Did he want me to go down for murder of an innocent? I may never know my father’s reasons for this game, but I aim to find out as much as I can. There is a puppet master now pulling all our strings, and that cocksucker is gonna get found out.
I lean all my weight onto my good foot, the pain my just desserts, and proceed to explain what went down. I owe her that much, omitting the sex, up until I nearly did a hit-and-run on the old lady, when she was out wandering the road in the dark.
I tell her the truth. I’m honest enough.
“William was left owin’ this unknown bastard, and now he be wantin’ payment in the form of Whisper?” She repeats it over to herself quietly, disbelief in her voice.
Anger simmering.
“What be givin’ him the damn right to use another person as payment?” Her small, bony hands are fisted at her sides. “Hasn’t she already paid enough in life a thousand times over? Slavery was abolished, yet man still be thinkin’ it’s his damn right to rewrite dem rules for demselves. Nobody should be touchin’ that girl’s life ever again. She shoulda gotten out of Connard. I be too selfish, wantin’ her to be near me. She be such a special girl. Shoulda set her up someplace nice on the other side of the world, where bad men couldn’t find her. Coulda visited her. She be safe now, if my selfish wants had been ignored.
“Why you not be tellin’ her your name was Dallas when you met at the bar? Could’ve stopped a whole lot of this mess goin’ down. She was never goin’ to tell you her name was Whisper because you were a stranger to her.”
“Because Dallas Dupré no longer exists. I am not proud of that surname. I never wanted to see the man ever again. Dallas Masson hasn’t been around for a long time either. The boy who grew into a man became Edge, and that was all anybody needed to know.”
“I don’t want to be relyin’ on you, Dallas, but I have to at this stage.” Her voice is determined as she glares at me. She has so much strength left in her soul. “Once my friend gets in contact with me, he be takin’ over.”
I let her believe that. “Maybe your friends are simply sound asleep?”
“No.” She is very sure of that answer. “They both be answerin’ their phones for Whisper or myself, any time of day or night. They be wakin’ up if their phone be ringin’. Whisper be Boxer’s priority, and he always be answerin’ our calls or messages immediately. If he be busy, he be textin’. Simple. Nothin’ be keepin’ him from lookin’ after Whisper. That be a fact.”
Has something happened to the people she thinks are capable of handling a situation like this? The timing is too coincidental. Stealing Whisper was a bigger operation than I first thought. Maybe her friends were a threat to Operation: Abduct Whisper, which means they are a threat to me too, by association of me being my father’s son.
“Have you exhausted all your contacts that could help?”
“I be only ever needin’ Boxer or Lincoln. Don’t know anybody else’s information. Never had to have further backup in past eight months, never had to be worryin’, all been quiet and harmonious.”
I hand her phone to her. “Try calling again, and if they don’t answer, let it go to voicemail. Then you have to be careful the information you hand out. Keep it simple and don’t let on about me. If your boys have gotten themselves detained because of Whisper, better to play it safe until you know more, in case somebody who isn’t a friendly to your boys has access to their phone. If they could contact you, they would have by now. Something is stopping them, and until they clock in with you, assume it’s not a good thing they haven’t returned your calls or messages.”
She makes the calls and does what I ask of her. I hold my hand out for the phone. She hands it back begrudgingly with a look of pure annoyance, which I don’t care for. I type texts to both the men, putting in a couple military codes they should understand, and I keep the cell.
I take Whisper’s phone and send a code to Hazard then text him. I let him know I’ll be a few more days, and I’ll be in touch.
“We be needin’ a plan.”
“We got no more time for Q & A, lady, and no time to discuss plans. I need to get on the road now.” Whisper needs me. “That is the plan in a fucking nutshell.” I make my way back over to the couch, snatch up my button-up, put it on, and then the leather jacket is next. I throw Whisper’s phone down on the couch, keeping the old lady’s with me because I need to intercept any calls or messages from this Boxer and Lincoln. I take another look at the computer screen and note where Ebony and Ivory are.
She grips my arm tight. “Trust and honesty are gonna be very important to me from here on out. Do you be understandin’ me?”
Really, she is going to make me answer her?
I snag my fingers through my blood-caked hair out of pure frustration. “Yes,” I grit out.
“I be knowin’ if you be lyin’ to me. I knew Whisper be in danger, and I will do anythin’ to help her. Somethin’ be goin’ wrong all round, and I would rather be trustin’ in those I know have Whisper’s and my backs, but you are gonna have to be doin’ for now.”
“I fucking hear ya, lady, loud and clear, but for now, I am your golden boy, or you would be calling the police in and getting them intercepted right now. So let me handle things my way and I will get her back for you.” I give her my don’t-fuck-with-me face and stab a finger at the computer. “Stay on that laptop and be ready to text me if they stop or if there are any deviations. Stay alert, because you and I are her rescue team. This ends tonight.”
I head for the front door, swing it open, nearly losing my footing, and make it down to my bike, weaving about like a goddamn drunk as I stumble the last couple steps and balance myself out. I take another step, and that’s all it takes for me to start going down on my good knee, dizzy as fuck.
“Christ almighty! Not now!” I try to growl out my frustration, but it comes out as a virtually inaudible mumble.
And it’s motherfucking lights out again.
WHISPER
The muffled sound of the country music that’s been playing switches off as the car comes to a halt. I hear two doors open and shut and the shuffle of shoes making their way toward the back of the car. The trunk is about to be opened, and my fate is unknown. The phone is hidden, and I need to appear unconscious and a dead weight.
I can’t afford to tremble in fear or pain.
My tie in my hair must have broken in the scuffle back at the house, so I make use of this and turn my head away, making sure my hair is covering some of my face, affording me valuable seconds to hide my vulnerability until they make the next move.
The trunk pops and fresh air rushes me. I want to gulp it down, but I can’t.
I can feel myself being assessed.
“Is she dead?” one of them wonders aloud.
I feel a rough hand at my neck and my pulse is felt.
“She’s still kicking,” the other announces.
Unwelcome arms slide under my knees and armpits as I’m roughly lifted out of the trunk, the man huffing his breath in my face from the sheer exertion of scooping me out of my metal coffin as I try not to whimper in pain while I’m juggled about.
My hair hides the pain etched into my face as I almost pass out from the agony I’m in from the wound in my shoulder. I can feel it bleeding again, the metallic stench of fresh blood dueling with my captor’s strong stink of cigar.
“We’ll put her in the backseat, Benny.” The other voice is close. “She’s out cold, so she won’t be any trouble. She looks like she would barely be able to swat a fly in the condition she’s in.”