Wrath (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 3)

by T. R. Ragan

Patrick set about making coffee as quickly as he could, didn’t bother cleaning out the pot before filling it with water. He then shoved a coffee filter in place and filled it with ground coffee beans.

  But he still wasn’t fast enough.

  “What’s with all the locks on your doors?” Aster wanted to know as he joined him in the kitchen. “Afraid the boogeyman is gonna get you?” His guffaw made Patrick cringe. The man thought he was a fucking comedian.

  Patrick hit the “On” button and then grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “I’m not afraid of anything,” he answered, daring the asshole to refute his statement.

  Aster did nothing of the sort. Instead his expression turned pensive. An unnatural stillness floated between them as they looked at each other. Aster swept a hand over his forehead and through his hair. “I came here because I need your help.”

  Patrick pulled out a chair and gestured for him to take a seat at the beat-up table.

  “Fucking incompetence has brought me here this morning.”

  Patrick said nothing as he gathered creamer and sugar and put everything Aster might need on the table in front of him.

  “It’s impossible to find good help,” Aster went on. “Stupidity rules the day. There’s no other way to explain what brought Faith McMann, a fucking schoolteacher, into my life.” He shook his head. “My entire life is turning to shit.” His hand fisted before he used it to pound the table.

  Patrick went to stand by the coffeemaker. He reached into his pocket, felt a whole lot better with the weight of his gun nestled in his palm.

  “Is that coffee ready yet?”

  “Almost.”

  “I promised myself I would remain calm,” Aster said.

  Patrick looked over his shoulder and watched the man with distrusting, narrowed eyes.

  “Three men go to the McMann house and fuck everything up.” Aster held up three stubby fingers. “Number one: they don’t find the two million dollars, which was the reason I sent them there. Number two: they don’t kill the kids or the McMann woman. Number three: they take the fucking kids with them.”

  Aster shook his head in disgust. “And then what happens? Richard Price has a sudden change of heart. He comes to my house where my family lives and tells me he wants out of the business.”

  Patrick had been there. He’d killed Richard Price himself. Why was Aster telling him this? Here he was in the middle of the night looking like hell. Was he having a fucking meltdown?

  “And now suddenly everyone’s getting arrested or going missing.”

  “What are you talking about?” Patrick asked.

  “I got a call. Eddie and Gage shut down their bar and disappeared. The same bar I loaned them the money to get, and now they’ve run off.” He looked at Patrick then, unblinking. “You don’t happen to know anything about what might have happened to those two, do you?”

  “First I heard of it,” Patrick lied as he carried the coffee to the table and filled up their mugs. “Who else went missing?”

  “Randy Price. Haven’t heard from him in weeks. And what about all those arrests of late? I can’t turn on the television without seeing a bunch of doctors and lawyers loaded into police cars, named and shamed for hiring an underage prostitute. Those girls want it. They beg for it. They’re being fed and housed.” He flexed his fingers. “Fucking whores. All of them.”

  Patrick put the coffeepot back on the burner and took a seat across from Aster.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if McMann was behind the recent string of arrests,” Aster told him. “The apartments in Davis, the bowling alley in Rocklin, and now quiet neighborhoods in Elk Grove and every other fucking town.” Aster added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee, stirred, and then took a gulp and wrinkled his nose.

  Asshole.

  “McMann has gotten the whole fucking city of Sacramento taking up arms.”

  “And what do you propose?” Patrick asked, hoping to get to the bottom of this so he could get the man out of his house.

  “The only way to tackle the problem will be to bring in some new blood, and I’m not talking about a dozen new men. I’m talking a hundred, maybe more.” Aster’s bloodshot eyes grew round and he snapped his fingers as something came to him. “What was the name of that guy who came to us a few months ago? He was from Fresno or—”

  “Bakersfield. Joe Santos. What about him?”

  “He wanted to join forces.”

  “If I remember correctly,” Patrick said, “you told him to fuck off. And that’s being kind.”

