“And you knew where Jensen was when you went looking?” I clip, pulling my phone out.
Ignoring her arguments, I press the phone to my ear, listening to the dial tone.
“Missed me already?” Ryder chirps. “What’s up?”
“Get me Hailey’s location.”
“What’s going on?”
I start walking, waving Levi to follow. It’s late and Hailey’s been in the forest for hours. If she took any food and water with her, that’s all gone. She’s probably not fucking dressed for cold weather, her phone’s out of range, and—
Fuck.Focus.
I take a deep breath, shaking off the weakness in my limbs. She’s scared, lost, and she needs me. I can’t let the metallic tang of fear sitting on my tongue spread any further.
“She went looking for a guy that went missing,” I say vaguely, though Ryder knows exactly who I’m talking about and where the fucker is. “She should’ve been back hours ago.”
I hear him tapping a keyboard, hacking Hailey’s phone through the bug I planted there weeks ago. Levi’s hot on my tail, and by the sound of it, Rachel and Amari are coming along.
Not into the woods they’re not.
They’ll slow us down and I don’t have time.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The dean’s voice sounds on my left, but I don’t slow down. “Hey! I’m talking to you Mr. Wright.”
It’s Willard. Carter Willard.
“Where are you going?” she repeats.
“Where do you think I’m going?” I turn to face her, keeping my tone level. “I’m getting my girl back.”
“Oh... I didn’t realize you and Hailey were—” She shakes her head. “That’s beside the point. I can’t let you go. We’re already missing three students.”
“The dean is right.” A young officer comes closer, his stance hinting that the minuscule power his badge bestows is doing a number on him. “You need to calm down, son.”
“I’mnotyour son, and it’ll be better if you get out of my fucking way.” I clip, the order laced with a dangerous edge I don’t bother softening. “Move.” It’s torture holding back from ripping the guy’s arm out of his socket, but I hold it in.
“I understand you’re worried, but it’ll be better if you calm down.” He slips his hand onto the holster. “Take a step back.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Now, now,” the sergeant says, stopping beside us. “Let’s all take a deep breath.” He drops a heavy hand on my shoulder. “We’re here to find them, and, as much as I appreciate you trying to help, we don’t need any more students roaming the woods. Leave this to us, we know what we’re doing.”
My hands ball into tight fists, my attitude like a loaded gun unsure where to aim. “You don’t know shit.”
I harbor a deep-rooted brand of hatred toward cops, and it has little to do with my line of work. If anything, years of working with Chief Jeremy Smith in Chicago taught me some deserve an ounce of respect.
Most, however, deserve a bullet to the head. Like the two on-call officers sent to my house the night my mother’s boyfriend battered her to death.
Those bullets found their marks six years later, after a long torture session. I took out every ounce of hatred and rage on the fuckers who laughed and belittled my dead mother that night.
“Right now you have two options,” I continue, towering above the old man. “Either you remove yourself from my way, or I’ll do it for you.”
“Sarge...?” The rookie urges, his gun drawn now.
“Go over there, Malik.” The sergeant motions ahead.
“But, Sarge! He’s—”
