Chapter 8 Wraith #2
“Understood. Did Stealth think that?”
He nods subtly. “I’m not sure where his feelings lie now.”
“We’re here to support you both. You can ask for help too, boss.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Do you still speak to…” I’m not sure if I should ask the question, but I’m already there. “Bellamy?”
He flinches like I’ve punched him. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Curious, I guess. He seemed to make you happy.”
His gaze turns cold and he looks away from me. “Happy?” He chuckles darkly. “What does that even mean? The problem with…” His words trail off as he huffs.
“I’m listening, Shadow.”
“It doesn’t matter. No, I don’t speak to Bellamy, and I would appreciate you not mentioning his name again, especially after Stealth gets home.”
Damn. I think Colson was spot on. “Of course. Apologies.”
“Don’t apologize for caring.”
I nod, offering a slight smile. “We’re here for you.”
“Thank you.” He moves to his desk, signaling the end of this conversation.
He’s never been a talkative guy, but he’s more guarded than ever these days. I hope Stealth coming home will be a good thing for both of them. Shadow deserves some good things.
Later that night, I walk into the arena with Carnage by my side, both of us dressed in the most basic clothes. I really don’t like this blending in part, but I have to admit Colson was right. I get far fewer looks from the fans than I did that first night in my normal garb.
Carnage is pumped up, grinning widely as we make our way to our seats. These aren’t as well placed as the last ones were, but I can see the seats where the target supposedly sits if I strain to my left a bit.
When the announcer starts calling out player names, my attention shifts to the ice, waiting for Bouche to be called. When he skates out, the crowd goes wild and heavy rock music blares over the speakers. A slight smile tugs at my lips. I hope I’ll get the chance to touch him again later.
“Bouchard is an amazing player. So is Landham,” Carnage says.
“I don’t know who that is.”
“He’s the captain, dumbass. He’s a center and he’s fucking badass. They’re saying we have a good shot at the cup this year. First time in twelve years.”
“I didn’t know you were into this sport.”
“I grew up in Canada. It’s like a religion there.”
“I don’t think I knew that.”
“I’ve been here in the States since I was a teen.” He shrugs. “I don’t talk about my old life much.”
Or at all. I don’t know shit about Carnage other than he has an insatiable taste for violence.
He got his nickname his first week on the job and gets assigned the worst of our cases because he delights in taking out his targets.
They don’t get a simple bullet in the brain from Carnage. They get exactly what his name implies.
“You grew up outside the US too, right?”
“Yeah. Norway, then Ireland for a while, but I was still pretty young when we made it here.”
“Your parents alive?”
The question causes my stomach to twist. “My mum is alive. My dad died when I was still a teen. He had an accident at work.”
“Sorry, man. Do you talk to your mum?”
“Can’t. Well, I can, but she has no idea who I am. No idea who anyone is.”
“Damn.”
“They were older when I was born, and she’s not been mentally well for a long time. She’s in her own world and she’s happy there. My dad is with her. She talks about him in the present tense all the time.”
“Dude. That’s gotta be hard. Where does she live?”
“Arizona with my sister. She’s in a facility, but my sister lives close by.”
“And you talk to her?”
“What’s with the twenty fucking questions?”
Carnage holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I was curious.”
“I didn’t mean to snap. No, I don’t talk to my sister or anyone in my family. My biological family. You guys are my family now.”
Carnage nods. “I get it. I don’t have any connections to my blood family either. That’s probably how we ended up at Crestvale House, right?”
“Better this than most of our options.”
“Word.”
My eyes catch movement and I turn my attention to the seats where the target is now sitting. He’s wearing a hoodie and a Magnets ball cap, but that’s him. I’ve studied his picture so many times I have no doubt. He looks around nervously before his gaze shifts to the ice.
The Magnets score early, and when Bouche slams a player from the other team against the boards, the target jumps out of his seat, clapping and whistling. He does the same thing a few minutes later when the goalie blocks a shot.
Patrick Gemelli. Pleasure to meet you finally. Too bad I have to end your life.
