Chapter 26
Sutton
The motel sign buzzes angrily outside the window of my parked truck. I sit with the window down, ball cap pulled low over my brow, watching the lights in the distant windows flicker on and off. My fingers tighten around the key card I shouldn’t have, but procured anyway.
I’m waiting.
I’m not entirely sure what for, but my gut will tell me when it’s time.
This isn’t how things are supposed to go. Not with my badge still sitting on the passenger seat. Despite knowing what it took me to get here and all the sacrifices I’ve made, I know what this might cost.
My job. My family. My reputation.
I think of Silas, and how I kept him in the dark by brushing off his questions at the end of the night. I tried to follow protocol, to do things by the book. Let the proper channels handle this, but how did that turn out?
The fear in Alice’s face resurfaces in my head.
My jaw clenches.
My already thin patience has run out.
Opening the door, I step out of the truck and shut it with a quiet click.
I walk into the lobby, lowering my hat even farther, and slip past the empty front desk.
I slowly climb the steps to the second floor.
The small security camera in the corner is dark, its red light temporarily extinguished for scheduled maintenance.
A floorboard squeaks beneath my boot. I pause. Waiting. A low laugh echoes from inside room 6—the last one at the end of the hall.
I hesitate outside the door, heart pounding so loud in my chest I fear it might give me away. A faint blue-white of a television flickers through the narrow crack between the wood and the carpet. The edge of the key card digs into my palm.
The door lock gives with a mechanical whirr and a sharp click, opening silently. I slip through the narrow crack, letting it slam shut behind me, the sound echoing through the room to announce my arrival.
“Hey, what the fuck, man?”
A guy half my size jumps up from the queen-sized bed with nothing on but a pair of checkered boxers and instantly reaches for his cell phone on the walnut table to his left.
Fury tightens my jaw, my molars grinding together. I launch myself across the room. We collide somewhere near the center. My fingers wrap around his throat, and I shove him flat onto his back on the floor.
The first punch collides with his right eye as I squeeze his windpipe, cutting off his yells. The second and third send a burst of blood pouring out of his nose. I lean in close, keeping his air supply closed.
“This is your only warning.”
Blood sticks to his teeth as he grimaces. I let up the pressure, giving this motherfucker a chance to respond.
“Warning for what?” he grunts, coughing between the words.
“You’re going to leave Alice Thompson alone. You’re going to leave town, and you’re never going to contact her again.”
“You call this a warning?” he gasps. “I’m bleeding out here!”
I sink my fist into his ribs. “You’re going to hurt like fuck tomorrow, but you’ll be breathing. Next time, you won’t.”
The next breath he inhales sounds painful. “Who is she to you?” he wheezes.
I lean down, making sure my face is the only thing he can see, and I respond with the only thing that gets the point across.
“Mine.”
Then I make my stance clear with a rapid onslaught of blows.
Me:
All finished
Jack:
Didn’t hear a thing
Me:
Let me know how much it costs to replace the sheets. And any other cleaning fees you incur
Jack:
Just buy me a round the next time we’re out
Me:
Will do. Do me a favor and let me know when he leaves. I want to track him out of town
Jack:
I’ll keep an eye out
Turning off the screen of my cell plunges the cab of my truck into darkness. The house ahead is dark, except for the glow of the porch light guiding me home. I pick up the plastic bag from the passenger-side floorboard and exit the truck, closing the door with a soft click.
It’s after midnight. I type in the code and let myself in, quickly rearming the alarm at my back.
My shoulders sag in relief. The bag falls with a flutter to my feet.
I step out of my boots and creep across the kitchen.
I already cleaned up at the truck stop, washing away any remnants of blood, but I decide to wash them again.
The skin covering my knuckles is bruised and torn, but not bleeding. Easy enough to explain away as a rough boxing session at the gym.
I crack open the top of a beer from the fridge, leaning my hips against the counter as I take a solid drink. A restless energy flows through me. The bitter malt is smooth on my tongue, washing away the guilt of what I’ve done.
I broke one of the cardinal rules of my job. To protect and serve. I’ve never taken the law into my own hands and delivered justice how I saw fit.
I hear her before I see her. The soft footfalls climbing my steps serve as a warning. My shoulders tense and my chest burns in anticipation. And even though I fight against it, I avert my eyes as if she’ll be able to see the proof of what I did from across the room.
“Sutton?”