22. Royce
22
ROYCE
I take off as soon as Riley is safely home and in Logan’s care. I can’t sit around and wait. Can’t stare into her face, torn with anguish. I need to move. To do something—anything that helps. Which is how I end up in Dax’s office at Rogue, hovering over him and driving him insane.
“Dude,” he growls. “Back the fuck off before I hit you.”
“How do you not have anything yet?” I snap. “You’ve been looking into Bertram for days now.”
“It’s not like that’s all I do. In case you forgot, I’m also dealing with the auction aftermath, and I have my own fucking businesses to run. My own life to lead. I’m doing the best I can. Now that we know Bertram has her, I’ve devoted all the resources I can spare. These things take time, Royce. I promise you. We will get him. Just back the fuck off.”
Huffing out a frustrated breath, I reluctantly step away.
“Blue is the only man we have on this,” Dax continues. “But he’s the best. I assure you, he will find what we need. He will find her .” His phone pings, and I’m back across the room in the blink of an eye, once again hovering over him.
He gives me a death glare that would have most grown men’s hearts giving out. But I don’t give a fuck. Sighing, he shakes his head at me and focuses on his phone.
“Blue has an ID on your driver.” He tilts the screen so I can see the details. One glance at the photo, and I snort. “You recognize him?”
“Yeah. He goes by Knuckles, although his real name is Vincent. I’ve seen him around here sometimes. He likes to get in on the fights but has no real skill or talent.”
“Why don’t you go talk to him and let Blue do his job of finding Aurora?”
Gritting my teeth, I hesitate, reluctant to leave. But no, I need to burn off this frustration and hopelessness, this anger that’s eating away at me.
“Fine,” I hiss. Seething but knowing this is the best thing to do. It’s all I can do for right now. Dax just better pray that by the time I’m finished with this guy, he’s got some real fucking answers for me. ’Cause I’m done sitting back. I’m done letting Bertram call the shots. Knowing that he has Aurora, that he has Riley’s little girl. That he’s had her this. Entire. Fucking. Time pisses me the hell off. How could we not have known? It makes me feel like even more of a failure. Like letting Aurora slip through my fingers that night wasn’t enough. Fucking karma had to laugh in my face with the knowledge that the buyer was Grayson’s fucking dad.
Turning on my heel, I storm toward the door, but Dax calls after me. “Don’t go alone. You’ll probably fucking kill the guy. Take one of your buddies with you—Grayson. I’m sure he could do with the outlet if he’s recovered from his last fight. Fuck knows, with the amount of work you lot are adding to my plate, I don’t have the time to get back in the ring with that Suit Slicker.”
I dismiss him without a word, marching out of Rogue and onto the Springview sidewalk. As I head for my truck parked just down the road, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Checking it, I find Dax has sent me the details on this fucking idiot who thought he could mess with our girl. I take one look at his douchey fucking face before scrolling through the rest of the info Blue sent through on him. He’s got a criminal record—mostly petty crimes, assault—a few stints in the county jail but nothing significant enough to keep him locked up for long.
Shaking my head, I navigate to his home address, unsurprised that it’s a trailer park in Boxum. Memorizing it, I dial Grayson.
Dax is probably right. Grayson will be as in need of this outlet as I am. Logan, too, but he’s far better than either of us at setting his anger aside to meet Riley’s needs. He’s the best one of us to stay and comfort her, and Grayson and I are the best men for this .
“Got something?” Grayson asks when he answers.
“Not what you want, but we’ve got an address for the driver. Want to come with?”
“Fuck yes, I do.” Despite the absolute shitstorm that has been this day, my lips twitch in a semblance of a smile.
“I’ll stop by to pick you up. Be ready to jump in the car.”
“Sure thing.”
Instead of hanging up, I hesitate. “How is she?”
“Sleeping, finally. Logan convinced her to eat some food, but she was a strung-out mess. We need to find out where my dad is keeping Aurora, and we need to find out now.”
