Chapter 20 Ryker
Ryker
PRESENT
‘What do you expect to find here?’ Tyler asks, spinning his red cap backward.
With Gianna and Mr Fernando occupied with talking to the mayor about moving the carnival to the speedway car park, Renny and I had taken the chance to depart and meet Tyler, who called us as soon as the Civic left the garage.
The drive to Midnight Spares took longer than expected. Despite GPS tracking, the building was surprisingly hard to find, surrounded by much taller buildings with trucks lining the kerb. Each alleyway broke off into turns, like a hedge maze.
‘If Ryker knew what we were looking for, we wouldn’t be here, dumb shit,’ Renny retorts. ‘Why don’t you go eat some hairy-ass sticks?’
‘It’s. Fucking. Celery.’
Ignoring them, I play with the thick shackle wrapped around the posts of a tall chain-link fence that surrounds the perimeter.
The sun set hours ago, making the silhouette of the razor ribbon spirals all along the top look even meaner.
There’s no chance of jumping this without slicing up skin.
But there’s no need – I barely pull on the lock when it comes loose, not even being clicked in place.
I push the fence, the vibration travelling up my arm as the base grates against the ground, then I make my way to the building.
The driveway leads to high-clearance, triple-garage doors along the side, but there’s also a large wooden door at the front with red, peeling paint and another padlock.
I squint, examining the lock. Unlike the one that secures the chain-link fence, this lock is fastened but scratched up, like it’s been tampered with.
I step back, my foot grinding down on something hard.
Tilting to the outer sole of my boot, I kneel down, picking up the dented metal.
Is that … a nail file?
I toss it aside, hearing it ding against the concrete before straightening up to trace the wall of the building, Tyler and Renny still bickering away on my tail.
My ears are alert for anything other than our noise, but I only hear the sea breeze and a few cats dashing through the backstreets. Impatience snaps at my insides. We need to get in here, and we need to get in here now.
‘Lucky we’re not trying to keep a low profile,’ I say dryly, hoping Tyler and Renny get the hint to shut up.
‘I’m itching for a fight,’ Renny snorts.
‘Punching my face in wasn’t enough?’ I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek, which is still cut up.
A smile spreads across Renny’s face. ‘That wasn’t a fight, mano. I just love to stir you up.’
I turn back to the building and roll my shoulders, a deep crack reverberating down my spine, easing my tension. I see a basement window near our feet that could work. I crouch down and check the handle. Unlocked. It’s tighter than I expect, but I squeeze through and land silently.
Which doesn’t matter, because Tyler lands with a thud and Renny all but jumps on top of him, sending them flailing into a nearby bench that clatters with the sound of metal.
‘Get the fuck off me,’ Tyler shouts.
‘I needed something to break my fall,’ Renny snaps back.
‘Would you both stop dicking around?’ Irritation grinds in my temples. I should have come alone.
We head up the small set of stairs to the ground level. ‘Go see what you can find.’
They move off in different directions, the smell of musty air mixing with the thick odour of motor oil.
I step into the darkness, my vision taking a second to adjust. There are cluttered workbenches and welding machines, with various tools strewn across the floor.
Through the window out back, piles of crushed cars lie on top of each other in a graveyard of metal.
The sound of a sheet flapping floods the space.
‘Got an Indy Pace and a—’ Tyler pauses before another flap. ‘Viper in here. Perfect condition.’
What would classics be doing in a chop shop? ‘Check the VIN.’
The sound of a car door opening comes before the soft pop of the hood. ‘Filed down.’
Just like the Porsche.
‘Three crystal black Rexys in here.’ Renny calls from the opposite room.
What’s going on here? It’s been three weeks since I came back to Booker Bay – almost four years, to the day, since that night – and I’m still no closer to making good on my promise. I just have a thousand scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that don’t complete the same picture.
I move through the space – more benchtops and tools. Then I hear a drip coming from somewhere. I breathe deeply to keep my temper in check.
Drip.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I press the torch on, flashing it around.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for, just something.
Anything that will lead me closer to finding him.
Alexander said his name, for Christ’s sake, his boss has to be the right guy.
The ground is gritty, debris crunching beneath my feet.
But the dripping gets louder, coming from a busted faucet in the wash bay.
Drip.
