44. Silas
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
T he motel looked like the kind of place where people went to disappear—or where people made them disappear.
I sat in the driver’s seat, staring through the windshield at the flickering ‘VACANCY’ sign, its neon glow stuttering weakly in the midday light. Cigarette butts littered the cracked pavement, and the walls were stained brown.
“Jesus,” Finn muttered from the passenger seat. “Bets on coming out with at least two diseases?”
For just over a week, we’d been running a ghost-monitoring system—a passive surveillance net, built specifically for this.
Long story short, it monitored public WiFi networks within a hundred-mile radius. It flagged devices that auto-connected. The kind of stupid, thoughtless mistake people made out of habit.
And ninety minutes ago, Clark Thorn made that mistake.
His phone had connected to the WiFi right here at this shitty, rundown motel.
I flexed my hands on the wheel, jaw clenching. Who the hell even turns their phone on when they’re in hiding? Clark Thorn, that’s who. Lucky for us he was a complete fucking idiot.
We’d sped over immediately, but there was no guarantee he was still inside.
I’d had to leave Lilith at home for this.
The thought made me sick. Physically sick. Like something was clawing its way up my throat, sinking teeth into my ribs and hollowing me out from the inside. I’d barely kept it together when I walked out that door, had to force myself not to double back every ten steps.
I’d told her something had come up at the office, something urgent, something I couldn’t get out of. She’d frowned, tired, still wrapped up in the blankets on the couch, but she’d nodded. Said she had an appointment with Dr. Hayes on the phone, and she’d be fine on her own.
I felt like a bastard for lying.
But if I found him—if I ended this now—there wouldn’t have to be any more lies. She would finally be safe. Fully. Completely.
“So what’s the move?” Finn asked, drumming his fingers against his knee. “Are we sitting here all day, or are we actually going in?”
I didn’t answer right away. My focus was locked on the exterior, scanning for anything—just one sign that the little weasel was there.
Finn sighed dramatically. “You think he’s still here?”
“Don’t know.”
“We gonna check?”
I gave him a flat look.
Finn grinned. “Alright, cool. So when we go in, you just act scary.”
“Act scary?”
“Yeah. Just, you know…” He waved a hand at me. “Pull your normal face. You’ll scare the shit out of them. They’ll give us whatever we need.”
I snorted as we stepped out of the car, cold air biting at us.
“This feels kinda badass, though,” he muttered as we made our way across the parking lot. “Like, real undercover cop shit. We should be moving in slow motion right now.”
“Is that so?” My mouth twitched despite myself.
“Hell yeah. Some people deserve a cinematic entrance. And today, that’s us.”
I pushed the door open. The motel clerk barely looked up. Some guy in his mid-forties, coffee-stained polo stretched over his gut, a Friar Tuck haircut clinging to the sides of his head. He was slouched in a chair, watching something on his phone like the world around him didn’t exist.
Finn stepped forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “Hey, man. We’re looking for someone.”
Tuck didn’t even glance up. “Okay.”
Finn smiled. “Clark Thorn. He’s here.”
That got him to lift his head, but his expression didn’t change. “Never heard of him.”
Finn leaned into me and whispered, “We should’ve brought cash.”
I ignored him and stepped forward, levelling my gaze at Tuck. “Let’s try this again,” I kept my tone flat. “Guy in his thirties. Blond. Really gross, creepy eyes. Face all over the news right now for beating the shit out of a woman in an alley.”
Tuck swallowed, his fingers tightening slightly around his phone.
I tilted my head, eyes locked on his. “Ring any bells?”
“I don’t know, man. We don’t keep tabs on guests.”
Finn tapped his fingers on the counter. “Oh really? I’m pretty sure a place like this probably has some other records you don’t keep tabs on either then, huh?”
Tuck’s mouth twitched, eyes flicking toward the register.
I leaned in, my voice still calm. “Like, for example, how you’re not declaring at least half the income you take in.” I let that hang in the air for a second, watching his throat bob. “You ever heard of tax fraud?”
Tuck froze.
Finn grinned, nudging me with his elbow. “See my buddy here? He’s got connections. He’d love to make a call to the IRS. Hell, he could have this place shut down in—what do you think?” He turned to me. “A week?”
I tilted my head at Tuck. “A week’s generous. Could probably get the health department here too.”
He cracked immediately. “Look, man. I don’t want any trouble.”
I didn’t say a word—only stared.
His jaw tensed, fingers tapping anxiously against the counter before he finally caved. “Alright, Jesus. Room two hundred and seven.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “But if anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”
Finn slapped the counter like we’d just wrapped up a business deal. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
I nodded. “Good choice.”
Tuck grumbled under his breath as he slid a key across the counter. I took it without another word, turning toward the hallway.