  “Talk to him, would you? Call him after I leave and tell him I’ve had a change of heart. Put some of that charm of yours to good use.”

  Patrick got up and went to refill their mugs. “What happened to Hansel, the answer to all your problems?”

  “You getting smart with me?”

  “Nope. Just wondering if the big guy did what he said he was going to do.”

  Aster popped up from his chair and came at him so fast Patrick didn’t know what hit him until he had all ten of Aster’s fingers wrapped around his neck.

  “Don’t you watch the news?” Aster asked him, squeezing hard. “Maybe you didn’t see Hansel’s men with the words sex trafficker scrawled across their foreheads. All three of them were found taped to fucking telephone poles on a well-traveled road.”

  As the life was choked out of him, Patrick strained to reach inside his pocket for his gun.

  “McMann’s sidekick Beast made fools of us—you and me—and if the McMann situation isn’t taken care of soon, if you don’t find that kid of hers before the meeting tomorrow night, the gang from Los Angeles has promised to pay us a visit.” He let go of Patrick, and just like that it was over.

  Patrick held on to the counter for support as he gasped for breath. He wheezed and coughed. It took a moment for his vision to clear. He reached for his gun, thought about killing Aster right now. It would be over in a second. But neighbors would hear the gunshot, and the last thing he needed was the police to show up and find Lara in the basement. He needed to be patient, meet him at the same construction site where he’d taken out Eddie and Gage. There was plenty of open space. A perfect burial ground for Aster and friends when the time came.

  Aster filled his own mug and headed back to the table, where he took a seat as if nothing had happened.

  “I’ve decided I need a partner,” Aster said between gulps. “Whoever I choose is going to get a piece of the action.”

  “What does that mean?” Patrick asked, his throat still sore.

  “A percentage of the business. Eighty-twenty. I’m being generous.”

  Patrick didn’t trust him. After all these years, Aster was going to give up a big chunk of change? Either he was lying or things were worse than he was letting on, Patrick realized. McMann had gotten to him. It must hurt bad to know a schoolteacher and mother of two might very well bring him to his knees.

  “Do you think Hansel’s men will talk?”

  “No. If they do, they’ll be dead within an hour of being released. But I do need to get control of this situation.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Patrick told him.

  Aster’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’ll do what Hansel proposed. I’ll make sure the McMann household is blown to smithereens.”

  Aster let out a belly laugh. “See. This is why I need you, kid. You have a way of reminding me of how things used to be. Pow!” he said, spittle flying, his expression suddenly bright and merry. “Blow the fucking place up.” He guzzled the rest of his coffee, then pushed himself to his feet. “That partner I was talking about,” he said, his ugly gaze on Patrick’s. “I want it to be you.”

  Patrick forced the corners of his mouth to turn upward, but he wasn’t falling for it. Aster was a greedy son of a bitch. No way, no how would he give up power, let alone a percentage of the business.

  “Speechless, kid?” Aster laughed again, an irritating wheezing sound. “Don’t tell me you have to fucking thi
nk about it.”

  “No,” Patrick said, forcing himself to continue to stare at Aster’s jowly face. “You caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s early and—”

  “OK. OK,” Aster cut him off. “Calm the fuck down.”

  Fucking asshole.

  “I should get going. Just wanted to share the news, so you could start gathering an army.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and plopped it on top of the table.

  “What’s that?”

  “Some up-front money, a goodwill gesture, to show you I’m serious about this.” Aster looked around. “Maybe you should use the money to find a new house, for crying out loud.”

  Patrick followed the asshole down the hallway and back to the living area, where Aster grabbed his coat and handed it to Patrick so he could help him with the sleeves. The man was a fucking invalid.

  “I like the idea you came up with, too,” Aster said. “Set that in motion, would you?”

  “Which idea was that?”

  “Bomb the McMann place. Kill them all!”

  “Got it,” Patrick said. Then he ushered the old man toward the front door.

