nothing belongs to me

  anymore.

  Just like my voice.

  Gone forever.

  God, please, someone just help me get out.

  Get out.

  Get out.

  Get out.

  I want to be free.

  For the first time in my life,

  I just want to be me.

  Whoever that is.

  Run.

  I want to run away from here

  and never look back.

  Run.

  Run.

  Run.

  Even if it means beginning again.

  Every single day, I tell myself

  just to get in my car and

  hold onto the steering wheel until the car runs out of gas.

  But I’m in too deep to bail.

  If I disappear, they’ll come looking for me.

  They’ll make death look easy.

  Words pour out of me as potent as my fear, spilling across the paper and splattering ink. With each stroke of the pen, I feel lighter. Freer. But then my “business” phone vibrates from inside my bag. Just like that, the lightness and freedom vanishes from my grasp.

  I dig through my bag until I find the phone then swipe my finger across the screen and open up the text message.

  Doc: Meet me in the back parking lot of the bar tonight at nine o’clock. We need to talk about something important. Don’t be late. And remember I hate being let down, so whatever I ask you tonight, it’s important that you answer right.

  I swallow the massive lump wedged in my throat as my hands begin to shake. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones. Whether it has to do with me sneaking out Emery or with what Brooks said, I’m not sure.

  The only thing I’m positive about is that I’ll never feel completely free again until this is all over.

  Chapter 8

  Death is in the Air

  Ryler

  By the time I arrive back at my apartment, the sun is descending behind the mountains and the sky is various shades of pink and orange. I linger in the stairway, smoking a cigarette and pretending to stare at the sky as the moon rises. Really, I’m trying to get a feel of my surroundings. If any cars look out of place. If any people look out of character. If anyone’s attention remains on me for too long.

  From what I can tell, nothing appears out of the ordinary, so I head inside, lock myself in my room, and text Stale from my “business” phone.

  Me: I think they might know about Brooks.

  Stale: Ryler, we’ve been through this before. You’re always worried they might know, but everything’s always been fine.

  I flop down on my mattress and rake my fingers through my hair, stressed out beyond imaginable.

  Me: Brooks was acting strange today. He said someone is watching him. And the other day Doc seemed to know I took Emery out even though we didn’t tell anyone.

  Stale: Brooks informed me of the same thing, but everything’s fine. In fact, I received a text from him earlier.

  Fine. Fine. Fine. A fucking placating word he uses all the time.

  Me: What did the text say?

  Stale: That he thinks he has a lead to where the warehouse is. He’s looking into it tonight. This could be big, Ryler.

  Strange…

  Me: When did he say this to you? Because earlier he was saying he thought the warehouse might not exist.

  Stale: He texted me just a couple of hours ago. Don’t worry about Brooks. We’re perfectly clear on what’s going on with him. Everything he’s been doing and saying to you has been calculated.

  I shake my head. I’m being left out of the loop again. I could press for more details, but knowing Stale, he’s not going to tell me anything.

  Me: I have to meet Doc tonight. I don’t want to, but if you think I should, could you at least send someone to follow me and keep an eye on things?

  Stale: I can send Loroney. He’s good. He’ll keep an eye on things.

  Me: Thanks.

  Stale: And Ryler, what do you mean you took Emery out the other night? Why didn’t you tell me this before?

  Me: Because it wasn’t a big deal. We just went to a concert. We were bored.

  Stale: I think it’s good you’re taking her out. Just be a little more careful that Doc doesn’t find out.

  Stale is always pushing for me to try to wiggle details out of Emery. He wants me to find out if she knows the location of the warehouse or if she knows any information about Donny Elderman that might be useful. I feel like an asshole for even thinking of using her like that, though, and avoid making any sort of agreement to do so.

  Me: I didn’t let him find out that we went out. I’m pretty sure he has someone watching me and they reported it back to him.

  I sit up and pull back the curtain. The view is of a park where a ton of people are running around, lying around, and having fun. What if one of Elderman’s men is down there, watching my bedroom window? What if they can see me looking out the window?

  I release the curtain and lie down, fear pulsating through my veins.

  Stale: Even if he does, you’ve done nothing wrong. All you need to do is make sure it stays that
way.

  Easy for him to say. He isn’t the one in the middle of a world where people get killed for saying the wrong thing. I could only imagine what they’d do to me if they found out I was working for the police.

  I text Stale that I will and then hide the phone in my boot.

  I’m irked as hell that I even have to go meet Doc. I lie in bed for another hour, drowning my thoughts in music, and fighting the urge to punch the wall until it’s time to go. I take my gun with me, something I normally don’t do, but it seems important tonight.

  A half hour later, I’m pulling up behind the bar, a small building located at the end of town near a few stores and gas stations. I park my car beneath the bright stars and moon and silence the engine. Then all that’s left to do is wait for whatever comes next.

  The gun in my hand leaves my arm feeling detached from my body. If this situation turns deadly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull the trigger. I’m not a killer, something I’ve quickly learned over the last few weeks.

  Time moves at a snail’s pace. Nine o’clock comes and passes. The longer I wait, the more my fear amplifies. I swear I can actually smell death in the air. I should have never showed up. What the hell was I thinking? For all I know, Stale didn’t even send his guy to keep an eye on things. Wouldn’t be the first time. And what does it even matter if one of his men is here? Once Doc climbs in the car with me, it’ll only take a second for him to end my life.

  I slump back in the seat, let my head flop back, and stare up at the ceiling. Another twenty minutes tick by before I lift my head back up and scan the vacant parking lot. Is a cop hiding in one of the cars? Or is it the same people watching Brooks?

