by T. R. Ragan
A movement outside captured her attention.
It was Lily. Five foot six, blue eyes with blonde hair tucked beneath her wig, she was the reason they had gone after Brad Vicente. Like most of The Crew, besides wanting justice for being wronged, Harper and Lily had little in common. Lily had grown up hunting with her father. She worked at an outdoor adventure shop. Never having married, she lived alone.
“Hey there. Long time no see,” Lily said with a smirk. “How are things?”
“Same-o, same-o,” Harper said.
Lily’s booted footfalls echoed off the walls as she walked to the far end of the warehouse. “It’s weird, being back here.”
“Agreed. Gives me the creeps.” Harper glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
Before Lily could respond, gravel being spit up beneath a car’s tires caught their attention.
Lily pulled her mask from her back pocket and slid it over her eyes as she headed for the exit. “Sounds like it’s go-time.”
Harper put on her mask too and followed at Lily’s heels.
“Why are they in Psycho’s car?” Lily asked.
“No idea.” The only guarantee when it came to plotting and planning seemed to be that nothing ever went as expected.
Psycho and Cleo climbed out of the car and slid on their eye masks. Psycho stretched her arms high above her head, then bent over and touched her toes.
Just another rapist, different day. No big deal. That was the vibe Harper got from Psycho.
Cleo was another story. She looked pale. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Appearing restless and irritable, Cleo glanced Harper’s way as she approached but didn’t bother with a greeting as she walked around the car and opened the passenger door.
Harper peeked inside the driver door that Psycho had left open. The passenger seat had been adjusted so that their target was reclined.
Cleo grabbed the corner of the blanket and pulled it off the man. Then she ripped off the tape covering his eyes and mouth.
His face was drenched in sweat and saliva. He coughed and sputtered and then immediately yelled for help.
Cleo shoved the barrel of her gun into his temple. “How stupid are you? Do you think I would have removed the tape if there was anyone else around?” She shook her head.
His eyes met Harper’s. “Help me.”
His eyes were rimmed with red. Fresh haircut, newly shaved, red shirt and black shorts that matched his black sneakers and red shoelaces. This wasn’t the only time she’d seen firsthand that no one should try to judge a book by its cover.
“Please,” he said.
He blinked, focused on her wig, then looked past Harper, his gaze moving from Lily to Psycho. “The Black Wigs,” he said. His head jerked back so he could see Cleo. “Lena,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Cleo’s eyes narrowed. “Say that name again and I’ll shove the barrel of this gun right down your throat.”
“I’m sorry for everything I did. A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought of you. If I could turn back time, it never would have happened.”
Cleo laughed. “Did you hear that, you guys? It was a mistake. An accident. He wants to turn back time and take it all back.”
Silence.
“Let me go,” he pleaded. “I beg of you.”
“Begging, huh? Do you remember me crying out, begging for someone, anyone at all, to help me?”
He wouldn’t or couldn’t stop crying, and Harper found herself ping-ponging between feeling sorry for him and wanting to scream at him. Bottom line was that he had done this to himself. For every choice there was a consequence. “It would be nice to be able to stop and take a breath, wouldn’t it?” Harper interrupted, her voice cutting.
His head jerked back Harper’s way and shook up and down like one of those bobbleheads. “I feel sick to my stomach,” he told her as if she might help him. “It’s hard for me to believe I could have ever done what I did to Le—your friend.”
“You’re right. It is hard to believe,” Harper said. “Being tied up and bound, trapped, unable to move your arms and legs, and having no control over your situation is difficult, isn’t it? How does it make you feel?”
He couldn’t stop crying long enough to answer.
“He’s a fucking pansy-ass baby, who’s only sorry because we caught him,” Cleo said. “If he felt so bad about what he did to me, why didn’t he try to find me and tell me how sorry he was?”
When Eddie Carter gained control of his emotions, he inhaled, his breath shaky. “I tried to find you.”
