44. Dane
44
DANE
As much as California needs all the rain it can get, I’m the chump who thought it would be great to take my bike for a spin tonight. It’s on me for not checking the weather in the first place.
Pushing my damp hair out of my face, I take another glance at my lock screen. It’s almost nine-thirty p.m., and my girl still hasn’t texted me that she’s heading to the bookstore.
I know her last class of the day lets out at eight-forty and that she has a habit of sticking around to ask professors questions since she’s trying to keep her grades up for her scholarships. But even then, she’d usually text me a heads-up. She always felt bad about making me wait, even though I never minded.
As it is, there’s no message about her running late. There’s a high chance her phone died. She has an old model, and the battery doesn’t last long once the temperature drops below sixty degrees. I might get her a replacement if that’s the case.
Ditching my bike, I head over to the Science Building on foot. There’s nobody in sight. It’s practically a ghost town. The whole area would be dark if not for the faint orange glow from the few lamps strewn across campus and a hint of blue light from the emergency phone box in the periphery of my vision.
It’s still deserted when I reach the west end of campus. My frown deepens when the front doors won’t budge. Not even the other entrance will let me inside. It never occurred to me until now that Belford locks everything up for the night.
Filing that under useless information I’ll never think of again, I observe the area and retrieve my phone. Small droplets of water bead on the screen while I message her.
Dane: hey, did your class end early or are you at the bookstore?
I check out the twenty-four-hour floor at the library next, but she’s not there, either. Circling back to my bike, a sense of foreboding sets in. It’s almost ten. There’s a small chance she’s at her sister’s sorority house, but I highly doubt it given how upset she’s been these past few days.
Just then, my phone buzzes. A flicker of relief spreads through me, giving way to annoyance when I read a coded text from an unknown number. The undeciphered coordinates taunt me and provide information about the car meet happening at midnight.
It’s cute that Giancarlo thinks I blocked any of his burners. Or that I’d ever want to come back. He can try all he wants, but I’m done. Sure enough, I get a couple of messages this time, and a scoff escapes me while I scan them.
Unknown: bring $100000
Unknown: u better show up
Unknown: unless u wanna say by by
I snort at the audacity, then feel the air rush out of my lungs as a grainy picture appears on my screen.
A grainy picture of her.
They have her.
With her body crammed inside a car trunk, her arms and legs bound behind her back, and a sack pulled over her head— They have her .
My blood runs cold. I recognize the sweater she put on this morning, the flowery skirt, the long brown hair— They. Have. Her.
Dane: don’t you fucking dare hurt her
Unknown: midnite or she goes by by
Fuck. Fuck . How am I supposed to get a hundred thousand dollars right now? It’s fucking ten p.m.
I don’t even keep a fraction of that much cash on me. Not unless I plan on buying a car from Sergei, but even then—My hands delve into my hair. I can’t breathe. Panic engulfs me and scours me raw. I have to get my girl out of there before they do anything else to her. Before she gets hurt because of me.
Swinging my leg over my bike, I barely secure my helmet and immediately take off. No matter which route I take, the roads are too slick. The sky is too dark. Visibility is piss-poor right now with the heavy rain, and I’m going way over the speed limit. There’s no doubt about it. This night won’t end well for me if I stick with my motorbike.
If I’m about to willingly walk into a trap—if I want to rescue my girl—I need to swap it for Ol’ Reliable.
My heart lurches into my throat as I bulldoze through a red light, narrowly dodging a sedan blaring its horn at me. It’s a close call. Too fucking close .
The rain lessens into a drizzle as I reach the outskirts of the city, and I all but abandon my bike the instant I pull up to my garage.
Thumbing through my set of keys, I hastily look for the specific fucking piece of metal that’ll let me inside. My fingers scrabble the bulky padlock while I jam the key in and—after much resistance—unlock it. It feels like I’m racing against a clock. I am racing against a clock.
I still need to get the cash. I still need to get to the fucking location. I still need to rescue her.
The lock clicks open, and my wet, frigid hand grabs hold of the door and hoists it up with extreme force, only for my entire body to freeze at the sight in front of me.
At the lack of cars in front of me.
All of my vehicles are gone. My Mustang, Ol’ Reliable, Sal’s Pontiac, and the two project cars I’ve been working on since the semester started. Even Reese’s Nova isn’t in its usual spot.
