I don’t give him a warning as I grip the collar on the back of his shirt and lift. Graham lets out a choking sound as he tries to get his feet under him. I don’t wait for him as I drag him behind me and shoot off a text to Benny. Once again, a path is cleared as I lug this asshole out of the room and up the stairs.
By the time I’m in the back hallway, Graham is standing and letting some vitriol fly. “You piece of dumb shit! Get your grubby hands off me! I want my money back! That game is rigged!”
It takes everything in me not to take him out right here, right now. This man’s brother is the reason for the scars I carry. He’s smaller than Frank and a major prick just like his brother. But he doesn’t deserve my wrath. Frank is smart enough to never set foot in The Wandering Raven. He wouldn’t walk out alive. But that doesn’t stop Frank’s wife, son, and brother from coming.
Benny comes around the corner and I hand Graham over to him. Benny may not look like much while sitting at the bar, but he’s just as big as I am. And every time he has to throw someone out, it’s like he sobers up in ten seconds flat.
Graham has yet to cease with his insults, but they’re like water on a duck’s back. But before he gets tossed out the back door, I interrupt him, “I expect your balance to be paid in full by tomorrow. I’m giving you the night because I don’t want to see your punchable face for the next twelve hours. As for the game, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked in. It’s no one’s fault but your own that you suck at playing cards.”
I nod at Benny, and he hauls Graham out the back door. He’ll rough Graham up a bit and send the idiot on his merry way. He’ll have a couple of black eyes and maybe a broken arm, but he’ll be fine. Benny is good at handling this type of thing. Griffin and I prefer to handle collections ourselves, so this arrangement works out perfectly.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I release a large exhale. The letter is burning a hole in my pocket. I told myself I would keep it close just in case, but I was only lying to myself.
I head into the office and plop down in the rolling chair, letting out a groan. Back problems have become my daily companion, and they serve as a reminder that I’m not twenty-five anymore. A few months ago, Griffin said we needed something with good lumbar support and bought the chair along with some cushy mats to put on the floor behind the bar. I will never admit to him that he was right and that his purchases might be the only reason I’m not crawling out of The Wandering Raven every night.
I pull the letter out of my pocket and drop it onto the desk. Ignoring the letter hasn’t done me any good. It’s become a silent obsession—a dark whisper in my ear.
“Fuck it,” I say to myself and tear open the envelope.
Dear Knox,
I knew you’d be the one to open my letter. Your heart is pure, unlike Griffin’s. He’s never forgiven me, but I know you want to. It’ll lift a burden from your shoulders, one that nevershould have been there because I’m innocent. I finally figured out how all that evidence wound up in my truck, but I can’t tell you in a letter. Come see me and we’ll talk.
Amos Montgomery
My fists clench the letter, wrinkling the paper. My sneer could burn a hole right in the middle of the page.
I let him get to me. Again. He’s always been able to get me to do what he wants. A few well-placed words and I’m bending over backward to make him happy.
Not this time.
For all I care, the state of Texas can give him the needle, and I won’t miss a wink of sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
RAVEN
Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, my leg bounces. The façade of the building is exactly how I remember it. They’ve added a few more hedges, but other than that, nothing has changed.
The five-story building is set back about fifty yards from the road, giving a sense of wealth from all the greenery between it and the road. Umber-colored bricks make up the exterior walls. Pointed arches surround the entrance. The steep roof creates a vertical emphasis. Long lancet windows covered with bars give a peep into every room.
Rooms that I’m all too familiar with…
Mystic River Psychiatric Hospital is just as harrowing as ever.
After running into Dr. Whitlock the other day, the urge to drive by the hospital clogged my throat. The plan was to drive by, make a U-turn, and head home. But I’ve been parked across the street for an hour now, and I can’t seem to shift my car into drive.
I don’t know how I’m going to get what I need when I can’t make myself step foot inside. The thought of being trapped inthere again short circuits my brain. I contemplated posing as a volunteer, but the risk of being identified is too great. People in town won’t know me because I’m not from here. But in there? Chances are much higher. If there weren’t patients in there, I’d set the whole place on fire. I’ll just have to dig up the dirt the old-fashioned way.
Dropping my head back against the seat, I massage my temples with my fingers.
Moving the black round tile diagonally, I stare blankly at the checkerboard in front of me. I’m not even sure I know all the rules of checkers, but it beats the game of cricket some of the other patients are trying to play outside. It’s too hot out today.
“Your move,” my opponent, Riley, informs me, but I have no idea what piece he moved. He could’ve moved one of my own, and I wouldn’t notice.
That’s how invested I am in this game.
Riley tried explaining the game once, and I pretended to understand. I think he can tell I have no idea what I’m doing but he doesn’t care.
