No. No, no, no.
My hand is shaking out of control as I strip Tommy’s sheet back and place my head to his chest. The sirens are loud outside making it hard to hear, but the lack of movement gives it away. “Oh, Tommy,” I moan. “Why?”
I have no option but to leave him where he is. I press a kiss to his cheek, stroking his jaw before bolting from the room and sprinting toward the window as I hear the first cop car pull up out front. My heart hammers in my chest while I push the window frame out as far as it will go. My feet make a dull thud when I hit the grass below, and I piston my legs to get moving. The sirens wail at me from every angle, the sound ricocheting off the fences that block in our backyard. Shouting carries across the lawn to where I’m climbing the fence frame. There’s one voice clear as day as I drop to the far side—“a fucking massacre.”
Yeah, it was, and it was also a long time coming. As I break into a run, one thought cycles through my head. They all deserved what they got, but I’m not finished yet. One more to go before it’ll be enough.
RIDING DIRTY
Bronx
Callum flicks his feet off the pegs of his Harley at my left, stretching his legs out for a few miles before tucking them back in. The ride between Lincoln and Sioux City is two and a half hours; it’s not quite long enough to warrant a rest stop, but enough that we’re all stiffer than a schoolboy at a strip club.
Early evening commuter traffic slows us down, and we break formation more than once to flank the stationary vehicles at the lights and file through the gaps. Children look on with keen interest as the low thud of engines ricochets off the cars they travel in. Their parents do their utmost best to pretend we don’t exist. It’s a beautiful contrast, highlighting the acceptance of innocence over the jaded preconceptions of the experienced. Kids don’t pass judgment on others due to their appearance, name, or beliefs. It’s how society as a whole should be, but somewhere along the way we get corrupted and swayed to believe in a convenient truth. Some more so than others.
I can’t help but wonder if without Gunter, Tommy would thrive? The kid has a good heart; an understanding of what is morally bankrupt, even among dogs. He clearly likes to feel a part of something, but maybe he could be a part of something better? Like the Fallen Saints? I make a mental note to check in with the kid, ask him what his thoughts on the idea are, and if he’d like to become a prospect for a club that would foster him and push him to excel more than Eddie and Gunter ever would.
Wide main streets give way to narrower suburban lanes as we round the last few corners before Ryan’s place. King slows us down to an idle, cruising along their street cautiously. I catch a glimpse of Ryan’s Camaro in the spill of the streetlights and excitement takes hold. She’s still here. But as we glide to a stop outside the address, it becomes abundantly clear that she’s long gone.
Police tape covers the door, and there are signs a lot of people have walked over the front lawn, judging by the numerous indentations creating shadow on the turf. Mighty dismounts and wanders over to check out the footprints, circling a set before he looks up to the house.
“They removed something heavy. There’s tracks where they’ve crossed what I guess was a gurney over the grass here.”
“Bodies,” King mutters, wandering along the front of the house.
Fire rages across my flesh as I place my helmet on the seat of my bike. Was she one of them? What the fuck went on here? My shoulder catches Vince, shunting him out of the way as I march up to the yellow tape. He calls after me, but I only hear the tail end of King asking him to drop it as I reach out and rip the cordoning down.
“They left not long ago,” Mighty calls out. “This stuff’s real fresh; there’s grass still springing back up over here.”
I try the handle and shake my head at the fact it’s fucking unlocked. A crime scene, and some idiot leaves the motherfucking door unlocked. King’s at my back as I push inside and look over the empty living room before turning right and heading up the hallway. Vince and Callum trail behind us, Vince stopping in one of the doorways as I make a line straight for Gunter’s room. I can see the markers from here: paint spots and circles drawn around holes in the wall.
There’s blood and flecks of skin and what appears to be bone everywhere. I’m seen some fucked up shit in my time, but whatever went down here was carnage. I walk over to the first body markers and case out the size of it.
King hisses from where he’s wandering around the other side of the bed. “If anybody survived this, it would have to have been a fuckin’ miracle.”
I turn and look at him as I point to the markers at my feet. “This one’s too big for her.”
“So is the length of this one,” Callum says pointing to the markers near the bed.
“Somebody was in the corner, though,” I point out, walking over to the last set of marks on weak legs. Please, don’t be her.
“I’d say they took a stiff from the bedroom down the hall,” Vince says, joining our little exploration party.
“Tommy’s room,” I murmur absently as I try to work out what the marks in the corner mean. Poor bastard. “I can’t figure this out.” I tip my head to the side, but it makes no difference.
Mighty comes through the door, gesturing with his thumb back over his shoulder. “House is clear.” He eyes us all crouched around the corner of the bedroom. “What y’all doin’?”
“Tryin’ to work out if it was half a body or a fuckin’ midget,” Callum says.
“Move over.” Mighty squats down, tracing an invisible line with his finger. “They were bent over.”
“How the fuck you know that?” Vince asks.
“Eleven years in homicide.”
Vince’s eyebrows shoot up, echoing my exact thoughts. “You were a cop?” he asks.
Mighty nods.
“Fuck you keep your secrets well,” Vince remarks, jamming his hands in his armpits as he crosses his arms.
“None of you fuckers ever care to ask,” Mighty responds.
The two stare at each other with a mixture of surprise and ‘yeah, that’s right, fucker’. Vince slaps Mighty on the arm and chuckles. “Sneaky bastard.”
“Great,” I bite out. “It’s cute you two know each other better now, but I’m kind of missin’ someone.” I point to the markers in the corner. “Do you think this could be her?”
“Hard to say,” Mighty answers.
“Fuck!” I march across the room, resist the urge to punch the wall, and march back. “How can we find out?”
King steps over, calming me with a hand to my shoulder as he addresses the others. “First off, we need to figure out who these markers belong to. I’m pickin’ two are the occupants of the house, but who are the other two? Mighty, I need you to shake up some of those favors you’re owed.”
Mighty nods, and steps out of the room as he pulls out his phone.
“Bronx, do you know where Eddie lives?”
I shake my head, infuriated that still, after everything that’s gone down to get to this point, I know so little about Ryan’s world. “No. Only other place I know of is the crack house I went to that party at.”
“Good. You can fuckin’ start there, then. You and Callum ride over, check it out. If these markers aren’t her, then she still needs to be found. I’ll text you when Mighty gets somethin’, and until then, Vince and I will go for a little ride. There can’t be that many places in the city of Omaha she’d go. She can’t disappear that fast.”
“And if we come across any of Eddie’s men, we take them down?” I ask.
“Just like we’ve discussed,” King confirms.
I pull in a large breath and nod. “Let’s get movin’, then. Sooner I find Ryan, sooner I can start to fuckin’ breathe again.”