Cleo laughed.
“I did. I swear.”
“You swear?” Cleo repeated with much exaggeration. “Did everyone hear that? He tried to find me. He swears!”
“I’m married,” he said between sniffles, his voice rough and raw. “I have two daughters who need me.”
“Cry me a river,” Cleo said. “It must be tough to know you might never see them again.”
Harper swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat.
Cleo shoved her gun into her back pocket, then leaned over him to grab a bottle of water sitting between the front seats, unscrewed the cap, and gulped down every last drop. “Instead of thinking about your family, Eddie, I want you to stop and calm down for a moment.”
He was hiccuping and couldn’t seem to stop.
Cleo sighed. “I’ll wait. We have plenty of time.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Seriously? Do you want me to start from the beginning?”
“No. No. Please. I’m sorry.”
“Let’s not think about you or your family,” Cleo said. “Let’s forget about poor Eddie Carter for a minute and go back all those years ago to that fateful night at the fraternity house.”
He was whimpering again. Snot bubbled out of his nostrils.
Cleo’s brows turned downward. “For God’s sake.” She marched to the back door, flung it open, and stretched across the back seat. She returned with a small oily towel that she tossed at his face. “Wipe your nose.”
Harper glanced around and saw that Psycho had disappeared. Bored, Lily picked at her chipped dark-green nail polish.
Eddie Carter’s wrists were duct-taped together, which made wiping his nose awkward.
“Better,” Cleo snapped. “Close your eyes if you have to, and go back to that moment when you were hooting and hollering with the guys while you rode me like a Brahman bull.”
He cringed.
Cleo pulled a knife from her bootstrap and used it to unfasten the tremendous amount of tape she’d used to fasten him to the car seat.
As she worked, Eddie Carter begged for Cleo to listen, telling her he’d had numerous shots of tequila that fateful night. He’d been hammered and almost blacked out.
Harper had never seen Cleo so angry. Nostrils flared, Cleo said, “Shut up, Eddie. Shut up and listen. You weren’t drunk in the courtroom when you told everyone I was a slut.”
When Cleo reached down and removed the rest of the duct tape, Eddie Carter took everyone by surprise. He pushed Cleo so hard she stumbled backward onto the ground. Then he took off, heading across the gravel drive before making a sharp left straight down a steep, rocky hill.
Before Harper could yell for help, or do anything at all for that matter, Psycho ran past the car in a blur. Eddie Carter appeared to be in good shape, and he was fast.
But Psycho was faster.
Lithe and long, when she got close enough, she lunged for him, brought him to the ground. They rolled a few feet farther down the hill, dirt clods and dust flying about until Cleo caught up to them.
As Harper drew closer to the action, she saw Cleo straddling the man just as she had straddled Myles Davenport weeks before. She used her fists to pummel him, her knuckles making contact with every bit of his face. It wasn’t until Harper drew closer that she saw blood. Lots of blood.
Psycho stood, her chest heaving from exertion.
“Stop!” Harper cri
ed out when she saw Cleo pull a knife from her bootstrap, raise it above her head, and stab the man.
Harper attempted to pull Cleo off Eddie Carter, but rage had made Cleo into the Hulk.
“Put the knife down!”
Cleo tossed the knife aside and instead used her fists to beat him again. “You fucker,” she said over and over. “You deserve to die.”
Harper clamped a hand around Cleo’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”
Cleo’s shoulders slumped forward before she looked from Harper to Psycho. “I was seventeen,” she said. “I liked boys. But I was a virgin.” Cleo placed her hands on both sides of Eddie’s face, her thumbs flat against his eyelids. “You have no idea how many nights I dreamed of putting my hands on your face, digging my fingers into your sockets, and plucking out your eyes.”
His eyes remained shut even after Cleo pulled her hands away.
“Open your eyes, god damn it!” Spittle flew from Cleo’s mouth when she shouted.
