The Red Ledger: 5

by Meredith Wild

  He’s a few paces away, watching my every move with his arms crossed like some diabolical drill sergeant who takes deep pleasure in the discomfort of his recruits. When he walks toward me, I lower my head like a child awaiting the next strike. He yanks me up by my arm, and I swallow the shriek that wants to burst free. With a few swift motions, he binds my hands in front of me with the rope in his pocket and tugs on it to test his work.

  He’s a Boy Scout for sure, as there’s no hope of me getting out of it. Wordlessly he turns and pushes me toward the back of the house until we step into a closed-in porch. The windows are covered with sheets of plywood, and most of the space is filled with garbage and furniture piled up in the corners. He pulls down a dirty mattress and drops it onto the floor.

  “You can sleep here.”

  I eye it warily, unsure what his plan is. He doesn’t look at me like he wants anything more than my silence and obedience, and I pray that’s the case. I could never fight him off, and he’d likely kill me if I tried.

  I meet his eyes again. Stone cold. His jaw is tight as he approaches. Against every instinct, I hold my ground. I will myself not to scream or cry. He grabs my jaw, squeezing tightly. He pulls his gun from the band of his cargo pants and rests the metal tip against my lips.

  “Open.”

  I’m shaking again, to the point where I can’t control it. I close my eyes. Pray…

  Please, not like this… Not with this animal…

  Bones doesn’t wait for me to comply. He pulls my jaw down and inserts the muzzle into my mouth until I can taste the metal against my tongue. It takes everything inside me not to scream. Not to beg for my life.

  “Look at me.”

  I blink my eyes open, making him out through the sheen of my tears.

  “Make a sound, and you won’t need a gag.” His voice gets lower. His eyes darken and glimmer at once. “Not a single. Fucking. Sound.”

  I can scarcely breathe, let alone acknowledge his threat. But I think we both know I heard it.

  TRISTAN

  A hard slap jolts me into consciousness. Townsend’s hands are on his knees as he bends to see me at eye level. I squeeze my eyes closed at the sharp pain in my head, akin to the kind that graces hangovers I try to avoid. What the fuck happened?

  “Wakey wakey.” Townsend’s upbeat tone isn’t helping matters.

  “What happened?” My voice is raspy as I look around.

  “Tranquilizer dart. Remember?”

  I try to put together the foggy pieces of what happened. The tracker I found in Jay’s room. The dash out the back. It’s all blurry after that. Something I’m used to, just not when it comes to my present. “I guess,” I finally mutter.

  “I’ve torn the bloody house apart, and I can’t find Jay. Her tracker is pinging right here though, so you need to perk up and start talking, mate.”

  I remember the microchip in my pocket. Not sure I’ll tell him, though. I’m too groggy to work on strategy yet. Best to just keep him talking.

  “How do I know you’re not here to kill her?”

  He laughs but tilts his head like he might entertain the question. He sits on the chair in front of me, and I get the feeling we’ve been here before. An untimely case of déjà vu.

  “Jay and I have an arrangement.”

  “Her and her fail-safes.” I’d laugh if it wouldn’t hurt to, because Jay’s layers are well beyond what I would have imagined her capable of.

  He nods knowingly. “Yeah, she’s always got something up her sleeve. But I’m her last resort. She helps me, and in return, I drop everything and help her should the need arise.”

  “She helps you? You’re an employee.”

  His eye twitches—almost imperceptible. “Do you have any idea who I am, Red?” He asks like he’s waiting for an invitation to tell me his nuanced version of his life story. Too bad I don’t care for that side of it.

  “British Armed Forces. Ex-spy. Kicked out of the UK, and Russia’s not picking up the phone either.” I shrug. “Surprised I didn’t see you in Rio.”

  His expression is conspicuously calm. He doesn’t like that I know what I know. “That’s some of it. You haven’t seen me because I work from home mainly.”

  “If you’re lying low, what’s Jay got to do with it?”