“We will,” I assure him. “Let’s get some answers from this fucking asshole, then we’re going to deal with your dad.”
Hanging up, I climb into the car. It doesn’t take long to make it back to Halston, and by the time I reach the house, Grayson is standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. He jumps in, and I’m away again, following the directions on the Satnav to Timberline Trailer Park.
“Tell me about this guy.”
“Not much to tell. He’s a thug, a street brawler,” I tell him. “I’ve seen him hanging around The Depot, but I don’t know much about him.”
“He’s a fighter?” Grayson asks, turning to look at me.
I snort. “A shitty one, but he’s a dirty fighter. From what little Blue sent through, he’s a petty criminal. Still lives in the same rough neighborhood he grew up in. He’s not smart, but he’s street-smart.”
“So what the fuck is he doing trying to run over our girl then?” Grayson growls, hands forming fists as his anger gets the better of him.
“Fuck if I know.” My finger taps against the steering wheel, the road disappearing beneath my wheels as we leave Halston behind. “Going after her isn’t something he’d do on his own,” I muse. “He has no reason to target her.”
“You mean someone paid him,” Grayson deduces with a cold calculation.
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. It’s my best guess, but what the fuck do I know? We’ll get answers when we talk to him. It’s a tense ride to Timberline Trailer Park on the outskirts of Boxum County. The farther from Halston we drive, the more apparent the neglect becomes until we’re bumping along roads that are more pothole than asphalt. Glancing skyward, I can see that most of the streetlights have been smashed out.
“This place is a shit hole,” Grayson mumbles as we pass trailers that are packed together tightly. “Which one is his?” I jut my chin out the windshield, indicating the trailer in the far corner of the lot. It’s the worst one in the park—a single-wide relic from the 70s that’s seen better days. The paint is chipped and peeling, revealing the bare metal underneath, and the roof sags in the middle, threatening to cave in with the next heavy rain. A couple of junk cars sit on cinder blocks in the front yard, the parts slowly being cannibalized for cash.
Slowing the car to a stop, we both lean forward to look at the rust bucket through the windshield. “Looks… homie,” Grayson drawls, lip curled up in disgust before he throws open the door. “Well, what the fuck are we waiting for?”
Getting out of the car, I follow him up the rotted steps. We share a glance before he bangs his fist against the flimsy door. Immediately, we hear footsteps approach from the other side before the door swings open. A muscular man in his mid-thirties with a barrel chest fills the doorframe. “Who the fuck are you?” Vincent sneers.
He looks down his nose at us like we’re shit on his grimy boots, and I let my focus slide past him and into the trailer. The inside is worse than I imagined—filthy dishes piled in the sink, an ashtray overflowing on a rickety coffee table, and the stench of stale beer and sweat permeating the air. The carpet is stained, with patches worn down to the floorboards, and the walls are yellowed from years of smoke. The main piece of furniture is an old, threadbare couch, and trash is scattered across the floor. What I don’t see is anyone else in there.
Perfect.
There’s no holding back. I shove at his shoulders, sending him stumbling back into the trailer as I barge my way in. Grayson is right behind me, slamming the door to keep any unwanted eyes out. Although, I imagine people are plenty used to turning a blind eye to trouble here. The walls creak as the door shuts, and dust particles float in the stale air, catching the dim light from the single, flickering bulb overhead.
Vincent’s eyes go wide as he holds his hands up. “What the fuck? Who are you guys? What do you want?”
“We want to know why you were in Halston today,” Grayson demands, standing over him.
“Halston?” Vincent attempts to laugh. “Why the fuck would I be in that preppy shithole town?”
“Well, we have CCTV footage that says you were,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and staring him down. “So let’s try this again, Vincent.”
His eyes widen. “Hey—” He points a finger at me. “I know you. You’re Ruthless!” His lips twitch into a smile. The dumb fuck must’ve forgotten that we just barged into his house because he looks at me like we’re fucking friends. “Yo, man, I’m a big fan. Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re in my house!”
