“Where’s Trish?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She disappeared after you kicked Dolly out of town. I haven’t seen or heard from her,” Ginger replied.
“Where could she be? C’mon, Ginger, you were smart enough to get away with stealing from us for quite a while. You must have had some backup plans if Trish ever turned on you.”
“It was her idea! She’s the one who taught me how to do it!” Ginger shot back.
“Well, she’s not here, and you are, with our money. So, once again, where might Trish go?”
“I don’t know where she is! I swear! Don’t you think I would tell you if I did? I don’t owe her shit,” Ginger shouted frantically.
“Hmmm. Brothers, I think we need to jump-start Ginger’s memory,” Reaper mused. “How’s your son doing, Ginger? He still living with your parents in Virginia?” She visibly paled at his question.
“How did you…? Leave Owen out of this!” she snapped, and struggled in her restraints.
“Cute kid. Looks like your parents are doing a good job with him. Is that where you were planning on running off to?" I asked.
We had known about Ginger’s son since she first started, having run a full background check, like we did for all employees of businesses the club owns. We would never have hurt an innocent child. That was not what our Brotherhood stood for, but Ginger didn’t need to know that.
“Please, don’t hurt him! He’s got nothing to do with this. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I just wanted more cash to send to him. I figured the club has so much, and I just wanted to give my son a better life, and then it somehow got out of hand. Trish, well, she just kept pushing! I didn’t mean for it to go this far. You gotta believe me. Please, I’m sorry!”
“Now, Ging, calm down. We don’t have to involve Owen. Just tell us if you can think of anywhere Trish would have gone. Anyone who would have helped her,” I coaxed.
On a hiccup, she closed her eyes and shook her head. After staying quiet for a moment, she suddenly looked back up and eagerly started speaking.
“She has a godmother. A friend of her mom’s. She lives about two hours away. I know they’re close, and she’s helped Trish get out of some binds in the past.”
“Name?” Keys asked, tapping away on his tablet.
“Nora. Her last name starts with anS. I can’t remember it, but she runs a clothing store in Lancaster. It’s called Nora’s ... something.” Ginger seemed relieved to have finally been able to give us a piece of information.
“Where else?”
“But, but … I just told you about Nora. Aren’t you going to check there?” she asked, looking confused.
“Sure, we could ride out and look for her and leave you here in the meantime. If she’s not there, we’ll come back and see if you remembered any other locations. One by one, we’ll ride out and check them, but you? You won’t leave that chair. It could take hours—days, even. You’ll stay in that spot without food, water, or a bathroom the whole time, no matter what. You’re not leaving this room until we find Trish, if you make it out of here at all,” Reaper replied calmly.
“You can’t just leave me here! People will look for me!”
“Can’t we?” Scythe asked, head cocked to the side and one eyebrow raised. He was hanging in the back, hovering by his toolbox, waiting for the chance to get to use it. He slowly stepped in front of Ginger, bending at the hip to meet her face to face.
“No one is gonna look for you, and even if they did, there would be nothing to find. Maybe if you give us something useful, we’ll make sure there’s enough left of you for your parents to bury.”
Scythe stood upright and stepped to the side of the chair. Bracing his foot behind the back legs, he used one hand to give Ginger a solid push until the chair fell backward on the floor. Her head hit the ground hard, but it wasn’t bleeding. With his usual eerie calm, Scythe squatted down next to Ginger’s proneform. His emotionless face tracked her body head to toe before he started speaking again.
“Looks like you banged your head. Must hurt. I’m sure that’s what you’re focusing on now. What you need to think about is how your arms are gonna feel if we leave you on the floor like this.” Ginger started squirming against her binds, moving her arms rapidly—a futile attempt at trying to get them into a position that wasn’t cutting off the blood flow.
“Maybe we should all go have breakfast, then come back and see if you’re feeling more loquacious?” Scythe offered.
“No! Don’t leave me down here like this. I really am trying to think of more places…Please, put me back up. I don’t feel right. Please, I’m dizzy.” Scythe snorted at her pleas.
“Talk,” he ordered, before moving to stand over her, a looming presence she couldn’t escape.
“There was a guy, he was old. Trish would hook up with him occasionally because he always bought her shit. He has a penthouse apartment at the Woodlands, where she used to meet him at. Paul.”
“You’re doing good Ginger, just a few more,” I grunted, and she wailed from her position prone on the floor.
“MORE? I told you, I don’t know where she is. Please, help me up!”
