Outrage (Faith McMann Trilogy Book 2)

by T. R. Ragan

  The feeling of being watched had not left her since she’d returned home from the hospital. Someone was watching her. She was certain of it, and yet she’d never actually seen anyone. She had no proof. Just a sense, a strange sort of energy surging through her body, making her jittery, telling her that the people who had killed Craig and taken her kids were watching her from afar, waiting to strike.

  She continued down the sidewalk, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, the wind whipping her hair every which way. Relieved to reach the entrance, she checked in with the receptionist. Within a few minutes, Faith was led into an office with tranquil lighting and comfortable furniture.

  Kirsten Reich greeted her with a calming smile and an outstretched hand. She was a few inches taller than Faith. She wore black slacks and a beige sweater. Her wavy blonde hair fell around her shoulders. After quick introductions were made, Kirsten gestured for her to have a seat on the couch.

  Faith removed her jacket and then took a seat and rubbed some warmth into her arms as Kirsten collected pen and paper from her desk by the window. “I’m surprised to see you,” Kirsten said.

  “Why is that?”

  “From what I’ve seen on television and read in the papers, you’ve been busy.”

  Faith nodded. “Yes, it’s been chaotic,” she said. An awkward silence filled the room as an image of her husband flashed through her mind, making her feel queasy. She rarely thought of Craig, mostly because it hurt too much. Her gaze fell on her wedding ring, and in an instant Faith was carried a million miles away, to another time, another place. She was inside a small room at the back of the church. Jana was worrying over Faith’s hair, and Mom was chattering on about the flowers that had yet to be delivered. What would they do if the bouquets didn’t arrive in time? Colton left the small room in a huff, mumbling something about women worrying about the silliest things.

  Faith remembered her wedding day as if it had happened yesterday.

  Moments before she was to walk down the aisle, her heart had been beating as fast as the thoughts running through her mind. Was she too young to be marrying? What about her plans to backpack through Europe? With a full-time job and a husband, when would she ever have time to learn to cook? She’d always planned to live in Paris for a year—that would never happen once she married.

  But then the flowers arrived.

  The music started.

  It was time.

  She peeked through the church doors and saw Craig standing by the altar, strong hands clasped in front of him. He’d looked so handsome, so relaxed.

  He loved her, and she loved him.

  One glimpse was all it had taken. Calmness settled over her shoulders like a warm, down-filled blanket. Backpacking through Europe and living in Paris were quickly forgotten. Her hands stopped trembling. And never once had she experienced a moment of regret after they were pronounced man and wife.

  Craig was the love of her life.

  And now he was gone—everything taken from her in one fell swoop.

  Eyes wide-open, Faith looked around the office and wondered what the hell she was doing there. She had absolutely nothing to say to Kirsten Reich, a complete stranger. Nothing to gain by coming.

  “Faith?”

  Startled, Faith directed her attention to the therapist, who was now sitting across from her, legs crossed, gaze directed on her.

  They both waited for the other to say something.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to talk about today?” Kirsten asked.

  Faith had been about to get up and leave the office. Instead she remained seated. A long pause hovered between them before Faith said, “My husband was killed. I watched him die, and there was nothing I could do.”

  Silence.

  “I loved him, and yet I haven’t shed a tear for him because I’m not ready to go there yet.”

  The therapist jotted something on her notepad.

  “My children were taken,” Faith continued without emotion. “Ripped from our lives and from the only home they’ve ever known.” A horn honked in the distance. Faith looked about, heard someone talking just outside the door. It took her a moment to regain focus. “I have reason to believe my daughter is being held captive by people waiting for the highest bidder. Whether you have children or not, I’m sure you can imagine what it might be like to lay awake every night wondering where she is and what she’s doing. Is she chained to a bed? Is she alone and frightened? Are they feeding her or—”

  Faith stopped midsentence, her thoughts unable to go to that darkest place. She looked at the clock on the wall and thought of Robyn Price. Why hadn’t the woman called her back? More important, why was Faith sitting here wasting her time?

  Rage had been right when she’d said it was too soon to quit. Faith still had work to do. Dad and Colton were risking their lives looking for Hudson, and here she was talking about what? Her fucking feelings? She couldn’t cry for her dead husband because she was half-dead herself, a walking zombie. What was the point in coming here today? These men and women who took children and abused them, these horrible people whoever they were, would never stop. So why should she? She pushed herself from the couch.

  “Are you leaving?”

  Faith grabbed her coat. “I think so. Yes. I never should have come. I’m sorry.”

  “Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.”

  Faith looked at Kirsten with a raised eyebrow.

  “The five stages of grief,” Kirsten said.

  Faith slipped her coat on and tightened the sash. “Good to know.”

  “I might be able to help you.”

  “When I get to the depression stage,” Faith told her, “maybe I’ll give you a call.”

  “It’s often hard to see clearly through anger.”

  “I know all about anger,” Faith said. “It inspires aggressive feelings and behaviors. A small amount of anger is necessary for survival. But unexpressed anger can be dangerous. It can get people hurt or killed.” Something she knew firsthand.