  He glances over to the black bag that’s rolled out flat on the couch—a veritable tool kit for torture and…whatever else, I have no idea. There are at least a dozen pockets with shiny metal tools, vials, and a healthy stash of syringes in the end pocket. He follows my gaze.

  “That’s my bag of tricks. Going to help us with our chat, I think.” He pushes his chair to the side, tips it so he leans over the bag. He drags his fingers over a few of the pockets before stopping on one. He pulls out a clear vial and a syringe. Shifting closer to me, he looks through the tiny bottle. “See, I’m not like you, Red. You couldn’t pay me enough to run around the world taking the jobs you do. I guess you could say I’m in semi-retirement.”

  I’m eyeing the vial with as much interest as he’s giving it. I’m not overly keen on getting shot up with whatever it is, but I’m encouraged that his last trick didn’t kill me. Then more details from his file start filtering into my brain. Suspected association with the death of other spies and certain prominent military figures. Death by nerve agents. Acid attacks. Training in chemical and biological warfare. Healthy fear of what’s in the vial pushes me into a sharper state of consciousness.

  “So what do you do? If she’s got a file on you, that means you work for the Company.”

  I tense when he uncaps the syringe and begins slowly drawing the liquid into it. “Jay gets me all the materials I need. Things that are hard to get legally. I cook up a good batch of potion here and there. Float some to her friends in the Company. And that’s our arrangement.”

  “She doesn’t have friends in the Company anymore.”

  He lifts his chin a little but doesn’t answer. “Let’s just get you talking, shall we?”

  I could tell him about her indiscretions—all the intel she’s already shared with Crow and me—but even in this bind I’m in, I’m not sure revealing that little tidbit is the right call.

  “What is that, exactly?”

  “We call it SP-131. An oldie but goodie. Russians started mixing it up in the eighties and found it worked like a charm. Still does, so I’ve been using the same recipe for a while. Loosens the tongue, and it’ll feel like a good therapy session by the time we’re through.”

  He lifts his brows with a smile, like this is good news all around.

  I’m not sure what’s more unsettling. The loosening of the tongue or the not remembering. Losing more memories is a suffocating thought. So much is still out of reach.

  “Listen, I’ll tell you what you need to know. You don’t need to use that shit.”

  “I need to know where Jay is,” he says, flicking the filled syringe barrel. “And if you haven’t told me yet, you’re not bound to without a little help. I don’t fuckin’ trust a word that comes out of your mouth anyway. I’m not wasting any more of my time.”

  His dark-haired friend joins us and hands Townsend a cell phone. “It’s for you.”

  Townsend takes it and traps it between his ear and shoulder while he ties a rubber tourniquet around my bicep. “Bones, have you got the girl?”

  I can hear a man’s deep voice on the other end, though it’s quickly drowned out by the drum of my heart in my ears. He can’t have Isabel. No fucking way.

  I glance out the window. Pitch black. A rare car passes by on St. Charles. I have no idea what time it is, but the girls would’ve been back by now. I whip my stare back to Townsend, who’s ended the call. He hands the phone back to his partner.

  “Who’s the girl?” I ask, even though I already know. Even though saying it out loud reveals there’s someone important enough to me to mention.

  His knowing sneer turns my blood to ice.

  “Your girl, mate. You’ve got my girl, and now I
’ve got yours.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Isabel

  I should sleep. Instead I’m lying on the dirty mattress Bones pulled down from the trash heap for me, listening to every sound. The rare clap of screen doors along the street. Voices that are muffled by the walls between us. Sirens that are too far away to give me hope. We’re in a neighborhood, but if I start screaming my head off, I’m not sure anyone would immediately hear me or know where to look. Even then, we may not be in the kind of place where calling the authorities for help is frequently done.

  I wouldn’t dream of making a peep anyway. The low drone of Bones’s snoring rumbles through the first floor, a circumstance that offers the smallest measure of relief. That and the merciful absence of rodent activity in the pile of things beside me. I’m guessing the house was long abandoned by its human and any other inhabitants long ago.

