by Debra Dunbar
“No one’s gonna fuck with merchandise that valuable,” he said. “She had a cut and some bruises, but that’s it.”
I felt like I was about to throw up. “Where did they take her? Which member of the Disciples handles this sort of ‘merchandise’?”
Bishop didn’t have to jerk the guy this time.
“I don’t know where they took her. None of us do. Disciples ain’t gonna tell us that,” he said. “I don’t know who handles that sort of sale for them.”
“You’re telling me you turned over someone worth a lot of money to some rando in another group? And you’re not worried they’re going to screw you over?”
He grinned. “We got enough up front that if they screw us over, it’s no big deal. Plus, we’ll get ’em more if they pay up the rest. If not, then they won’t get the opportunity next time.”
I started to pace. All we had was this worthless sack of shit, and he didn’t know where Nevarra was, or who took her. Someone with the Disciples. None of that was going to do squat for helping me find my sister.
“Who was here for the trade?” Bishop asked the man. “Tell me what happened?”
“Kurt knows someone, and he called it in once we left the house with the girl. They said to meet here. There were six of them. A tall guy with black hair and a scar down his face was running the show. He checked the girl over, then he and Kurt came to an agreement.”
I frowned. “How tall?”
“Taller than me, so six three? Six four? He was a white guy. Fender. That’s what the other guy called him. Fender.”
I sucked in a breath.
Bishop shot me a quick glance. “You know this guy?”
“Know of him.” I frowned, trying to think of where Fender might have taken Nevarra to keep her safe until they could sell her.
“After they made the deal, Kurt got cash and bullets, and Fender got the girl. He told us we could pick out a few things from the warehouse as a bonus—cell phones or computers if we wanted. Kurt left me and Hunter to pick shit out. Two Disciples stayed back to make sure we didn’t take too much and to lock up after we were gone. We grabbed what we wanted, but there was this case of brandy in the back, so we figured we’d all have a drink. Then we heard you breaking through the garage door…”
Kurt. I’d need to remember that name, since he was probably the Fixer tasked with collecting me. And Fender… Damn it, I needed to talk to Bags. He’d know where the Disciples liked to hang out, and he’d be my best chance of knowing where Fender could be found.
“You done with this guy?” Bishop asked.
I nodded, still mulling over how I was going to get in to see Bags when I heard a crack.
Blinking in surprise, I saw Bishop let go of the man, dusting his hands off as he turned away. The Fixer slid to the ground, dead, his neck broken. No, his neck wasn’t just broken, his head was turned around Exorcist-style. I shuddered, thinking what sort of strength it must have taken to do that. And Bishop had done it casually, effortlessly.
Yes, I had a weird attraction toward the guy, but fear was starting to edge that attraction out. I did not want to get involved with this guy. Nope. Not even a booty call.
Except I owed him, and I’d already implied that sort of payment was on the table. Shit. I had no doubt I’d enjoy the hell out of having sex with Bishop. Hopefully he wouldn’t kill me when we were done. My mind instantly detoured to visions of Bishop naked, my hands running over hard tanned muscles, my tongue tasting his skin.
“You know how to find this Fender guy?” Bishop asked, pulling me out of my reverie.
“No, but there’s someone I know who might be able to tell me where he can be found.” Unfortunately, I’d need to wait until morning. I didn’t know if Bags slept at the pawnshop or had a house somewhere, but either way disturbing him this late wouldn’t be a good idea.
I ran a hand through my hair. “I’ll go see him first thing in the morning.”
That would give me time to formulate a plan, and to make sure Bea and Sadie were okay.
The dog looked up at Bishop, meeting his gaze. They exchanged a wordless communication, then Bishop turned to me.
“I’ll talk to a few people. See if I can find him at my end. Put out some feelers on your sister. Other than that, there’s not much more I can do right now.” He gestured to the dog. “If you find something we can track, come see me. Otherwise, we won’t be any further use to you.”