Everything’s gone. They’re all gone.
Taking an inadvertent step backward, I glance around and get visual confirmation I’m still the only person here. My throat runs dry while I reach for my phone.
Something glints in the streetlight and snares my attention as I scramble toward my bike. I barely make out a familiar green rim lying on the curb when he answers.
“I need your help. They have—” My hand chokes the device while I stare up at the night sky, my voice nearly breaking as brutal desperation racks me. “You’re the only one I can turn to. They have her. ”
The overwhelming scent of wet asphalt greets me when I arrive, accompanied by dead silence the moment I cut the engine. My muscles grow tense as I climb off my bike and survey the surrounding area.
The water treatment plant is empty. There’s no one in plain sight. Besides the few puddles rippling while reflecting the yellow glow of nearby street lamps, the whole place lacks any movement, any activity.
“ Wally !” My words are a near growl, echoing throughout the empty street. “Come out and show your fucking face!”
This is a trap. I know it’s a fucking trap. I know my ass is going to get kicked. At this point, it’s undeniable. Inevitable . Written in the damn stars. I showed up with a heavy as fuck backpack and no backup. If I make it out of here alive, it’ll take a fucking miracle to end all miracles.
Where are you, Marco ?
“It’s fucking midnight!” I snarl. “Quit fucking with me!”
A revving sound floods the air. For once, it’s not music to my ears. My hands ball into fists as a vehicle slowly creeps toward me. It’s not a green, clapped-out shitbox that pulls into the flickering streetlight.
It’s a Mustang. A late-sixties model, exactly like the one I hitchhiked to Arizona to buy shortly after my eighteenth birthday. Painted bright red, as Marco dared me to the moment I rolled into Sal’s shop. Windows barely tinted, so my father wouldn’t bust my balls about California’s tint laws, but dark enough for me to catch my reflection and see the wet hair plastered to my forehead.
After an eternity passes in the long few seconds, the glass pane finally rolls down at a measured pace until my eyes connect with Wally’s.
“Like my new ride?”
The muscles in my jaw set. I’m barely breathing as I glance inside the coupe. There’s no sign of her anywhere. “Where’s the girl?”
“Uh, uh, uh.” He tuts, baring his teeth with a smug grin. “We’re doing this on my teams.”
Does he mean terms ? I’m having trouble wrapping my head around what’s happening right here, right now. Wally’s not the brightest lightbulb to begin with. I can’t even see him masterminding tying his own shoes.
“You better let my girl go?—”
“Say another word,” he sneers, “and you’ll never see her again.”
I go still as his gaze slides to the backpack hanging on my shoulder.
“That’s better,” he says, and it takes all of my strength not to send him crawling home with a rearranged face. “This is how we’re gonna do it. You’re gonna give me your money.” He pauses. “And your motorcycle.”
“Show me the girl first.”
“On your hands and knees,” he continues. “I want you to crawl to me on your hands and knees and beg me to take your money and motorcycle from you. If you want your bitch back?—”
“Where is she?” I demand, my tone caustic as hell while I take a step closer. “Where the fuck is she?”
“With one of my guys.” As if on cue, I hear an engine backfire on my right and the sound of the brakes squealing to a stop on my left. His lips split into a sinister sneer. “Now get on your hands and knees, Old News. For everyone to see.”
“Show me the girl first!” I growl, tearing my gaze away from his to look at both cars behind me. One’s yellow and the other’s purple. I don’t recognize either one of them.
“We’re playing on my teams!” he snarls. “My teams?—”
“Show me the girl and I’ll do whatever you want.”
“ Fuck . Fine!” He snaps his fingers. “Let him see her.”
Anger radiates through me as some unfamiliar douchebag hops out of the yellow fastback and takes his sweet ass fucking time swaggering to the back. The trunk pops open, and my heart pounds with twin spirals of relief and fury the moment he hoists a small, wriggling body out the back of the sports car.
“Get that fucking thing off of her?—”
“On your hands and knees,” Wally cuts me off. “Get on your fucking knees now?—”
“If you don’t get that thing off of her head right now.” Venom fills my voice as I turn to face him. “It will become your fucking body bag?—”
“On. Your. Fucking. Hands—” His head jerks back when the backpack whams into his face. Without hesitation, I take off running toward my girl. Hands balled into fists. Muscles taut in the set of my shoulders. Jaw clenched in sheer determination.
