We sit in silence as the driver of the van throw a punch into the steering wheel, causing a loud honk to echo in the streets.
“I am curious to know how that didn’t result in a discharge. Your paperwork says you decided to come home willingly.” He doesn’t say anything, so Icontinue. “But I guess having friends in high places gives you that perk, along with being able to pull my records.”
I feel the darkness in me threaten to spill over as I think of what he could have found. I had all traces of Kortez Smith wiped from existence by the time I was fifteen, but one of my programs alerted me to someone trying to slip through my firewall when we first arrived at Evie’s. It didn’t take long to track down who it was, and who they were pulling it for.
One Paulo Santiago, a dark contact for hire that apparently works for Wylder’s friend and ex-pres, Markus Rivera. The same one that Roman used to get some gear and Evie’s placebo pills.
I let him in, for now, and used the link to look into Evie’s new friends.
Wylder has his own demons to fight but the real mystery is her friend Vivianne. As I thought, Vivianne Blue isn’t her real name. Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out what her real last name is, but I have my computer software searching twenty-four seven until something comes up.
“Ever figure out what happened to your mother?”
His words are as cold as a steel blade pressing into my ribs, but I breathe through the pain and answer him anyway. “Yes.”
He nods, his eyes full of understanding. “Does he know? Do either of them?”
“No, and it’s going to fucking stay that way. Do you understand?” I can’t let Atlas know the truth before it’s time.
I hear the grinding of his teeth before he gives me a nod and repeats my earlier word back to me. “Yes.”
Silence fills the space between us until the sound of a door shutting has me looking over the edge of theroof. The man is off the phone now, his head swinging back and forth as he searches the street for anyone watching before he enters the building – but he forgets to look up.
We hear a shout come from the warehouse just moments before my phone rings, Atlas’s name lighting up the screen. He doesn’t make time for pleasantries before telling us to get down there.
The call ends and I look up to see Wylder staring at me, his eyes searching. Atlas has kept him from most of the business, using him as extra eyes and ears instead of treating him like a member of this family, but we have to test his loyalty at some point. He’s just as important to Evie as we are.
I motion for him to follow and watch as he makes quick work of dismantling the gun and putting it into the heavy plastic case in pieces. He’s so efficient with it that it catches me by surprise, not for the first time since we’ve been on this weeklong mission.
If I’m the computer wizard of the group, he’s the gun expert. We could use him.
The door leading from the roof down into the warehouse is unlocked, letting us in easily and shrouding us in darkness as it closes. Neither one of us speaks as we make our way to the ground floor, an open concept warehouse only filled with empty metal containers like you’d see in a shipping yard.
Who knows what the warehouse was used for before Wade took it over. Who knows why Wade is using it in the first place.
I watch as Atlas finishes raising the chains hooked to the man we saw before, blood shining bright against his pale skin as his head dangles down. “You didn’t have to hit him so hard. It’ll be hours before he wakes up.”
Atlas shrugs, “Then we wait hours.”
One hour and forty-seven minutes later, the man’s hands clench into fists and I hear a faint murmuring coming from his lips.
The chair Atlas was sitting on groans against the concrete as he stands, wiping his hands on his jeans as if he had been doing something more than texting Evie for the last hour and a half. “Called it, less than two hours.”
Wylder and I stand, walking over to the man and forming a semi-circle around his hanging body. “You did, I thought for sure it would be longer than that.”
The man looks up, the soft light from the yellow bulbs of the warehouse glinting off his bald head. He looks between the three of us before his eyes fall on Wylder standing beside me. “No bet for you?”
Wylder shrugs, “Not much of a gambler.”
Unless he’s betting he’ll be the one to get Evie pregnant next.
Atlas steps forward, showing the man that he’s the one in charge and responsible for his current predicament. “Hello, Oscar, was it? I’m Atlas.”
A search of the pants pockets had gotten us one wallet, two pieces of candy, a rubber band, and some extra bullets for the nine-millimeter he had stashed in his waistband. A gun that, according to Atlas, he didn’t even try to pull.
Oscar is covered in tattoos, even having one on his head, and has the scars and muscles to show people all around him that he is as dangerous as he looks.
So why not pull the gun as soon as he entered?