“Yeah, no.” I’m not having any of that. I grab him by the front of his stained T-shirt and slam him backward. The entire trailer rattles with the force. “Answer my fucking question, Vincent. What the fuck were you doing on Halston University’s campus today?”
“Whoa, man, whoa.” He’s still giving me that stupid fucking smile, but his eyes are wide with wariness as he holds his hands up placatingly. “I was just there for a job, man. It was nothing.”
Grabbing the half-full bottle of whiskey on the countertop, Grayson throws it at the wall. “You call trying to kill our fucking girl nothing ,” he screams. His jaw tightens, and his fists clench, his knuckles turning white. His eyes blaze with barely contained fury, rage simmering just beneath the surface.
For the first time since we barged our way in here, Vincent has the good sense to look fucking afraid. His Adam’s apple bobs, and the color drains from his face. “What? Nah, man, no way. It was just some chick. Some rich bitch. This lady paid me to get rid of her. There’s no way that pretentious bitch was Ruthless’ girl—y-your girl.”
I tilt my head, my cool, calm facade to Grayson’s incinerating one. Which only terrifies the fuckwit more. “Auburn hair, hazel eyes,” I drawl. “That ringing any fucking bells?”
“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god,” he stammers on repeat, trembling like a fucking leaf in my hold. My nose twitches, and it takes a second for me to realize the dumb fuck has pissed himself.
“Jesus.” Grayson’s face crunches in disgust. “Have some fucking dignity, man. That’s disgusting.”
I snap. Expression twisted in fury, I land a punch square on Vincent’s jaw. He cries out, and if it weren’t for my firm hold on him, he’d have crumpled to the floor like the spineless piece of shit he is.
“I didn’t know she was your girl,” he sobs pathetically. “I had no idea. I would never have gone near her if I’d known. You gotta believe me, Ruthless,” Vincent pleads, his voice shaking.
With my hold still on the front of his shirt, I yank him toward me before slamming him back. He cries out, but neither of us has any sympathy for the rat. Grayson holds up his phone in front of Vincent’s face with a picture of Lydia on it. “Is this the woman who paid you?” he demands.
Vincent barely looks at it before nodding in alarm. “Yeah, yeah, that was her. She paid me ten grand to get rid of this chick. I had no idea. I just needed the money, man, you know?”
My lips curl into a sneer. “You agreed to kill another human being for a measly fucking ten grand? You’re fucking scum.”
Weirdly, that’s what seems to enrage him, and in a surprising turn, Vincent locates his ballsack long enough to snarl, “We can’t all be lucky enough to be born into fucking riches, can we? Ten grand might be nothing to you, but it’s a fucked ton to me.”
“Yeah, I bet that buys you a whole lot of booze, drugs, and hookers,” I seethe.
“You’re a fucking piece of shit!” Grayson growls, his voice low and dangerous. He kicks Vincent in the ribs hard enough that a snap renders the air, and he doubles over, wheezing.
“Please.”
Grayson kicks him again, harder this time. The trailer shakes with the impact, and I let go. Vincent slides down the wall as I drive my fist into his gut. Spittle flies from his lips and dribbles down his chin as he sags onto the filthy floor, curling up on his side to try and shield himself. But it’s no use. Both me and Grayson are relentless, our fury boiling over as we beat the shit out of him.
There’s a catharsis in the violence. It won’t solve anything, but it’s a much-needed distraction.
When we finally slow down, breathing hard, Vincent is a bloody, unrecognizable mess on the floor. Grayson plants his hands on his knees, bent over as he catches his breath.
Vincent moans and I grab a fistful of his hair, wrenching his face to mine. “You’re done with The Depot. I don’t ever want to see your fucking face again.”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Grayson says, spitting on Vincent’s unconscious form. “This place fucking reeks.”
“You don’t need to tell me twice.” I’m already heading for the door. The worst of the fury has drained, leaving only a deep need to get back to Riley, to ensure she’s safe.
The first step in doing that is eliminating Lydia once and for all.
That bitch is a dead fucking corpse walking.