  Aster stopped at the basement door, even rested a hand on the knob.

  Patrick stiffened.

  “What’s with all the locks? What are you hiding in there?”

  “Why don’t you have a look for yourself?” Patrick said with as much bravado as he could muster.

  Aster smiled. “Nah. I’ve spent enough time in this dump. Rae is going to make me waffles and bacon when I return. She makes the sweetest fucking waffles you’ve ever tasted.” Aster winked, then headed out.

  Yeah, I know, Patrick wanted to say, but he kept quiet. Move along, Aster. Move along.

  “See you tonight.”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said as he watched the prickly son of a bitch waddle down the walkway, climb into his car, and drive off.

  He didn’t believe one damn word of the whole let’s-be-partners bullshit. Aster didn’t get up early and drive himself to anyone’s house for nothing. He was up to no good. He knew something, and he was testing him. This is it, Patrick thought. Time to make one last call and get rid of the girl.

  The second Lara heard the main door shut and the car engine start up, she sat upright on her cot. She could hear Patrick’s footsteps above. When she had first heard the gravelly tone of the visitor, she’d been unable to move. She recognized his voice and his laughter from the times he came to visit Mother at the farmhouse. According to the other girls, he was the boss of all the other bad guys. He was the one who told everyone else what to do. He was scary and mean. Everybody used to hide when he came around.

  Shivers prickled her skin as she thought about what he’d said about blowing up the McMann house and killing them all. She felt under the mattress for the nail she kept hidden away and reminded herself that she needed to stay strong.

  If and when the time came for her to use the nail, whether it was sharp enough or not, she would plunge it hard and fast into Patrick’s neck, and then she would run and never look back.

  SEVENTEEN

  “I’ve got bad news and good news. The good news,” Kirsten told Faith, “is that I think we might have actually made a dent in that list of yours over the past few days. Just this morning one of the men arrested was charged with seven counts of trafficking and prostitution.”

  “And the bad news?” Faith asked after a long pause.

  “Only twelve of the fifty women who showed up at our last meeting have volunteered to join us tonight.”

  “Understandable,” Faith said. “I’m sure many of them have families, and we have no idea what to expect. It’s not the same as watching these men from the safety of our cars.”

  Kirsten tapped her fingertips on her desk, making a galloping noise.

  “I also understand,” Faith said, “if you’d rather stay out of this fight. I never meant for you to get involved in the first place.”

  Kirsten crossed her arms. “I’ve always made a point of not doing anything I don’t want to do. And this isn’t just your fight. Trafficking isn’t going away. We both know it’s growing every day. It’s gotten out of hand, and it needs to stop.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It starts tonight. And it starts with us. You. Me. Your neighbor . . . whoever shows up. If we can’t stand up to these scumbags, who can? More importantly, who will?”

  She was right, Faith thought. But she also wondered selfishly if she, personally, would continue to fight the fight once she had Lara back. She didn’t have an answer.

  “You said you and your friends had a plan,” Kirsten went on. “Why don’t you share the specifics with me, and then I’ll get the word out? We can go from there.”

  For the next twenty minutes Faith laid out everything that had been discussed last night: Faith, Beast, her dad, Colton, and any other volunteers who were willing would arrive early. Colton would hide inside. As soon as children were spotted or the meeting began, Faith would call the police and the FBI. Thanks to Beast, the meeting would be recorded. Hopefully the audio and video would provide authorities the ammunition they needed to have the men brought in for questioning.

  Kirsten asked a lot of the same questions brought up last night.

  Once all the details were ironed out and Kirsten was satisfied, she sat back in her leather recliner and casually asked about Jana and the baby.

  “Jana and Steve are doing well,” Faith said stiffly. She hadn’t realized that talking about Jana and her new baby would be so difficult, but there it was. “Their baby boy is healthy,” she went on, forcing her shoulders to relax. Faith smiled. “What more can they ask for?”

  “What is the emotion I’m sensing?” Kirsten asked.