  “Or thrown in jail,” Kirsten added.

  Faith stopped moving, exhaled. “I know. I can’t end up there again. But these people must be stopped.”

  “I agree.”

  Faith inhaled as she looked at the woman more curiously than before.

  “We’ve been following your story,” Kirsten said.

  “We?”

  “Myself and a few friends of mine. Our group has grown over the years. We started out as a neighborhood watch. Let’s just say we keep a close eye on certain people who misbehave. One of the ladies in my group has connections.”

  “FBI?” Faith asked.

  “Something like that. Anyhow, through this connection of ours, we heard about you and your friends storming the farmhouse.”

  Faith didn’t know where the therapist was going with all this. “And?”

  “And if you ever need our help, give me a call, and I’ll be happy to round up the girls.”

  “You’re not going to try to talk me out of this craziness?”

  “On the contrary.”

  Faith looked at Kirsten Reich in a whole new light. “Exactly what kind of help are you offering?”

  “Any kind.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  That night, as Faith drove to anger management class, she kept an eye on the car in her rearview mirror. It was a black Mercedes with tinted windows. The car had been following her for the past five miles.

  Heart pounding, hands curled around the wheel in a death grip, she pulled to the side of the road and reached for the gun tucked inside her glove compartment.

  The Mercedes swept by in a blur.

  With a sigh of relief, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Finally she merged back onto the main road. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot outside the building where her anger management classes were held. She spotted Rage and Beast standing at the entrance waiting for her.

  “Are you still a
ngry with me?” Faith asked Rage when she reached her side.

  “Nope. Whatever you decide, I’m good.”

  “Liar.”

  Beast elbowed Rage in the side, and she shooed him away. “So what did you decide to do?” she asked Faith.

  “I’m not giving up. I could never stop looking for my kids. I’d rather die.” She paused for a moment before her gaze settled on the bandage covering Rage’s chin. “What happened to you? And what happened with Fin? With my mom being in the hospital and everything that’s been going on, I forgot to ask you and Beast about it.”

  “Well,” Rage began, “the good news is that he’s no longer in your garage.”

  “Where is he? Did he talk?”

  “Sort of. He gave us a couple of names. But we didn’t trust him, so Beast and I decided to follow him.”

  Faith could tell from Rage’s expression that something had gone wrong. “But?”

  “We followed him to an apartment building off Truxel, but he didn’t stand a chance. Someone blew the tattoo man to smithereens.”

  “What?” Faith asked. “How?”

  “After watching Fin dig around in his pocket for his keys, I set off to see if I could talk to someone in the manager’s office. He couldn’t have set one foot in the door before all hell broke loose. Wham bam,” Rage said, using her hands for emphasis. “There was a deafening blast, crap flying every which way, and in the end, Fin was gone, as in blown to a million pieces.”

  Faith frowned. “Nobody else was hurt?”

  “A few stitches on my chin,” Rage said. “That’s it.” She sighed. “The bad news is that Beast had a friend check out the names Fin gave us. Dead ends. He must have pulled the names right out of his ass.”

  “The most important thing is that you’re OK,” Faith said.

  “Thanks. How’s your mom doing?” Rage asked as they walked inside and found a seat in the circle of folding chairs.

  “She’s doing better. Jana and I have been taking turns keeping her company. The doctor wants to keep an eye on her for a while. There’s still a lot of swelling.”

  “I’m glad she’s doing OK,” Rage said. “Miranda is home with Little Vinnie. They’ve been playing a lot of card games. I think Miranda likes it there.”

  “Thanks for taking her in.”

  “Maybe when I’m gone,” Rage said, “she can have my room. We’re about the same size. She can have my clothes, too.”

  Beast let out a low growl and then got up and headed for the bathroom.

  “He’s in denial,” Rage told Faith.

  “About what?”

  “About the fact that I won’t be around for much longer. It’s annoying.”

  “He cares about you,” Faith said. “He’s not ready to let you go.”

  “But if he doesn’t talk about what he’s feeling inside, he’s going to spend the rest of his life wishing he’d said all those things he keeps bottled up.”

  “How about you?” Faith asked. “Have you said everything that needs to be said?”

  “I try, but nobody wants to listen.”

  “I do.”

  “Really? Because I don’t think you want to get me started.”

  “I want to hear what you have to say,” Faith said. She glanced over her shoulder. The instructor was talking to a woman Faith didn’t recognize in the far corner of the room.

  “OK, fine. For starters,” Rage said, “Beast doesn’t have any idea how much I care about him because he refuses to listen to me. He’s like a father, brother, and a best friend all rolled into one. He’s also stubborn as an ox. I don’t think he’ll ever know how grateful I am for all he’s done for me.”

  “Well, we both know he cares about you, too,” Faith told her. “But he’s sensitive, and he doesn’t want to lose you.”

  Rage sighed. “And then there’s the whole thing about dying. Sometimes it scares me to think about it. Does dying hurt? Am I going to linger in a hospital bed for days on end with everyone staring at me, waiting for the inevitable? And what about my little boy? When Christopher turns eighteen, will he look for his biological mother? Will he ever know how much I loved him? That I gave him up so he might have a chance at a good, decent life?”