The sound twists my guts, making my stomach churn and heave. Bile burns the back of my throat and suddenly, I feel like I’m surrounded by smoke, fire and the metallic stench of blood. So much blood.
Drip.
A red haze unfurls from the backs of my eyes, blinding me until all I see is fire. I drop to my knees, grasping at the faucet. I squeeze until the metal bends beneath my fingers. Pain slices through my hand but the dripping slows. I squeeze harder, finally shutting the faucet off.
Panting, I close my eyes, forcing my breaths to slow.
When I can finally stand, I crack my neck, letting the silence lead me back to reality.
Thank fuck.
‘Yo.’ Renny’s voice comes from a small office space. ‘Look at this.’
Tyler and I follow to see Renny staring at a floor-to-ceiling blackboard. It takes a second to register what’s written in white chalk.
A list of cars. It’s extensive. Rows and rows of classic cars, listed with their locations. I scan through it. The Viper, Indy Pace and Porsche have strikes through them.
Landon is marking off the cars he’s stolen.
It’s the entry at the bottom that really snares my attention. I take slow steps up to the scratchy words, not disturbing the quiet, and flick the board with my finger.
’67 Mustang – Booker Bay
Next to it, a list of more locations:
Fernando Garage, home on south side, Vet, Lucifer’s Dream
That fucker. He’s after my girl.
I know I’m here to get revenge, to keep my promise … but this is too big to ignore. Landon was supposed to be a pawn. Just another lackey. Another Alexander. But now … if he wasn’t already wearing a target on his back, he sure as shit has one now. He will have to wait.
I tap the board, feeling its hollow reverberation.
‘Looks like Landon’s going to try and make the boost when the Mustang is either at Gianna’s home, or at Lucifer’s Dream.
He knows the garage is too locked-tight and the vet …
’ My mind races, remembering how the mask was left at the vet clinic’s doorstep and how the fucker angrily shook at the doors.
‘There was already an attempt at the vet.’
Tyler moves to the desk, shuffling through papers and opening the drawers. He opens the last one, and his face instantly pales as he pulls out a silver mask.
I approach and take the mask from Tyler’s fingers, feeling its cold material against my skin.
It’s another replica of the one Gianna made four years ago.
I run my fingers over the stitched mouthpiece and think about all the parts of me that have been sewn shut, yet still easily torn open …
and it gives me an idea. Because this fucker wants to play, and what am I if not a good sport?
‘Alright. Nothing changes, we get Landon then we’re another step closer.’ Peeling my gaze away from the chrome, I glance at Renny and Tyler. ‘I’ll keep watch at Gianna’s house, which leaves us with one place left – Lucifer’s Dream. You guys still got your masks?’
When they nod, a thrill thrums through me.
But then the tinkling of metal chimes in the air.
I jolt, my body stiffening at the noise outside. A metallic jingle before metal is scraped against concrete, the front fence. I flash the guys a look. ‘Stay down.’
Renny and Tyler watch as I move to the grime-covered window next to the wooden door, peering outside. The chain-link fence is now wide open, and standing right in the centre of the lot is an ominous figure, hat drawn low. They face the window. Like they want me to know I can see them.
It’s that fucking person from Paws on the Coast. The one with the trench coat.
I need to know who it is. More than that, I want to beat them senseless for scaring my girl back at the clinic. Then it dawns on me … it must be him. Who the fuck else could it be? Seeing them at the clinic and now here … it’s too much of a coincidence otherwise.
I use every scrap of strength I have to tear the front door open.
The chain pulls taut, but the space opens up enough for me to force my way through.
I break free, but the figure turns and bolts into the night.
Long legs fly in a blur, trench coat flapping at their ankles.
I reach for it, gripping the fabric, but it tears.
‘Ryker!’ Renny or Tyler calls out from behind me, though I can’t be sure who, because I’m pouring everything I have into hunting this fucker.
I close in on them, one ground-eating stride at a time. I pump my legs faster and faster until—
They take a turn toward a warehouse and climb over a wire fence more than twice my height and land on the other side with skills straight out of an action movie. Then they keep running and disappear.
Fuck.
Snarling, I throw the material of the coat onto the ground. Renny and Tyler finally appear behind me, their breaths puffing white clouds. My own come fast, because so many damn questions are running through my mind.
Is it him? Could it really be Erik?
Have I been thinking I’m a step ahead, but really, he’s been right behind me?
Am I the one being hunted?