He did as she said.
Lily walked toward them, stopping a few feet away.
“My parents and I never talked about the incident after you and your friends were released, free to go live your lives.” Cleo was crying now. “I wanted to forget, and maybe I could have if I hadn’t started showing. I was pregnant.”
Harper’s insides rolled.
Cleo’s brows slanted inward. “How many boys fucked me that night? I have no idea, Eddie. Do you?”
He shook his head, his blood-smeared face a maze of horror.
Cleo jabbed a finger into his chest, her anger palpable. “I didn’t know whose baby it was until she was born. My mother and I knew instantly who the daddy was. My little girl was the spittin’ image of Eddie Carter. My baby’s father was a rapist.” There was a long pause before Cleo said, “I gave her up for adoption because I didn’t want to look into her eyes every day for the rest of my life and relive what happened.” She used her forearm to wipe tears from her face, then jabbed him with her finger again. “I thought I had done the right thing, but I was wrong. She was my baby. I gave away my own baby. You took everything from me.”
“I’m so sorry,” he blubbered. “I’ve spent my life regretting what I did to you. Every year, I give to organizations to help end sexual abuse. I will do anything I can to help you move on. Anything. Just ask.”
“Typical,” Cleo said, wiping the tears away. “You haven’t changed a bit. Your parents paid for the best lawyers in the courtroom. And now you still think you can buy your way out of trouble. That’s not how it works, Eddie. Not here. Not this time.”
Cleo glanced Psycho’s way, apparently a silent message that it was time to get him into the warehouse, since Psycho approached and hooked her arm around Eddie Carter’s. Cleo grabbed a fistful of Eddie’s shirt and the two of them dragged him up the hill.
As he was pulled along, Eddie attempted to get to his feet, but his leg gave out. It was clear to Harper that he couldn’t walk. Besides being stabbed, Harper realized he must have hurt his leg on the way down the hill, or maybe when Psycho pounced. She wondered whether his leg was broken or he was bleeding internally.
Once they reached the top of the hill, he was pulled haphazardly across the rocky terrain and into the warehouse. They used zip ties to fasten his ankles to the same rusty pipe they had used when Otto Radley was here. Then they yanked his arms behind his back and zip-tied his wrists.
Restless and agitated, he grimaced.
Harper found a water bottle, unscrewed the lid, and brought it to him, told him to open his mouth. When he did, she let the water trickle steadily down his throat. She was checking his wounds when someone approached from behind.
“What are you doing?” Cleo asked.
“It’s hot. He’s thirsty.”
Psycho approached with a roll of duct tape and the same oily cloth from before. She used the towel and the duct tape to blindfold him.
“There,” Psycho said. “I need to take off this damn mask and wig.”
“The stab wound in his hip needs to be cleaned, and his leg might be broken,” Harper said.
Cleo snatched the water bottle out of Harper’s grasp. “You need to mind your own business.”
“He’s all of our business,” Harper argued.
“Nope. Just mine. You’re not the leader of the pack, so stop trying to tell me or anyone else what to do.” Cleo tossed the water bottle to the ground. “Oh, and that reminds me. There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” She jabbed a finger at Harper’s face, just missing her nose. “You better keep your fucking sister away from me. If she ever comes knocking on my door like she did Psycho’s, who knows what will become of her. You might want to give her a heads-up and tell her to mind her own business.”
Her words sent a shiver up Harper’s spine. “Are you threatening to harm my sister?”
“Call it whatever you want. If she digs too deep, we could all be exposed. And then what?”
Harper stiffened. Clearly something more was going on here. “You don’t trust me?”
“Why should I? Why should any of us? First you failed to mention what you knew about Bug’s plans to abandon the group, and now your sister is working on a story about us and you don’t think to warn us?” She shook her head. “That’s bullshit.”
Harper reached for Cleo’s arm, but she yanked it back so Harper wouldn’t be able to touch her.