He looks young, and he’s definitely attractive. His dark hair is cut short, almost in a crew cut, and I’m too far away to see the details from here, but his smile looks bright as he celebrates his home team.
I still can’t figure out who he’s related to on the team. He doesn’t share a surname with any of them and there’s nothing online tying him to anyone. The client who told us that must know uncommon knowledge about the target.
During intermission, the target gets out of his seat and heads towards the concession stands. I nudge Carnage.
“My target is on the move.”
“Need backup?”
“Nah. Gonna see if I can follow him to figure out where he goes after this.”
“Cool. Bring back a beer.”
“Got it.”
Maneuvering through the seats and excited fans is a pain in the ass, but I finally make it to the concession level, searching for the target. I find him standing in line for beer. Perfect.
I’m several people behind him, but I’ve got eyes on him, which is more than I can say recently. When he gets to the counter, the guy behind it smiles and they share a bro hug across the counter.
“Boone, my man. Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
Boone? I shuffle a little closer. Did I get it wrong somehow and this guy just looks a lot like my target? Couldn’t be. I spot the unusual tattoo on his neck. It has to be him.
“Hey, man. I’ve been around. How are you and the kids?”
“Nothing to complain about. You want a beer and a pretzel?”
The target chuckles. “You know me well.”
The guy behind the counter hands the target a beer and a warm pretzel wrapped in paper, and as he pays, I make a move, getting in position behind him. When he turns around, he bumps right into me, dropping the pretzel on the ground.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry.” I crouch at the same time as he does. “Let me get you a new one.”
The target studies my face, his eyes searching mine. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“My fault.” I smile, rising slowly. “Uh, can we get another pretzel on me?” I ask the guy behind the counter. “I made him drop his.”
“Yeah, of course,” the guy says.
Patrick—or Boone, maybe—is still studying me. I offer my hand. “I got too excited. This game is awesome, right?”
The target nods, hesitantly shaking my hand. “Yeah, definitely. Who’s your favorite player?”
“Bouche.” I answer easily, because that’s the only real name I know. “But Landham is exciting,” I add, remembering what Carnage told me. “Yours?”
“I like them all.”
Hmm, not gonna reveal his relative to me. This has to be him. Unless he’s got a twin.
“You here alone?” I ask.
His brows knit together. “Are you hitting on me? Because I’m straight.”
I pull my head back in surprise. “Uh, no, man. Just making conversation. That’s a hell of a jump you made.”
He frowns. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
“It’s cool.”
I watch him take the new pretzel then shuffle his feet. “I should get back.”
I nod, turning to follow him but he stops me. “Aren’t you going to order anything?”
“Fuck.” I chuckle. “I got distracted.” Damn, he’s observant. No wonder he’s been hard to track.
After I get two beers for me and Carnage I make my way back to our seats, searching the crowd for the target, but his seat is empty. Did I spook him? Fuck. Now I’ll have to wait to hopefully run into him again so I can follow him out. Dammit. He must be on to me.
“You missed the Magnets scoring again.” Carnage sips his beer. “Long lines?”
“I saw the target and engaged.” My mood sours. “I think he knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That I’m following him. He was sketchy as fuck with me, then he took off. His seat is empty.”
“Maybe he’s just taking a piss.”
“Yeah, maybe.” But I already know that isn’t true. I need to make this happen soon or Shadow is gonna have my ass, and not in a good way.
I keep my eye half on the game and half on the empty seat, hoping maybe he’ll return to it, but as the final buzzer sounds, he never does. I lost him.
The Magnets won by three points and the arena fills with excited energy.
I watch Bouche skate around the rink with his teammates, all of them jumping up and down.
It’s nice he had a good game after his last one.
Chances are high he’ll be at the bar across the street again and we can sneak out for a little relief.
I sure as fuck need some now after fucking up my night.
“We’re going to the bar across the street,” I announce.
Carnage nods. “Target hang out there?”
“Maybe.” More importantly, Bouche hangs out there and I need another taste. God, I want to fuck him. Will we ever get that far?
I hope so.