That statement seemed to annoy him. It depressed me. He’d been the one guy I thought could find Nevarra for me and find her fast. Without Bishop, I was on my own.
Either way, I’d availed myself of this guy’s services. Hopefully his hourly rate didn’t include travel time.
“How much do I owe you?” I squirmed. Not that I had any money. I’d probably be making payments to this guy for the next decade. Or as King had said, on my back.
The dog made a weird coughing noise as if he could read my mind.
Bishop shrugged. “Nothing until you find her. You bring the girl home, then come see me, and we’ll set up some sort of payment plan.”
Time was money, and he’d spent a couple of hours out here with me tonight. I had no idea how much he earned at the bar, and that dog looked like he ate his weight in food every day. Surely the guy would want something, even if it was a quick blowjob in a back alley.
“But your time… Maybe I can give you a…deposit?”
His gaze drifted to my lips, and I wondered if a blowjob was exactly what he was thinking himself. Then he shook his head. “I don’t take that kinda payment.” Then he went on before I could reply: “If you’re ever in my bed, it’s because you want to be there, not because you’re paying back a favor or think you owe me something.”
I was relieved and disappointed. Relieved because I didn’t want to be a whore—to this man in particular. Disappointed because I wanted him. And because this meant I’d probably be paying him off for the next few months, or years. So much for getting my family out of here anytime soon.
But it would be worth every penny if I got Nevarra back safe. Bishop might not have found her, but I had a strong lead, a direction to pursue. The Disciples. Fender.
He stepped forward, reached out as if he were going to touch my face, then dropped his hand back to his side. “When your sister is back home, then we’ll discuss compensation.”
Why was he being this nice when he’d been a bit of an asshole in the bar? My suspicion flared, and I immediately searched my mind for an ulterior motive. Why was he not worried about payment? For all he knew, I could find Nevarra and skip out before I even gave him a dime.
Although the guy had a reputation for finding things and people. I was pretty sure he could track me down if I ran out on my debt. It’s not like I could afford some sort of non-detection spell myself.
Bishop turned to leave, then paused. “Actually, since we’re here…”
Bob wasn’t thrilled about riding in the bed of the truck surrounded by cans of chili and paper goods, but Bishop had yanked a laptop out of a stack of brand-new computer equipment for him, so he’d stopped snarling at us. I’d taken the cash off the dead guys, along with their guns. I’d also grabbed a few other things. With my license pulled, I couldn’t risk pawning anything, and knew Bags’s shop was probably under surveillance right now. We’d need to barter for what we needed, and while bullets were the currency of the street, toilet paper was the currency of suburbia.
And canned chili, hopefully.
Bishop had snagged a random assortment of stuff—a few pressure washers he’d found in the back, a case of gourmet beef jerky, a huge box that contained a deluxe massage chair, and some high thread-count sheets. I’ll admit that I was eyeing the sheets as well, but since I didn’t own a king-sized bed, I opted to pass.
Bishop pulled the truck up to the curb and glared at the front door propped against the opening. “You need to fix your door.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I snapped, exhausted and emotionally dra
ined worrying about my family. “It’s kinda low on my priority list right now.”
But he was right. I did need to fix it to keep out the neighborhood animals, the insects, and the riffraff that might think the house was vacant and ripe for looting. Maybe while I was at Bags’s I could see if he had some hinges I could grab. And lumber.
Bishop grunted, then completely surprised me by getting out of the truck and helping me unload all the shit I’d lifted from the warehouse. He even carried it into the house for me and set the boxes next to the couch. I watched him leave through the crack between the front door and the door jamb, noticing that Bob had leapt into the front seat where I’d previously been. I stood at the door until he’d driven out of sight, feeling oddly empty without him by my side.
Oh no. No, no, no. I hadn’t felt this tingly needy feeling in a long time, and I wasn’t about to feel it now, especially not for a scary, muscled surfer dude who was probably a weredog or something.
Nope. No way.
