Because war fucks with your mind.
Because innocents got in the way.
“Four tours were enough for me. War is acceptable when the enemy is recognized by the world.” Not so much when it’s a private war.
“Yet you still kill?”
Fuck these questions. I’m not used to being questioned.
I do the interrogating.
My eyes meet hers in the mirror. “Maybe… I’m the bad seed… who didn’t fall far from the rotten apple,” I say slowly to rein in the irritation that has crept into my voice.
I turn my attention to the window, watching the monotony of the landscape whizz past me, while some fucktard is doing god-knows-what to Whisper. I use these moments to calm myself the fuck down. I let out a heavy sigh because I know this old lady doesn’t need this from me.
“I was protecting our country before, and now I’m protecting my brothers, my family. We look after our own. We right wrongs. I don’t expect you to understand a motorcycle club and what these men mean to me. They’re loyal. I trust them. I have a home. You gave Whisper a home when she needed one. I know you understand what protecting somebody means, and I think you know she would protect you too with her own life. Currently, where we stand, I think you would do what it takes to get Whisper back, and that means pulling the trigger on somebody standing in your way.”
Her attention is only for the road while she absorbs what I’ve said.
None of this is her fault, I have to remind myself. She’s only ever cared for Whisper when she needed rescuing. She put a roof over her head and gave her a future. She gave Whisper her life back and didn’t judge her on a past filled with unthinkable horrors. She saw the broken soul lying dormant and has been waiting for the time she will be needed, when all those memories decide to eject from Whisper’s mind and she falls into a heap.
I could use the enemy in war to take it out on. I saw my father in all those sons-of-bitches who were targeting the innocent. “We really are not that much different. It’s human nature to step up and do whatever it takes.”
Her tired old eyes flick back up to the rearview mirror. They are filled with determination. “Whisper be an innocent who’s been wronged. She be needin’ protection… the kind I can’t be givin’ her.”
She watches the road again, waiting for me to acknowledge her message.
Whisper has been wronged by my father, me, and now this new unidentifiable threat.
“I will seek retribution for you. You have my word on that.”
She nods her head, accepting my statement as truth. “You be a man who has led a hard life.” Her statement is my reality. “You suffered under William Dupré as a child.” She isn’t asking me to confirm her comment; it isn’t a question.
My hands clench into tight fists at my sides. “It’s a life I got away from,” I grunt out. I don’t like talking about my childhood.
I never talk about it.
“You and I…” She hesitates before continuing, “We have more in common than you be thinkin’, Edge.” Her words hold a lot of muted meaning.
I hear her and don’t doubt her words. She falls silent for the rest of the trip, acknowledging my directions until we pull up midafternoon in front of the high-chain wire fenced-off entrance to the abandoned airfield.
This appeared to be the area Miss Catherine had indicated as the last place the phone stayed before the signal was lost.
An old, rusty metal sign hangs on its last legs announcing we were at the Stephen Army Auxiliary Airfield #4 / Anderson Field / Anderson Airport.
There’s nobody around for miles. “Stay in the car while I get the gate open.” There is a padlock and chain on the ten-foot gate keeping trespassers out. I get out of the car, minus the crutches, and hobble around to the trunk. I pop the lid and rummage around in No Mercy for my lock pick.
That padlock didn’t stand a chance. I open the gate and usher the old lady through. She waits on the other side, the Beamer’s engine purring while I shut the gate, relocking it to keep up appearances.
I slide into the front passenger seat, knocking a little ragdoll out of the way onto the floor that was sitting on the seat, my temper peeking through as I try to ignore my throbbing foot.
The car isn’t moving.
I look over at Miss Catherine, ready to tell her to get the fucking car rolling, but the look on her face stops me. Her eyes are locked on where the doll landed. And that’s when I remember what she had told me about the only belongings Whisper had brought with her in her escape, and this was one of them.
I lean forward and scoop the doll up on a grunt, holding it until the car starts moving again.
Christ! She’s brought the doll along to give to Whisper, so I have to make sure I find her.
I direct the old lady to drive me up the dirt road through a thick shield of trees. I grimly note the woods could serve as a great place to dispose of bodies.
I should know. I’ve buried enough.
Thick tall woods cleverly cloak the airfield, offering the motherfucker privacy. Fields for miles surround the area. No houses for nosy trespassers to get curious. It’s the perfect setup.
The large airstrip comes into view, and I note how well kept it is.
Too well kept.
Abandoned, my ass.
The perfect place to traffic Whisper out on a plane. Grease enough palms with cake and you can do anything you set your mind to in this corruption-filled world of ours. Money talks. The bigger the slice of cake, the tastier the deal. I’ll look into who owns this land because it’s another possible lead.
We pull up beside the old hangar. It looks like it was built in World War II. There is a white sedan parked near the hangar. It’s dusty and looks like it hasn’t moved for a few days because there are no fresh tracks.
“Look!” Miss Catherine points to the parked car. “Whisper called and told me she be transferred to a car with NQ on the plates.” She points to the back of the car. “This be the vehicle they be transportin’ her in. Her eyesight be poor and she couldn’t be makin’ out the other part of dem plates.”
It was enough. This is as good as we are gonna get for proof that she was definitely brought here, and this was the last place my phone was tracked to.
The locked gate makes me think nobody is around, but I can’t be sure. Ebony and Ivory were here at one stage.
Whisper is either in those woods or was spirited out of here. Just the thought of the female being dead gives me a feeling I’m unused to.
Deep regret is stealing its way into my soul.
Before I can think on that emotion too long, the old lady’s out of the car while I dump the doll on the backseat, and she hands me the crutches. I get out, my gun in my hand, and lean heavily on the car as I survey the area. It’s very quiet.
I use the crutches for a few steps then throw them to the ground. They’re a fucking nuisance, only slowing me down, keeping me from being at my most alert.
Miss Catherine looks like she wants to serve me up a speech, but she holds her tongue.
She’s learning.
She’s looking at the hangar; worry etched onto her face. She’s afraid of what we’ll find inside. Thoughts of Whisper being murdered will be swimming through her mind.
We make our way to the small hangar entrance door, which is part of the main hangar frontage, and I test the handle. It’s locked. Which is a good sign we are the only two people here.
I stick my gun in the back of my jeans and pull out the lock pick I had pocketed, inserting it and moving it around until I hear the satisfying click of the lock releasing.