Pure adrenaline propels me forward as I drive my knuckles into the first face I see. I swing at him again, landing a blow just below his eye, when someone slams into me from behind and sends me staggering forward.
The sharp taste of copper fills my mouth and mixes with my saliva. I spit out blood and twist on my feet, barely dodging the right hook when Wally socks me squarely in the sternum.
“Where’s the fucking money?” he screams. “You could have made it easy for yourself?—”
A feral sound ruptures from my throat, and I charge him. His body slams into the pavement. He grapples me down to the ground with him.
My fist connects with his temple. His knee goes into my ribs. Our hands are flying wildly as we thrash and jab and sneak in every below-the-belt hit we can get. Every second counts. There’s no such thing as honor.
Before his dirty nails can claw at my eye, I jackknife my knee into his groin. He grunts, momentarily blindsided by the pain, and I deck him hard in the nose, instantly met with a sickening crunch that mingles with his anguished scream. Blood gushes everywhere. His eyes pool with tears.
There’s no such thing as honor.
I strike another devastating blow to his face, and he howls in pain, unable to weasel away in time from the next jab that goes straight to his bleeding nose. His forearms fly to his mug, but I don’t give a shit about him anymore.
Staggering to my feet, I crack my jaw and turn around to see who’s next. I’m angry. Beyond pissed. They kidnap my girl and think I’m going to cower, bend over, and play on their fucking terms?
Panting heavily, I spit out the blood pooling in my mouth. My hands curl into fists. My legs shift. My stance squares. I know I’m about to get my ass handed to me. The odds are stacked against me when there are still three of them standing and we all fight dirty.
The chances of me getting out of here with just a couple of bruises are low. My girl won’t like that one bit, but she’ll be safe and sound, and more importantly, she’ll be far away from these assholes. That’s what matters most to me.
With ruthless intention, I charge at the one on the right. I don’t have the element of surprise on my side, but I manage a blow to his jaw just before one of them yanks me back and hooks an arm around my neck, crushing my windpipe. Someone sucker-punches me in the gut, and the air whooshes painfully from my lungs when he lands a harder blow to my ribs.
I thrash and kick wildly, managing to elbow someone before I get a hard uppercut below my chin, and my tongue gets sharply bit in the process. A fist slams into my left eye. A boot connects with my abdomen, and I wheeze through my bloodstained teeth.
I jerk my head back and headbutt the guy holding me. He makes a startled noise, abruptly hacking a hoarse wheeze a millisecond later, and his grip slackens out of nowhere.
“Let go of him,” comes a dark growl.
I nearly crumple to the ground while I wrench myself out of his grasp. Coughing up blood, I find myself looking Marco directly in the eye. He nods at me, barely shifting his stance when his body tenses at the sudden sound in the distance.
Sirens. Fucking sirens.
It’s a symphony to my ears. Relief uncoils in my chest, barely outmatched by my amusement when Wally’s friends bolt for their cars. It only lasts for a second before my exhaustion kicks in. With a low groan, I clutch my aching ribs and try not to drag my feet to the small body abandoned on the wet pavement.
“It’s me,” I wheeze, my heart sinking into my stomach when she recoils and jerks away from my touch. “Iris, baby, it’s me.” My movements are slow as I carefully gather her into my arms and yank the sack off of her head.
She won’t stop shaking. Her eyes are squeezed shut in distress, tears tracking down her cheeks. Her disheveled hair sticks to her clammy temples. Wet leaves cling to her sweater in random spots, and her bare knees and shins are streaked with dirt.
“You’re okay, you’re okay.” I ignore the wailing sirens as I gently tug down the gag around her mouth.
A rough sob works through her frame and tears my heart into shreds. I breathe deep through my nose—through the agonizing pain of my stinging rib cage when my chest expands—and bring my hands to the binding around her wrists.
She goes rigid as a stone.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m only removing?—”
She weeps something incoherent, her body trembling even harder in my arms.
“I got you,” I continue. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
I free her wrists and fight the heavy ball forming in the pit of my stomach when she immediately clings to me, her fingers clutching onto my torn shirt as if it’s her lifeline.
