I could’ve simply been hers.
“Dammit, Britton.”
As we sit in church having our weekly meeting, Icer is off to my right, whistling the tune ofHeigh ho, heigh ho,from the cartoon flick, Snow White. What is his obsession with Disney shows? I have suspicions that it’s because they live peacefully once they’ve faced the villain and come out the victor, kinda like his life. In his case, his dad was his evildoer. One which, from the stories told, he took out when he snapped and had hit his wits end.
Riptide bangs the gavel on the wooden plank and calls church to order. The room grows silent because he has a murderous look on his face. “Patrick has resurfaced, but Jerome is still in the wind.”
“Where was he spotted?” I ask, wanting to store every detail I can in my memory.
Slayer raps his knuckles on the table before answering, “He was seen sneaking in the back door of his mom’s place. She’s been harboring him, which isn’t surprising.”
“She’s always been snooty and thinks she’s above the law,” I muse. “Are we handling it in-house or are we sending a tip to the authorities?”
“That’s what we need to decide,” Riptide responds. “As much as I hate to say this, I think we need to hold off and not do anything… yet.”
“Why’s that?” Indiana inquires, looking none too happy about Riptide’s announcement.
“I don’t want todoanything at this time because if we move too fast, Jerome may bolt and never come out of the woodwork,” Riptide explains.
“So we sit around twiddling our thumbs?” Shade asks, his face soured.
“No, we carry on with our recon,” Riptide advises. “We hound him, we make it obvious we know where he is and let it be known he’s on our radar.”
“We give him no wiggle room,” Slayer adds. “We want him sweating, watching his back. Wewanthim to see us. We want him to know we see him too. I want him dogged.”
“You want him to feel threatened without being threatened,” Shade meditates, mentally weighing his options. Between him and Icer, that job will get done with a flared finesse. Those two are good at hounding someone and making them feel as if their life is hanging in the balance, they turn the wrong way and they’ll fall off the cliff.
“That’s exactly what I want,” Riptide validates. “I want him to sleep with his eyes open.”
“We want a show of force,” Slayer inserts. “Bikes sitting on the street in front of the bitch’s house. Park in the back alley, rev your engines, make a menace of yourselves as long as we stay within the line of the law.”
“The street is public and so are the alleys,” I ruminate. “It’s not breaking any laws to simply sit there.”
“We’ll do it in shifts,” Slayer discloses. “From here on out, we do things in teams.”
“If you leave, you do so with your buddy. Got it?” Riptide probes.
The room confirms his order with a nod of our heads.
“Give us daily reports, hell, at this point, I’ll take hourly ones. I want to know his every move, no matter how insignificant it seems,” Slayer states.
“See Renegade, he’ll tell you who you’ve been partnered with and who your backup team is. You have your marching orders, keep in touch. If something feels off, call it in. Donotengage if you think things will get handsy. Church dismissed,” Rip declares, slamming down his gavel.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Britton
Night has fallen downon me, time moving at a snail’s pace since I drove away from the Kings compound. As I drive down the lamp lit highway, it’s with tears in my eyes. For the first time, I regret having to leave a place and people behind. I could’ve made Canton, Texas home if I hadn’t let my fears override my emotions.
“I could’ve had a home,” I whisper to the empty car. Other than my meager possessions, which fit into two suitcases and one cardboard box, I’m alone.
Depressingly so.
The way I typically like it, so why am I having one helluva time not looking in my rearview mirror? Every underpass I drive over, tears at my heartstrings.
“I can’t go back. Not now. Not ever.” My mind hisses that I can, but I know better after what I’ve done. There’s no turning back,especially since I’m sure that by now, LoneStar has read my letter full of admissions.