“Why don’t we go outside and talk about this?”
“No. I’m done. I’ve said what I wanted to say. I’m staying right here. The rest of you should leave,” Cleo said to everyone in the warehouse.
“Are you staying the night?” Lily asked.
“I might. What’s it to you?”
Lily raised her hands and backed off. “Okay. Fine with me. I’m outta here.”
At a loss as to what to do next, Harper watched Lily leave.
Psycho came up to Harper, put an arm around her, and walked with her until they were outside. Once they were out of earshot, she said, “You should go. I’ll stay with Cleo until it gets dark.”
“How long is she going to keep him here?”
Psycho shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s up to her. Listen. I know you had a different vision for what The Crew was going to be and how things would go down. We all did. But what’s done is done, and we’re all seeing the chaos that comes from having too many captains on one ship. Not the best analogy, but you get my drift.”
“Why did you tell her about Sawyer? I thought you decided it was best to keep it between you and me.”
“After Bug left the group, I changed my mind. Too many secrets cause schisms that grow bigger and wider, and pretty soon no one trusts anyone else. We’re too close to the finish line to mess everything up now. It’s time for everyone to be truthful with one another.”
“She threatened my sister.”
Psycho exhaled. “Cleo’s husband took their kids and left her. She’s devastated and she’s not all there right now.”
“Then we should tell her to go home. I’ll take care of Eddie Carter myself. We don’t need another dead guy on our hands.”
“His wound is superficial. He’ll be fine.”
“What if she decides to silence him since he knows her identity?”
“Go home,” Psycho said, ushering her toward her car. “Go home and focus on your family. This will all be over soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sawyer and Aria listened as Nancy Lay, a tall woman with short white hair cropped around the ears and red-framed glasses that made her eyes look twice as big, took them back in time to when she was head cook at the children’s home for troubled kids, boys and girls of all ages. Apparently the boys had lived on one side of the building, while the girls lived on the other.
Six kids to a room. They each had a bunk bed and a dresser drawer. No closet space.
“The problem was always money,” Nancy said. “Times were tough back then. And the school always felt like the l
and of the forgotten children. Bad enough that many of these children had been left as infants in garbage bins or outside a church’s door. For one reason or another, their foster parents didn’t want them either, so they ended up at the Children’s Home of Sacramento.”
“How long did you work there?”
“From the day the place opened until the day it was burned to the ground.”
“So you must have known the kids pretty well.”
She nodded. “Most of them. Sadly, it was the worst ones who usually stood out.”
“Do you have any idea at all where I might be able to find documents that would list all the names of the kids who lived at the home?”
Nancy shook her head. “The headmaster had an office in the basement. That’s where all the records and files were kept. All of it was lost in the fire.”
“I was afraid of that,” Sawyer said. “What was the headmaster’s name, if you don’t mind?”
Her face soured. “Valerie Purcell.”
“I take it you didn’t think much of her?”
“Greedy to the core. She didn’t care about the kids, which is why the home was dark, cold, overcrowded, and filthy. Many times the pantry was nearly empty and the children were only given one meal throughout the day.”
“I guess it’s safe to assume that the kids received little help in the way of therapy and emotional support?”
She snorted. “That would be correct.”
“Do you remember the names Nick Calderon and Bruce Ward?”
Nancy’s face visibly paled.
“You remember them?”
She nodded. “They were inseparable. They formed a boys’ club.”
“Boys’ club?”
“In today’s world their group would have been considered to be a gang.”
Aria said, “How about Felix Iverson? Does that name ring a bell?”
Nancy gave a nod. “Yes. He was part of the club.”
Sawyer and Aria exchanged a quick look. Felix Iverson was definitely Nick’s pal and someone they needed to talk to.
“There were two or three other boys in the group whose names fail me,” Nancy said. “Aston New . . . No, Aston Newell . . . Yes, that was it. Aston was also attached at the hip.”