Chapter 9
I debated the wisdom of staying at the house with Bea and Sadie. Whoever was hunting for me knew I lived there and might be back. Oddly that’s what made me decide to stay. I’d rather be there to defend my family than spend a sleepless night worried about injured Bea trying to defend herself and Sadie against intruders.
Bea was in the girls’ bedroom, struggling to stay awake, the pistol by her side. I checked on her and Sadie.
“Get some sleep,” I said.
The house was eerily silent. No one ever realizes how much ambient noise there is until it’s gone. Without the electricity, there was no hum of the refrigerator, no whir of a fan, no buzz of a streetlight. I was even more on edge with the door broken and propped against the frame. There was nothing I could do about that right now, but I could at least try to clean up a bit and try to rid it of the visual reminders of what had happened today.
It was dark, but the moon filtering through the curtains gave the room a monochromatic light. I’d always had incredible night vision, and it wasn’t like I could sleep, so I swept the broken items into a corner, righted the furniture, and tried to duct tape the cushions back together, covering my crappy repairs with blankets. The broken tables I set to the side, hoping that I might be able to glue the pieces back together come morning. When I was done, the place didn’t look quite so trashed.
Just before dawn I heard the hum of the refrigerator kicking on, and saw the light outside flicker. Rushing to the kitchen I checked to see if we had water.
Bingo. First I filled the ice trays and put them into the freezer, then I started refilling all the plastic jugs and containers we used to hold water, just in case we were out for any length of time. Digging out the remains of the ground coffee, I filled the maker, set it to brew, and headed upstairs to check on Sadie and Bea.
Bea was kneeling beside Sadie’s bed, sponging her off with a damp rag. Sadie twisted in the sweat-soaked sheets, her eyes glassy. Pink stained the bandages wrapping her leg, and I worried her restless stirring was making the wound worse.
Fear stole my breath. Wasn’t it too soon for her to be running a fever? Had infection set in already? She needed a doctor, but we had no money for a house call, and the hospital was so overrun that she’d have to sit in a crowded waiting room for eight or more hours before even being seen.
“I’m going to run down to Marissa’s early this morning and see if her cousin found a doctor or nurse who would make a call on credit.” Bea’s voice was soft and low, but under the soothing tones I heard her worry.
They were my family, and I hadn’t protected them. Sadie…what if she died? And Nevarra might be facing things worse than death. What good was I if I couldn’t help the people I loved? I reached out to touch Sadie’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating off of her. Then I felt tears sting my eyes, spilling over as a sob I couldn’t hold back broke free.
I never would have broken down like this in front of anyone but Bea. She’s the only one in my life who had ever seen me cry. With a clucking noise, the woman gathered me into her arms and rocked me just like she’d done when I’d been a scared and rebellious teen.
“She’ll be fine, Eden. We’ll get her medical care, and she’ll be just fine. And you’ll find Nevarra and bring her home.”
“What if I don’t?” I choked out all my fears. “What if I can’t find her? What if Sadie gets worse and loses her leg or dies? What if they come back and kill you both while I’m out looking for Nevarra?”
Bea squeezed me tight, stroking my hair. “Stop this right now. You are not alone, Eden Alvaro. And unless you’ve forgotten, you’re a twenty-two-year-old young woman, while I’m a fifty-two-year-old woman. You three are my responsibility. Yes, I need your help, but you’re not expected to do all this on your own.”
I sniffed and wiped my eyes as I pulled from her arms. “But it’s my fault this happened. It’s all my fault.”
“Honey, it’s nobody’s fault but those assholes who came barging in here, shooting the place up and demanding payment for things you never took. You were set up. Blame them. Blame those mercenaries. Do not blame yourself.”
I sniffed again. “But Sadie’s really bad off, and you’re injured. I need to find Nevarra, but there’s you and Sadie. And how am I supposed to earn money to get us out of here when my license is pulled and I’ve got a price on my head?”