  I close my eyes and sigh. I should sleep. Get some rest for when I may need energy. The fearless voice in me tells me to stay alert, though, so I can be ready to fight or run at the first opportunity. My eyes have adjusted, but it’s too dark on the boarded-up porch to take up a meaningful search for anything useful. A weapon. A way out other than the padlocked back door. I can’t risk fumbling around and waking the giant in the other room.

  I think of the brief but truly horrifying encounters I’ve already experienced with him. I’ve never been more scared in my life. With all I’ve seen—all the men who’ve come after Tristan and me with the single goal of killing us—I’ve never felt fear the way I have with Bones. There’s something vacant in the way he looks at me and the way he speaks, like he’s reduced things down to very basic principles. I’m certain I could never reason him into sparing my life. In fact, I’m inclined to believe that he genuinely wants to add my death to the tally on his skin.

  I close my eyes as a fresh wave of desperation crashes over me. I allow myself a silent sob into the night but keep my tears locked up tight, not wanting to risk even a sniffle. But my God… What if I die here? Snuffed out and forgotten in this place that’s been forgotten by everyone else. No, I can’t let it end this way.

  Obeying Bones may keep me alive, but if things change, I have to be ready to fight back, no matter how dim my chances of survival may be. He’s obviously ex-military with zero patience and no semblance of a conscience. The only way to overcome him would be to catch him off guard.

  I steel my nerves and search for resolve. As soon as enough light seeps into the room, I’ll search for something to keep hidden for when the right time comes. That’s what Tristan would do. He’s always ready. Always thinking. More calm and collected than I ever gave him credit for.

  I swallow over the knot in my throat. Tristan…

  Is he looking for me? How could he possibly find me here?

  A car door slams loudly, ramping up all my senses. It’s close. Closer than the others I’ve been straining to hear all night. Then the unmistakable sound of footsteps up the front steps. More than one. A man’s muffled voice. Someone new. Then clear as a bell as he enters the house.

  “Have a seat.” The crash of something or someone hitting the floor. “Make sure he can’t move an inch.”

  “Got it,” Bones answers gruffly.

  “Where is she?” Tristan’s voice.

  I jolt upright and come to my knees, ready to bolt toward the heavenly sound.

  “I’m the one asking the questions here, Red. Shut up until I’m ready to deal with you.”

  Hearing Tristan is a shock of relief, followed by the horrifying realization that he’s been taken too.

  There’s a scuffle I’m blind to decipher. Then I’m no longer alone on the porch. A light switches on, shooting a blinding glare from a single bulb above onto the space. I blink against the harsh rush of visibility.

  “Ah, there you are. Isabel Foster.”

  I rear back when the man crouches beside the mattress. He’s tall but lean in stature. Totally different from Bones. Not to mention his accent. His scalp is covered in a short blond fuzz, his face is freckled, and his pale pinkish lips curve up with a smile.

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Townsend, love.”

  I shake my head slightly. “Wh-What do you want from me?”

  He doesn’t answer. He only looks me over with his unforgiving gray eyes. I can’t hold too much appeal in my current state. I’d been dressed for the festival, but I’ve been suffocated, sick, and tossed around pretty roughly since then. But his interest doesn’t appear sexual in nature, thank God.

  “You hungry?” he asks.

  I frown. Is he serious?

  “You deaf?”

  “No,” I answer sharply.

  His eye twitches a little. “I asked you a question. Are you hungry?”

  “A little, yeah. Mostly thirsty.”

  “Bones!” He shouts over his shoulder, causing me to jump. “Go grab us some food. And a bottle of water for the girl.”

  Bones joins us a few seconds later and tosses an unopened bottle of water onto the mattress beside me. He doesn’t pass up the chance to sneer at me, like my mere presence offends him. The shell-shocked part of me is flooded with an irrational fear that I’ve spoken at all. Hopefully the ban on sound has been lifted with Townsend’s arrival.

  “What should I get?”

  “Use your best fuckin’ judgment. How about that?”

  Bones hesitates, not seeming to know how to proceed.