  Faith put a hand on her chest. “From me?”

  Kirsten nodded.

  “Ah, it must be that body-language-detection thing you’re so good at.”

  Kirsten said nothing. Merely waited patiently for an answer to her question.

  The truth was Faith had been feeling out of sorts ever since Jana’s baby was born. She wasn’t jealous or any of that kind of nonsense. But seeing the baby, being surrounded by such innocence and sweet new beginnings, had made her think of her own loss. “No one besides my parents and Jana know I lost a baby in the attack,” Faith told Kirsten. “I was going to tell Craig that weekend, but I never had the chance.” Faith swept stray hairs from her forehead. Her insides twisted and turned as if their baby were still growing inside her. Ghost pains. Faith’s chest ached. “I haven’t had time to think about Craig or the baby,” she said. “I miss my husband. I’m not ready to let him go.”

  Kirsten sat quietly and didn’t say anything.

  “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to truly mourn my husband,” Faith found herself saying. “People you love should be properly mourned. And yet a part of me expects Craig to walk through the door when this madness ends . . . if it ever ends.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Kirsten told her. “Losing someone you love is painful. Your situation has forced you to put your emotions on the back burner, which can’t be easy. Once you get a chance to breathe, the pain and sadness you’re experiencing will most likely begin to feel as if it’ll never let up, and that’s normal.”

  Faith wondered if that was true. At the moment, she felt empty, soulless. Her heart had been broken into so many pieces, trampled on, and swept aside. Her newfound emotion—anger—came in waves: massive, cold, dark swells that threatened to wipe out the person she used to be.

  But at the moment, she felt nothing. She met Kirsten’s gaze and said, “Most days I feel hollow inside.”

  Kirsten nodded.

  “I know my family and you and Hudson will help ease my pain. I’m sure the passing of time will do what it does best as I find a way to move on, but that’s what scares me most,” Faith said. “I don’t want to get used to a new normal. I don’t want to think about what the future holds without Craig. Most people are afraid of dying.
I’m afraid of living.”

  At seven o’clock sharp, Aster grabbed the key from beneath his desk. He walked across his office and unlocked the safe, retrieved his handgun, and then peeled more than a few hundred-dollar bills off the top of the stack of money inside. He found himself staring inside the small, dark space for a second longer than necessary.

  He frowned, then shuffled around the items inside.

  Walking slowly from one side of his office to the other, he looked at the familiar space, sniffing and examining. The door opened, and Rae walked inside.

  She knew better than to enter without warning, and yet she gave him a haughty look as if she didn’t have a care in the world. He’d grown tired of people’s inability to follow orders. His jaw hardened as he walked toward her. “What have I told you about knocking?”

  “I knew you didn’t have any visitors.”

  He slapped her across the cheek, enjoyed the look of shock on her face. He liked the way it made him feel—in control. He raised his hand, ready to strike again.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, cowering as she should have done from the start. “I should have made my presence known before I entered.”

  Her apologies didn’t quell his anger. “Who has been inside this room?”

  Her eyes widened. “Nobody, I assure you.”

  He pointed to the open safe. “One of my coins is missing. My 1943 copper cent. Where is it?”

  “I have no idea. Please settle down, Aster. The kids are home. They’ll hear you.”

  He clasped his fingers around her slender white throat as he had done to Patrick earlier today.

  She grabbed his arm and struggled to pull free.

  “Who was in here?” he asked again. “Did Patrick pay you another visit?”

  She hesitated a few seconds too long. Although he hadn’t been serious about her and Patrick, the fearful expression on her face told him there was some truth to what he’d said. The first time he’d asked her about Patrick’s unexpected visit, he’d been preoccupied with business. Rae had played it cool. But not this time. It shocked him to think he’d been duped. The heat inside his belly sizzled and crackled. “Tell me the truth about Patrick, or I will choke you until your last breath is squeezed from your lungs and you fall at my feet.”