I felt so weak pouring all of this out onto her shoulders, but I’d learned at the age of thirteen that Bea had wide, strong shoulders—wide enough to carry all of our burdens. She’d never think less of me for having my doubts. She’d never look at me with anything but pride and love, even when I felt absolutely unworthy of either.
Bea reached out and took my hands. “You ask for help, that’s how—just like me. I’m going to stay here and take care of Sadie, and I’m gonna ask neighbors and friends for help. You ask your friends to help you find Nevarra. And when all this is over, I’ll keep working at my job, sewing and making soaps, while you deal with this person who set you up and get your reputation back along with your license.”
It all sounded so doable when Bea said it. There was the plan, laid out as smooth as a newly paved road. In my panic I’d been able to see no more than a few steps ahead, but sitting here with Bea I could suddenly see for miles.
There was only one problem with her solution—I didn’t have any friends to rely on for help.
From the front of the house came a series of loud banging noises. We sprang into action, Bea grabbing the pistol she had beside Sadie’s bed, and me grabbing mine from my shoulder harness.
“You stay here,” I told her. “Keep Sadie safe.”
She ignored me and nearly gave me a heart attack as she looked out the window. “There’s no truck or car on the curb. They either parked down the block or walked here.”
If it had been the Fixers, they would have just driven right up to the curb, or maybe straight through the front of the house. I chambered a round, and slid sideways along the hallway wall toward the living room.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Shit, was that someone knocking? A neighbor who was checking on us, or checking to make sure we were dead before he looted our house? Although I’d assume a neighbor would call out and come right on in since the door was only leaning against the opening, or at least come in after a soft, polite knock.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
It didn’t sound like a knock at all. It sounded like someone was hammering.
Then I heard a whirring sound that I immediately recognized as a drill. Bea and I exchanged equally confused looks, then I pivoted around the corner of the hall to see a boy who looked like he should be still in high school attaching a brand-new door to the frame.
I stood in the middle of the hallway and watched him for a second, shocked that this kid was fixing our house. Who the hell was he? And why was he repairing our door?
I glanced back at Bea, saw her put down her gun. I didn’t know this kid, and was a bit edgy with
everything that had happened yesterday, so opted for a different approach.
“Drop the drill,” I yelled, pointing my pistol at the kid’s chest.
He jumped back a step, lifting both hands and the drill in the air when he saw my gun. Then he let out a string of curses in Spanish.
“Eden! For heaven’s sake, he’s Carlotta’s boy, Javier, from down the street.”
Carlotta’s boy. My mind ran down the few neighborhood families I knew by name. Was this the kid that came by to check on the girls when Bea was at work? Or the one whose older brother had tried to steal my bike last year? Or the one whose sister I’d beat up back in high school for making eyes at Drew?
Either way, I didn’t recognize him, and I didn’t trust him.
Bea pushed past me, easing my gun to the side with her hand. Then, I was the one cursing as she blocked my shot.
“Fucking hell,” the boy swore, this time in English. “They tell me I have to come here and fix these things for you, but they don’t tell me some punta is going to try to blow my head off for it.”
Punta? This kid who looked barely older than Nevarra had actually called me a punta? If Bea hadn’t been standing right in my way, I would have shot the kid. Or at least shot at him.
“Please excuse my foster daughter,” Bea apologized. “I’m sure you can see we had a rough time of it yesterday. She’s a little on edge about it.”
I was more than a little on edge.
The kid leaned sideways so he could see me around Bea’s considerable bulk. “Bad guys don’t come fix your door, Chica. Maybe you should think about that before you go pointing a gun at somebody.”
Bea shifted, blocking my view once more. “I truly appreciate your helping us, Javier.”
He leaned the other way to scowl at me. “Mom said I needed to. And she told me I’m not supposed to ask you to pay me, either. I wouldn’t be doing this if she hadn’t ordered me to. I don’t care if you have a door or not.”
“Your mom is very kind,” Bea told the boy. “Please thank her for me. Why don’t you take a break and have a cup of coffee?”