“You’re okay,” I promise, bringing her ankles onto my thigh. I tug at the tight, intricate-looking knot and bite back my frustration. Fuck. It’s too tight. My fingers are stiff and raw and stinging as I yank and pull on the rope, trying everything I can think of to get the knot loose.
It won’t give. The rope cuts into the pads of my fingers. Bites into the flesh of my palm. I tug even harder, but it won’t fucking give. It won’t fucking give .
“Baby—You’re going to be okay, but I need to get someone?—”
“No,” she sobs. “ Please . Please don’t leave me.”
My heart squeezes tight while I swallow thickly. “Never. I’d never.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Her face buries into my shoulder, her tears soaking up what’s left of my shirt. My arms tighten around her as I press my nose into her matted hair. It takes a long while before my heartbeat slows down. Before I can accept the fact that she’s safe.
I lift my head when I feel something splatter against my forehead, then look up as the rain starts up again. Around us, it’s… chaos. Pandemonium. Lights flashing everywhere. Cop cars blocking both sides of the street. Wally’s idiot friends resisting arrest. Wally screaming nonsense while his arms are pinned and zip-tied behind him. Marco standing near my Mustang with his hands up.
My lungs heave against the biting, wintry air as I bury my face in her hair. My pulse slows down a notch when I breathe in her familiar scent. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”
From what I can make out in my reflection, my face has seen better days. My boot taps incessantly against the linoleum floor. My fingers drum against the steel table.
I don’t know what’s taking so long, or why they haven’t let me go yet. These bozos have already taken my statement. I’ve answered every question they had, even the ones about people who weren’t at the scene. What else could they want from me?
Minutes of my life are being wasted away when somewhere outside this interrogation room, my girl is waiting for me. I don’t want to be away from her for another second. Not when she hasn’t stopped crying since I got her back.
My fingers thrust into my hair. I’m on my last nerve and it’s being tested. I know my fucking rights. I’m not arrested. I don’t have to stick around until someone comes around to dismiss me like it’s a classroom.
Before I can push my seat back, the door swings open. And right there, standing in the doorway, is my father. The tightness in his jaw is no match for the tension in his neck. Whatever he says to the officer, it’s too low for me to hear.
I sit up tall and brace myself for yet another lecture about what a disappointment I am to him, the family name, my dead mother, and whatever else he wants to throw at me.
We’ve had this dance before. Two years ago. I’m not in the mood to do it again.
The instant the officer leaves the room, my mouth curves into a grim line.
“Just can it, all right?” I grunt. “I know the drill. Disappointment. Screw-up. Taking shit for granted—Spare me the theatrics.”
“Daniel.”
“I’m going to take my girl home now.” The chair screeches against the linoleum as I stand. “I know loyalty to the girl you love is unheard of for you?—”
“You called me.” His eyes sharpen. “I helped you?—”
“Because it’d look fucking bad if the great Daniel Kingsley’s fuckup son was found dead in a ditch?”
“Because I love you,” he snarls, and I spare him a leveled stare. “I’m tired of you treating me like the bad guy?—”
“Are you not the bad guy?—”
“I was terrified ?—”
“You never cared about me,” I plow on, “so spare me the waterwork?—”
“How could you?—”
“How could I?” My jaw aches as I glower at him. What I would give for another painkiller right now. “You know what? I’m leaving. If it’ll make you feel better, I’m not gonna get into any more trouble, so you can stop pretending like you give a damn. You won’t have to worry about me sullying your family name any longer.”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” he gripes, anger furrowing his stern brows. “I give a damn about you. I always have.”
“Right,” I say dryly, punctuating the word with an eye-roll. “Let’s be honest with ourselves. We both know you wished I died that night with Mom.”
The room falls into dense silence, and horror slackens his features. “Daniel, how could you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s the truth?” I seethe. “Once I’m out of the picture, you’d have a clean slate with your do-over family and your perfect new sons?—”
“I’ve never wished for that,” he interjects.
“It’s the truth, though!”
“It’s not the truth!” His nostrils flare. “Never in my entire life have I ever wanted you dead or wished for you to die.”
“Just Mom, though, right?” Bitterness drips in my tone, and tension simmers in the air.
