Chapter 43
Walker
I’m not generally an angry guy. But there’s something about a creep who keeps popping up like a supervirus, infecting everything and everyone he touches, that makes rage burn deep in my gut.
Bryce is a disease. And it’s time we killed him off. Maybe even literally, as the cops won’t do anything about it.
RJ snags my jacket sleeve when we get to the gym, holding me back. “Take photos. We can give them to Reed.”
“And then what? They give him a slap on the wrist like last time?”
Jansen paces beside us. “If that even. We need to do something about him.”
“I agree,” RJ and I both say, the three of us sharing a look in the snowy, mucky parking lot.
“Trips is on board,” RJ adds. “The only one I don’t know about is Clara.”
“The letter said she didn’t want him to be an unwilling liver donor,” I say.
“Yeah, but she didn’t know he’s gone after Mattie,” RJ points out.
Jansen bounces on his toes. “So, we add him to the list. And take photos for the cops. And maybe somehow let the evil father know that his baby girl is in danger. Basically, we need to cover all our bases to get him out of the picture. It’s time for him to get the hell out of our lives.”
RJ sighs, running a hand over his face. “Which of us do you think can get in and out without him seeing us? We don’t want to spook him. If he runs, we all know he’s coming back, we just can’t guess when. And that’s not gone.”
Jansen raises a hand, and I grimace. “No offense, but I’m not sure your new look is going to blend well here, Jay.” He’s wearing eyeliner. And black nail polish. Based on the kids and parents going in and out of this place, he’s going to stick out like a Campbell’s can in a Van Gogh.
“I’m probably out for the same reason,” RJ says, his face grim. I go to protest, but he shakes his head. “No. I’m going to stick out.”
I toss my keys to RJ. “Fine. I’ll go. But if he sees me, I’m not letting him just run out of here. Keep your phones handy.”
“Don’t get arrested,” Jansen says, grinning, following RJ back to the car. “I won’t bring Clara for conjugal visits if you do.”
I flip him off, and a woman squawks and covers her daughter’s eyes as they rush past us and into the building. Great. I’ve already attracted attention.
The lobby opens to the fencing gym on the main floor and industrial metal stairs leading upstairs to a cross-fit gym.
While RJ probably could have blended with the guys heading up the stairs, I’m definitely the best choice for the crowd of kids and parents.
Besides Trips, I’m the bougiest bastard on our team.
Everybody here is at least upper-middle class.
And based on all the kids putting on and taking off their kits, we came between class times.
Across the way, the advanced class continues with their training, their swords whip-like as they maneuver across the floor.
The two students strike and parry, and even I can tell they’re good at this.
The coach calls something out, the kids pull off their masks, and Mattie’s fire-red braid appears.
I pull my phone out, weaving between groups of parents and kids, my only goal getting close enough for a clear picture. But I don’t see Bryce.
She moves to the sidelines, and I tuck myself half behind a nearby support column, holding my breath.
She reaches for a water bottle, but I can’t see who’s handing it to her through the crowd.
I step to the side of the pole, trying to get a better angle, leaning against the support like I’m supposed to be there.
And then, a dad and his kids move toward the exit, and I get the view I needed, but desperately wished I wasn’t seeing.
Bryce’s hair is shorter, and he’s more built, but I still recognize him. Mattie looks up at him, a smirk on her lips as he says something to her. She laughs, and his smile grows wide.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were just like any other couple.
But I do know better. Much better.
So I snap picture after picture. One where their hands touch on the water bottle. One where he massages her forearm. One where she’s gazing up at him through her lashes, the heart eyes practically visible.
Sending the photos we got off his phone to the cops might not have the results we want, as we got them illegally. But offering these photos taken with my camera, while legal, don’t show nearly as much.
I slip back through the crowd, wishing I could stay and do something, say something, but I know it’s impossible.
I don’t even know the girl.
According to RJ, she’s as stubborn as her brother, just as bullheaded, but with the snark of a teenage girl mixed into it.
And she’s shut down their communication.
We figure that means Clara and Trips caused some collateral damage giving us a chance to follow the blackmail to the storage units.
In short, right now, we have no leverage to convince her to see Bryce with anything besides those damn heart eyes.
He’s painted a bullseye on himself, though. And we’re going to send as many arrows as we can at him.
He can’t dodge them all. The bastard can’t be that slippery.