As we walked, Finn held out a fist. “That was some real bad cop, worse cop shit. I respect it.”
I smirked and knocked my knuckles against his in return.
Room two hundred and seven.
Time to beat this asshole into the ground.
We exchanged a glance that said ‘No more casual bullshit. Spy mode engaged.’
I slid the key into the lock slowly, testing the weight of the door as I twisted the handle. Finn stood to the side, body tense, ready. We pushed it open a crack, enough to get a glimpse inside. Then, we moved.
Finn kicked the door the rest of the way open, and I was inside in seconds, ready to tear this fucker apart—
But it was empty. And it stank. The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes, sweat, and something worse. Like rot. Like the lingering stench of someone who hadn’t showered in weeks.
My chest burned with frustration.
No Clark. No movement. Nothing but an unmade bed, fast food wrappers littering the floor, and the kind of grime that made my skin crawl.
We were too lat e.
Finn stepped inside, nudging an empty fast food container with the toe of his shoe. “Well, I don’t see a bleach-blond piece of shit, so I’m guessing he’s gone.”
I scrubbed a hand across my jaw, forcing down the pulse of rage. We needed to figure out where the hell he went—not just stand here, breathing in whatever the hell that smell was. So I moved. Fast. Tearing through the room, searching for anything he might’ve left behind.
Finn caught onto my mood and got to work too, moving toward the tiny desk, fingers flipping through a pile of crumpled receipts, wrappers, and motel pamphlets. “You know, I was expecting more… I dunno. Murder-y shit. Not this.”
“Just keep looking.”
I stalked toward the bathroom, shoving the door open.
It was disgusting. Damp towels moulding in a pile in the corner, a broken disposable razor rusting on the sink, crusted toothpaste and water stains splattered across the mirror like it’d been spat on directly.
No bags. No luggage. Only foul, lingering signs that he’d been here, but wasn’t anymore.
The second I turned back into the main room, Finn lifted a tattered backpack off the floor.
“Bingo,” he said with a grin, unzipping it and dumping the contents onto the bed. A few crushed, empty packs of smokes, a few receipts.
His face dropped. “Oh. Maybe not bingo.”
“Seriously?” I muttered, raking a hand down my face. “That’s it?”
“Oh, wait—” Finn snatched up one of the receipts, squinting at it. His brows shot up. “Oh shit, there’s one here. Gas station, yesterday. Down the road. Wanna check that out?”
I pulled my phone from my pocket, snapping a quick photo of the other receipts, just in case. Never knew what might come in handy.
“Oh, hell no.” Finn jerked backward, knocking into me. “Fucking roaches!”
My phone hit the corner of the nightstand, bounced, then slammed into the floor—screen-side down. Hard.
Finn winced. “Shit.”
I gritted my teeth, then bent down, flipping the phone over. The screen was completely shattered.
“Okay, so—bright side? It’s just a phone.”
I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah.”
“You’re really pissed, huh?” He glanced at it, then at me, then back at it. “You know, for a guy with more money than God, you’d think you’d have a better phone.”
“I don’t like switching devices.”
“Yeah, no shit. That thing’s what? Five years old?”
“Six. ”
“Six years. Damn. What, you got some sentimental attachment to it?”
I rolled my shoulders, slipping it back into my pocket even though it was entirely useless now. “I don’t like new software updates.”
He barked out a laugh. “You realise that’s completely stupid, right? We literally own a company that develops software. And yet you refuse to use a phone made in the last year or so because you ‘ don’t like updates’?”
“Finn.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I tried to push the irritation down, tried to remind myself it was just a phone. But it wasn’t. It was my only way of staying connected to Lilith. I’d left her alone at the penthouse and now I had no way of knowing if she was okay—if she needed me.
“Can we leave the roach palace now? I feel like I need a full-body disinfectant shower after stepping foot in here.” Finn said, scuffing his shoe against the threadbare, rotten carpet.
I turned on my heel and left the room, shoving the gas station receipt into my pocket as I went. We walked back through the lobby, and I tossed the room key onto the counter without stopping. Friar Tuck muttered something under his breath, but I was already out the door, stepping into the cold air.
“Alright, so, gas station next?” Finn asked as we crossed the parking lot.
“No.”
He stopped walking. “No?”
“I need to get back to Lilith.”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Come on, dude. We’re so close. He was right there—we have an actual lead. This is the best shot we’ve had at catching him.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck .
He was right.
This could be something. This might be the break I needed. The final lead, the last piece of the puzzle that’d put an end to all of this.
I clenched my jaw, fingers twitching restlessly at my sides. Lilith would be fine. Just for a little longer. She’d be fine.
She’d be fine.