  “Maybe there’s a chance we can still find Christopher.”

  “Beast and Little Vinnie are bounty hunters. They locate people for a living, but they haven’t been able to find him. It was a closed adoption, and the people running things over there won’t budge.”

  The instructor made his way to the center of the circle.

  “Thanks for letting me vent,” Rage told Faith as Beast approached and took his seat.

  “You can talk to me anytime,” Faith said.

  “OK, people, listen up,” the instructor said, putting an end to all the chatter in the room. “Tonight is a very special night. Say hello to our special guest, Julie Ryan.”

  “I’ll be your instructor tonight,” Julie said. “I’m here to show you all the proper way to throw a tantrum.”

  Laughter erupted.

  “I know, I know,” the other instructor said. “For weeks now I’ve been talking about how to handle your anger with breathing techniques and meditation, but tonight it’s all about getting that fury, that feeding frenzy of anger out of your system.”

  “In constructive ways, of course,” Julie added.

  “What now?” Rage said under her breath.

  “Maybe you’ve been through a divorce, or you were fired from your job,” Julie said in a superpeppy voice. “Or perhaps you had one of those days. Whatever the reason may be, you’re feeling stressed. Sometimes we just need to let it all out.” She began shaking her body, limbs flailing. “Come on, people—join me!”

  Faith rolled her eyes.

  Beast crossed his arms, making it clear he would not participate.

  Rage stuck her arms out like a zombie and gave her hands a shake. “Hmm. Not bad.”

  “If you don’t want to shake your bootie,” the woman said with a wide smile on her face, “then try beating your chest and crying out as if you were Tarzan.”

  Rage decided to give that a try, too. Her jungle cry sounded a little pitiful to Faith, but at least she was giving it a go.

  “Here,” Julie said, tossing Faith a pillow, seemingly unwilling to let her sit it out. “Release some of that anxiety that’s been building. Put the pillow against your face and scream and wail as loud as you want. You can do it.”

  “For the love of God,” Faith said. She was about to pass the pillow to someone else in the class when Rage stopped her.

  “We’re here, aren’t we? Just do it.”

  The entire place had erupted into jarring noises and mewling cries. Off in the corner, a man holding a bat was swinging at a stuffed animal hanging from the ceiling. Another guy, Mufasa, the weirdo who had been there since day one, was screaming at the top of his lungs as he socked a punching bag.

  It wasn’t bad enough they made everyone use nicknames, which was why Faith had been dubbed Furious, and the same with Beast and Rage, now they had to make fools of themselves, too?

  Sunshine, a hefty woman with Shirley Temple curls, was blowing up balloons and then gleefully popping them with a needle. Faith had never seen her look happier.

  They were all here tonight, Butterfinger, Captain, ZZ Top, Jinx, and all the other angry people in Placer County, beating their chests or shaking their arms like crazy people. Maybe there was something to Julie Ryan’s crazy idea after all.

  Mufasa’s screams suddenly escalated. Everyone in the room stopped to watch him. His face turned from a light shade of red to crimson right before their eyes. Instead of letting his rage out, his anger was mounting.

  His ire was palpable. The moment he reached into his coat pocket, Beast shouted, “Get down!” and pulled Rage to the ground.

  Mufasa fired six bullets into the punching bag and was about to reload when Julie Ryan walked right up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Give me the gun,” she said c
almly.

  Half-hidden behind a chair, Faith watched it all unfold. She knew from previous anger management classes that Mufasa’s tendency to be loud and obnoxious stemmed from one incident, one moment in time. His only son had been murdered, and his son’s killer would be up for parole soon. “Give me the gun,” the instructor repeated as if she’d done this sort of thing a million times before. “These people are your friends, and you’re scaring them.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Yeah, I think I do. I’ve heard about you, Mufasa. Don’t let the bastard who did this to your family bring you down with him. Don’t let him win.”

  Reluctantly, he handed her the gun, which she promptly handed off to the other instructor. Mufasa’s chin dropped downward, nearly hitting his chest.

  Class was dismissed, and everyone was told to go home.

  Faith looked around the room at all the people standing there, frozen in place and scared out of their wits. She knew how they felt. The world had turned on its axis, and nobody was safe.

  THIRTY

  Aster took his time filling the crystal vase with water. Then he carefully positioned the long-stemmed roses inside before placing the vase on the table next to the recliner where the old hag spent most of her time.

  The nurse sighed. “If only all our patients were treated with such tender, loving care.”

  Aster smiled at the young woman with the perky breasts and slender hips. “How’s Mom been?” he asked, although he couldn’t care less.

  The sweet little thing looked around to make sure nobody else was within earshot. “Don’t tell the others,” she said, “but your mother is my favorite patient. She never gets upset, and she always cleans her plate, vegetables and all.”

  That’s because she’s a fat cow, he thought. He hated his mother with a passion. The only reason she was staying in a place this nice was because of his pussy brothers. His mother’s maiden name was Hall, and that was why he had all his girls branded with the letter H. Because, like his mother, they were all whores.