  Townsend rolls his eyes, but Bones doesn’t see it. “How about some sandwiches? And some more waters.” He lifts his chin to me. “That sound all right to you?”

  I trap my bottom lip between my teeth and answer with the smallest nod I can manage. I don’t dare look at Bones until he’s disappearing through the door.

  Townsend chuckles a little. “He’s very literal, that one. Have to spell things out or he gets confused, you know? He’s a rules man. Doesn’t like ambiguity or coloring outside the lines.”

  I smile tightly. This is too casual. Is he trying to be the good cop since Bones is clearly a monster?

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “I’m fine,” I say quietly, not trusting he cares at all.

  He glances around, his attention landing on the trash heap. “Conditions could be better, but we do what we can on short notice.”

  I want to ask him why he’s here and why he’s taken us, but the fear of misstepping keeps me silent.

  “So you’re the girl who’s thrown everything on its head.” He looks me over again, almost in disbelief. “Isabel, I need to ask you something.”

  I hesitate. “Okay.”

  “Can you tell me where Jude McKenna is?”

  I exhale roughly. Shit. How do I answer that? I look over his shoulder, wishing Tristan were miraculously there to give me a signal—to tell the truth or part of it, or keep my mouth shut until told otherwise.

  Townsend seems to sense this. He follows my gaze and returns it back to me. “That’s what I was afraid of.” His lips thin into a disappointing line before he rises and shuts the door, which doesn’t latch and remains partially open.

  Fear twists my empty stomach. I’ve done the wrong thing. And now it’s too late to go back.

  TRISTAN

  The room shifts. Its high ceilings seem to stretch out a little higher when I look up from my seat on the floor. Plumes of black decorate the walls, turning solid and grimy where they meet the baseboard. Little particles of mold are invisibly developing on the periphery. How long until everything is consumed?

  Townsend shot me up with his bullshit serum before we left, which made me a little more pliable for him and his goon to stuff me in the vehicle for the ride here. Even with the visions slamming me every few minutes, the drugs didn’t disable my ability to map where he was taking us—to this condemned house on a nearly empty block in the lower Ninth Ward. Neighbors are too far away to give a shit what happens here.

  The SP-131 coursing through my veins isn’t anything like th
e tranquilizer, though I’m sure remnants of that are still lingering in my system too. This is different. I’m fucked up in a way that doesn’t compare to anything I’ve experienced. Relaxed when I’m supposed to be on high alert. I keep losing my train of thought. Layers are missing.

  I start at the soft sound of Isabel’s voice. I look around, but she’s nowhere. Neither is Townsend, and the guy with the big neck has since left. She’s here. He has her. In this awful place.

  I like it fine right here with you.

  She whispers in my ear. My eyes go wide and my gaze darts around the empty room. It’s her voice, disembodied from the Isabel I know. The Isabel I know…

  I wince because suddenly I’m not sure I know what that means. The mark at the end of my gun. The woman in my bed at night giving me every last piece of herself. I shake my head.

  “No,” I mutter to myself. “There’s more.”

  I let my eyes close and rest my head against the wall. Isabel floods the black canvas.

  She’s in the middle of the four-poster bed covered in cream and lavender silk. Her eyes glimmer, filled with love and lust. I fist my hand in the duvet and yank it off, but there’s another one there. Then another. I tear at them, but she’s buried under the layers.

  I climb up the bed to get to her, but she’s suddenly gone. I slide my hand over the warm sheets, bury my face into the pillow, following her scent. Come back to me…

  “Stone!”

  I lift my head off the desk. I slide out of the chair and go to the front of the room.

  The man with dark-rimmed glasses and a rail-thin frame leans back in his chair, dropping his pen onto his cluttered desktop.

  “I’m not going to watch you flush your future. You want the grade? You meet with the tutor. Twice a week.”

  The sunlight glints off his dull gold nameplate, reminding me he holds just enough power over me to keep me listening. Mr. Brucher has been riding my ass since senior year started, and I’m convinced that nothing but working to my potential will satisfy him.