  A knock on the window sends me jumping in my seat. I whip the gun in the direction of the passenger seat as the door opens.

  Doc sticks his head into the car, his brows dipping at the sight of the gun in my hand. “Relax,” he says, sliding into the passenger seat. “It’s just me.”

  Like that makes me feel better.

  My palms sweat as I lower the gun and set it on my lap. “Sorry… I’ve just been a little paranoid lately with all the shit going on.”

  By shit, I mean the stuff Doc has been dragging me into. Drug deals gone awry, lives taken, robbery and assault. Over the course of a few weeks, I’ve seen more blood spilled than anyone should ever have to see.

  Doc shuts the car door. “Being paranoid is understandable. I know I’ve been putting you through a lot lately, but you’ve been handling it well. Way better than a lot of the trainees.”

  “I’m trying to be less edgy,” I sign, then reach for my cigarettes in my pocket. “I really am, but it’s hard.”

  “I know it is, but I believe you’re going to make me proud one day. You’re always on time and do whatever you’re told. My hopes for you are high.”

  I attempt to get a read on his vibe. He seems at ease, unlike someone who’s about to kill, which should calm me down. But Doc is a relaxed killer.

  Doc removes his fedora and rubs his hand over the top of his head. “If only my son could have been like you. His life would have been so much easier for him.” With his finger, he draws a cross over his chest and utters something under his breath.

  Silence fills the cab. I light the cigarette up and take a long drag, attempting to settle my nerves. I find it odd that Doc speaks of his son in past tense. He once told me that his son was a drug addict, and I watched Doc kill a drug dealer for selling his son drugs that ultimately put his son in a coma. His son’s still alive, though, not gone.

  “Is everything all right?” I sign with the cigarette dangling between my lips.

  “As fine as it always is.” His voice is sharp, but then he sighs and places the hat on his head. “Sorry, I’m just a little irritated. I’ve had a rough night.” He pauses, his gaze gliding to mine. “I just found out earlier today that one of our own has been working for the police.”

  A ripple of panic rushes through me and my fingers itch for the gun, but Doc is watching my every move. Every single thing I do and say is going to weigh heavily on the outcome of the situation. One false move on my part, and I could end up dead.

  “You know, there’s nothing in this world I hate more than a traitor,” he mumbles, removing his gun from the holster. “In my opinion, they’re the scum of the earth. Going against family like that…. Outing secrets that aren’t theirs to share. Family is blood, Ryler. And you never go against blood.” He smoothes his hand over the metal, and the silver catches sharply in the moonlight. “If I had my way, I’d off every single traitor.”

  A chill slithers up my spine. “Who is the traitor?” My heart slams against my chest as I wait for his answer.

  His stare is nearly unbearable. “Brooks Dellefondie.”

  Shit. Brooks said he was being watched. Doc knows I speak to Brooks. What if he knows I’m an informant, too? If he does, then I’m dead where I sit. I’ll never see the light of day again.

  Just like Brooks.

  The thought strikes me like a fist to the stomach, and it takes all my effort not to shove the door open and hurl.

  “Brooks? Really?” I gape at him, hoping I look shocked and that I’m not noticeably trembling.

  “It was a real shock to me, too, especially for Doug Dellefondie who swears up and down he didn’t know about his son’s betrayal. It doesn’t really matter either way. It’s never a good thing to piss Donny off, and he’s fucking furious right now.” His eyes remain trained on me.

  I flick my cigarette out the window. “What’s going to happen to them?”

  “Brooks will be punished accordingly and so will his father. Doesn’t quite seem fair, though, that Doug has to pay for his son’s wrongdoings. Sometimes a father can try and try and try and yet their child still turns out to be a bad seed.” A faraway look crosses his expression, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his son. Or maybe even Emery.

  I absentmindedly brush my finger across the scar on my throat, remembering one of the final times my foster father punished me—a branding iron to the throat that seared my voice into oblivion. What kind of punishment will Brooks have to endure? Will it be worse?

  “But that’s not for you to worry about. I just wanted to tell you in person before the rumors started in our circle. Every time something like this happens, my men seem to turn into gossiping women.” Doc reaches across the console and gives me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Ryler. I’m proud to have you working with me.” He withdraws to put his gun in the holster.

  Doc doesn’t appear to know I’ve been working with Brooks, but I can’t shake the terrifying thought out of my head that Brooks could be dead, and I could be next.

  Fuck! I hope Brooks had time to run, but would it even do any good if he did? Elderman’s a powerful man with a lot of connections. Tracking down someone is extremely easy for him.

  “The other reason I called you here tonight is that I’d like for you to do me a favor.” Doc reaches for the door handle. “Keep an extra eye on Emery over the weekend. Don’t let her out of your sight, and by no means are you in any way to take her out.”

  A slow breath eases from my mouth. “I’m really sorry about that. I messed up big time.”

  “Yes, you did, but I know it wasn’t your fault. I know for a fact my daughter asked you to take her out.” When I start to shake my head, he raises his hand in front of him. “Ryler, watch what you say. I always, always know what’s going on in my daughter’s life. No more arguing. It’s clear you’re not remembering that night clearly.”

  I rack my brain for what happened the night Emery and I decided to go out, and a thought occurs to me. Before I decided to take Emery out the other night, she’d asked to get out of the house. In reality, it was my fault we left, but she suggested it first. But how in the hell could Doc know that? The only two people who heard her say it were me and Emery herself.

  “I need you to do one more thing for me,” Doc says, opening the door. “I need you to
convince Emery to come back home. She’s not doing well out on her own, but she’s too stubborn to see that.”