For a long moment, he fixes me with that familiar disappointed stare. He lets out a rough exhale. “I never wanted her dead. I never wanted my wife to die or for my son to resent me for something she did?—”
“For something she did?” I echo, and it takes what’s left of my depleting energy to remain rooted to the spot. I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to know socking my old man in the face at a police station is a bad call.
“She almost got you killed,” he grates out through gritted teeth. Never mind. We’ll both be walking out of this room with black eyes. “Instead of taking a cab home, as I had insisted, she drove you home way over the legal blood alcohol limit.”
All at once, the anger leeches from my body while it feels like I’ve been sucker-punched in the gut again. What is he talking about? They said there was a drunk driver at the scene, but… Nausea threatens to tear through me.
No. He’s wrong. He has to be.
“You nearly died because of a bad judgment call on her end,” he goes on, and somehow, he looks twice his age as he wearily looks me in the eye. “I was beside myself when I got the call—when I thought I lost my entire family that night.”
I want to chew him out. I want to tell him he’s fucking wrong. I want to stop him from dragging my mom’s good name through the mud.
She’s not here to defend herself, but… I can’t either. Not when I have so many memories of her drowning her sorrows late at night. Of her telling me to keep it a secret between us when she sneaked a flask into one of my games. Of all the wine she’d drink on flights to Hammersmith.
Icy dread floods through my veins. I gape at the man before me. At the man with a history of using his money and connections to keep the skeletons in the closet when it comes to our family.
“In a way,” he says, after a strained minute of silence, “I did. Because you blamed me for what happened, even though I wasn’t there. Because I wasn’t there . I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, Daniel. You were grieving, but so was I. I lost my wife. I nearly lost my son. You hated me, and I could never do anything right. I tried so hard to fix things, but you kept pushing me away.
“Then you told me you wished it had been me who died in that accident, and it destroyed me. It absolutely destroyed me to see you hurting, and no matter what I did, you saw me as nothing but a monster.” He pulls in a deep breath. “I know you’ll always hate me. I’ve accepted that. Even if it kills me, I’ve made my peace with it. But I want you to know I’ll always love you. I will always be there for you however I can. When you called me for help, I came?—”
“I called you for help before,” I remind him bluntly. “Two years ago, when the Walkers threatened to sue me. You paid them off even though I was innocent. I told you what happened that night. Every little detail. I told you the bastard and his friends attacked me. I swore to you that I only broke his arm in self-defense, but you didn’t believe me . You really thought I beat him up when I didn’t. None of his other injuries were from me .”
To my surprise and his credit, he flinches. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Daniel, I truly am. I was only trying to look out for you?—”
“You paying them off only made things worse for me,” I growl. “Paying them off was practically an admission of guilt. I was innocent . I told you they ganged up on me, but you automatically assumed the worst. You’ve always assumed the worst in me. All because I fucked up once when I was a kid and took your car for a joyride while you were too busy playing father of the year with your do-over family.”
Frustration stirs in my chest, and my hands scrub my bruised jaw while I stare ahead. Every muscle in my body is coiled up so damn tight, I know I’m on the verge of snapping. I need to get out of here before I reach my limit.
“Believe me, I regret everything. For not being there when you needed me.” Remorse clouds his profile, and his shoulders sag. “For not trying harder to repair our relationship. Know that I would give anything to fix things between us.”
My line of sight cuts to the table. I can’t look at him. Not right now. Not while it feels like the walls are about to close in on me.
All my life, I wanted his approval. His love. Any fucking sign that showed he cared about me. Anything that proved he didn’t think of me as a burden or see me as an ugly reminder of his first marriage. Something that corroborated the fact he didn’t want me out of his life for good so he could have a clean slate with his picture-perfect new family.
Now here it is. Here’s everything I’ve ever wanted my entire life… and I don’t know what to do with it.
A weary sigh escapes me. “My girl’s waiting for me, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
He hesitates. His expression is nothing but anguish and causes a sharp pang in my heart, and I avert my attention to the door. “Is she okay?”
Reluctantly, I redirect my focus back to him, and my throat becomes tight at the touch of concern in his pained gaze. I’m not sure if she’s really who he’s asking about. Not while he surveys my busted lip and swollen left eye with this look that depletes the rest of my energy. Exhaustion sets in. I’ve never felt this… drained in my whole life.
“She will be,” I say finally. “She’s the toughest girl I know.”