“Baby, I’m hunting you, but you have to give me something.” My voice dies in the emptiness. For a long moment I stand perfectly still, waiting for an answer I know won’t come, praying for a sign, even if it’s just the faintest hint. But there’s nothing. Just the hollow thud of my heartbeat and the certainty that I will not stop. Not until she’s safe, not until she’s home.
Even if I have to tear this city apart brick by brick.
4
BEAST
The Louisiana heat presses in, humid and unrelenting, clinging to my skin and sinking deep into my bones.
Sunlight pours down hard, turning the cracked university pavement white-hot, but the brightness doesn’t reach me. The calendar has rolled over to May, and the air vibrates with cicadas and the thick scent of grass that’s grown wild along the edges of the lot. A haze hovers over the old campus, and students drift by in clusters. Their carefree laughter tells me real life hasn’t touched them yet. The bad in the world, the violence and loss I know about and have seen, are stories they only hear about.
And that is a good thing. The less pain people suffer, the better.
The chrome of my Harley reflects the cloudless sky and my scowl. It’s hard to miss the rings of dark purple lingering under my eyes or how my tight jaw shows me as set against the world. Students hurry by and act like I’m not taking up space. Good parents have told them to stay away from guys like me. And they’d be right. My arms are a canvas of color, tattoos twistingdown to my knuckles, the ink a permanent record of things I’d rather forget. I’m not a good man.
I’m just trying to erase some of my deeds to see if I can get into the pearly gates when my time comes. So far I’ve failed Layla. Her colleagues said this is where she always parked. It’s not like I’ll find any clues here, but when I close my eyes… Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t feel shit besides angry as hell and I don't know what else to do. Reaper is counting on me to find the girl. The rest of the crew is turning over every stone, but it’s like everyone has gone to ground since Cipher offed the Vultures’ president.
I palm my phone when it goes off. An unknown number crosses my screen and I almost decline the call, but I pick up on the off chance one of my informants running information has something for me.
“Make it good or stop bothering me.”
I listen to a man rattle off payment threats, his New York accent sharp and nasally and full of big-city indifference.
“Shut up and listen,” I cut in when I grow tired of his bitching and moaning. “I told you last month and the month before that all the way back to New Years that I will pay. You make sure the door stays locked and everything inside stays where it was left. Do we have an issue with the money I’ve sent you so far?”
There’s a brief pause.
The man on the other end huffs into the earpiece.
“I didn’t think so.” I don’t hold back the bite of irritation running through me from my tone.
“Fine. But you're late on even one payment and I trash everything.”
Not that he can see, but I shake my head at the vinegar in his tone. Some people in this world have lost faith in everyone.
Another call comes in, and I pull the phone away from my ear to look at the number. Shit.
“Look, I gotta go. You’ll have the money within the hour.”
I hang up before he can say anything else and take the other call.
I take a breath, let it fill my lungs with heat and grass and gasoline. When I answer, my voice is quiet, but every word is a warning. “Rafael. This better be something I can use this time or you can ask favors from someone else.”
A bead of sweat slides from my temple, tickling the edge of a scar that cuts through the ink above my left eye. The world here is too loud—mowers buzzing, tires squealing somewhere out of sight, the faint hint of music drifting from a dorm window. It’s all too alive for the business I’m here to finish.
“This is actionable right now. You pay the usual?”
I know what he’s asking. There’s no bravado left in me, just the hollow ache of a man who’s spent too many months chasing ghosts and counting the days since he last slept without seeing her face.
“I’ll pay, but only for real intel. I need more than empty fucking warehouses, you feel me?”
His reply cuts through the noise of the world, everything else fading to a pinpoint of focus.
“Go to 420 Pine road. Take a fucking army. She’s there.”
Call me a skeptic, but I’ve been at this too long to just jump because someone says they know something. Even if it is comingfrom someone like Rafael. “How do you know?” I draw in a deep breath through my nose and let it out. This shit is getting old. Anyone who enters New Orleans knows Rafael and his men have power, wealth, and status among the dark and deprived. They don’t bullshit and I’m leaning heavily on that single fact.
He huffs out a humorless laugh that has me sitting up and popping the stand up on my bike.
