“What’s going on?” The coworker repeats, fear starting to catch up with him.
“Two hours ago, a woman about this tall, short, blond hair, driving that Prius out there—”
“Yeah, yeah. I remember her. She was dressed like it was summer. Crazy.” I ignore the commentary. This is not the time to kill someone over a word. Berkleigh is many things, but crazy isn’t one of them.
Although, some mental health professionals may not agree with me.
“Where did she go?” My fingers are digging into the counter while I wait with bated breath for this pimple-faced wannabe manager to give me the information I need.
“I have no idea, man. I just remember seeing her talking to Julie the Junkie and thinking she should be wearing pants. I figured she was looking to score or something, you know?” No. I do not fucking know. That’s twice now that he’s passed judgment on my woman, and for the record, the fact I’m not putting two bullets in his brain should attest to my incredible self-control.
“Where’s the junkie?” Fucking hell, my patience is wearing as thin as the goddamn ozone layer.
They both turn in the same direction, their gazes slightly over their shoulders. I follow their line of sight and zero in on a stringy-haired brunette talking to some guy who doesn’t want anything to do with her if his back stepping says anything.
“Thanks.” I walk out, the bell chime announcing my departure.
Eating up the space between the shop and this crackhead, I do the guy a solid and step between them, giving him the opportunity to get away.
“What the fuck is your probl—” She’s slow to look up at me, but when she does, her aggression turns to something more disturbing. “Oh, hello handsome. You looking for a ride?” When she smiles, her dry lips part and a crack opens on the bottom one, blood bubbling up. As though it’s a common occurrence, her tongue snakes out and licks it up without a second thought.
“The girl from earlier with the hybrid car, New York plates. Where did she go?” I have to remind myself that she’s flying pretty fucking high right now so my question is going to take a minute before it reaches her brain, and a little while longer for it hit the hippocampus where her memory should be. That is…if her brain isn’t rotted away from all the drugs.
I stare down at her—she can’t be more than five feet, even in her heels—and watch like a fucking movie reel as the pieces start to come together. Her eyes narrow then her face relaxes and her head turns in the direction of Berkleigh’s car.
“Oh yeah. She was nice. I hope they didn’t hurt her too bad.”
Now it’s my turn to wait for my brain to catch up to her words before my body reacts on instinct. My hand flies out and my fingers latch onto her bicep.
“Listen very carefully, Julie.” My mouth is at her ear as I lead her to Berkleigh’s car and the sharp, vinegar-like scent coming from her body—most likely linked to the heroin—nearly knocks me the fuck out. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”
When we reach the Prius, I let her go but block her so she can’t bail.
“I didn’t do anything.” Shaking her head as her nails start running up and down her arms, a clear sign she’s freaking out, I can see the moment she decides talking to me isn’t as profitable or smart as she thought.
“I know, but someone did, right?” The way I’m remaining calm and collected, I’ll be adding saint to my name from this point on. Saint Tanner Black at your motherfucking service.
Julie’s attention is darting from me to the car to the shop and back to me. Clearly, she’s not comfortable around me and that’s fine. I don’t need to be her best fucking friend. I just need to know where my girlfriend is before I raze this state down in a blaze of fury.
“I just…I needed some cash, right? Just a hit, you know?” I nod, my jaw locking so I don’t interrupt her. “These two guys come up and offer me a twenty. I didn’t even ask for it. Just a…gift, you know?”
Yes, yes, Julie. I fuckingknow.
Every atom in my body wants to shake this woman until she fucking spits out the important information, but one wrong move and she’ll snap shut like a Venus flytrap.
“What else? Did you see anything like what they were driving? License plates? Their faces?” All of the fucking above would be spectacular.
“I dunno, they had suits on, like businessmen or made men or something.” To her credit, she really is trying to help out, and if I weren’t such an asshole, I’d even appreciate her.
The scratching gets faster and now she’s shuffling from side to side.
“Oh! Yeah, the van. It was, it was…” Fuck my life, I’m going to be eighty by the time this story comes to an end. “Black. But not like, shiny black. It was old and dirty and…not shiny.” Great, now she’s just repeating herself. But there’s no use in pointing that shit out, it’ll just distract her. And fuck knows she doesn’t need that.
My fingers curl into fists at my side and every one of my muscles feels like it’s about to cramp up with the force of my restraint. I swear to every deity known to man that if I don’tfind Berkleigh soon, to-fucking-day, I will scorch this Earth until all that’s left is her and me standing in a pile of ashes formerly known as our planet.
I’m so focused on the mental image of us covered in soot, breathing heavily from the exertion of killing every fucker in sight, that I almost miss Julie’s excited words.
“I took a picture while they were leaving. I felt bad, you know, because of the syringe in her neck.”
