Page 1 of Saving Wyatt

ONE

WYATT

I’d made a lot of mistakes in my long life. My whole life was full of mistakes I couldn’t undo. That I couldn’t salvage.

Funny thing about mistakes. They had a way of coming back to bite you in the ass. One such mistake was staring right back at me now, with dead eyes. And I knew—I knew—this was the start of a whole new set of mistakes that were going to destroy me and everyone I loved.

Earlier

The bar was heaving. There were patrons coming out the wazoo, and they only seemed to be multiplying.

Gotta love the day after Christmas.

The island was still full of holiday tourists who either wanted relief from their families or to treat their hangovers by getting more sloshed. Not that I minded. Anything that filled up the reserves to get me through the quiet months was always welcome.

Although the lull between seasons and festivals was the least of my concerns at the moment. I was far more worried about his next move.

I’d been waiting all month. Waiting for him to do something—anything. The fact that he hadn’t acted yet worried me more than if I’d found myself knee-deep in trouble. The wait was worse. Far, far worse.

It meant he was calculating his next move. He was being strategic. He wasn’t acting on impulse.

Or maybe he was simply waiting to get into the office before he wreaked havoc upon our lives.

It had been over a month since we all found out the man we’d been hunting for over a year, the man who had made my home island a hub of crime and illegality, the man going by the name of Raymond Salieri, was none other than Jake Wilson. Our new mayor.

A man that had infiltrated our lives with lies and deceit and a healthy dose of philanthropy and fooled us all into believing he was nothing short of a saint.

Yet all he was was a sly criminal, a runaway from a New York City family, who’d somehow crowned himself king of Mayberry Holm with stolen money and resources.

“You okay, boss?” Donovan stopped next to me and nudged me with his elbow.

“What?” I grumbled.

He narrowed his eyes but didn’t seem deterred by my scowl.

None of them were. My effect on the men I used to command seemed to wane more each day. Nowadays all the men who had followed me in Mayberry Holm to help me rid this island of its rot looked at me more like that annoying uncle—hell, probably grandpa—who just spouted shit around the dinner table.

“You seem…away with the fairies.”

My chest flared at his words, and I growled a “get back to work” before I returned to my previous job. That of scoping out the place, of keeping an eye on every patron. Trying to suss out any suspicious glares or moves.

But of course, Wilson was far smarter than to make an appearance here and so were his men.

A part of me wished he’d strike already. This wait was putting me on edge that even strangers could notice. As was apparent by all the stares I got whenever my gaze landed on someone else’s.

“Mr. Goodman?” A young boy—hell, he was almost a man now—stopped in front of me, staring with bright gray eyes as if he was terrified of me, and I softened.

“What is it, Elliot? And I told you, you can just call me Wyatt.”

I must have re-iterated it like a hundred times, but he still called me by my last name. Not that it was a bad thing. It showed he was respectful and considerate, both great attributes considering the rough start he’d gotten in life and the way he’d ended up in my care.

“Sorry,” he said and licked his lips for a second. “Erm…Mr. Hawkins is looking for you.”

Parker?

I patted Elliot on the shoulder, and he showed me where Parker was waiting at the bar, head bowed, eyes focused on the sticky floor.

Shit.