Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Jude
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I smile when I see Berlyn’s text to our group chat. She made it through class just fine, like I knew she would. My nerves have been at an all time high, not having eyes on her. But her father has been tied up in looking into every scrap of evidence at the station.
Cole and Scar go back and forth on who would be the best hitman to hire to take him out once we have him behind bars.
Scar wanted the honor, but we all agreed it would be the cleanest if it looked like revenge. There are plenty of people who will take payment to take someone out. Especially someone like Berlyn’s father. Nothing like being behind bars with one of the men who put you there.
What they’re arguing about is who would make the biggest splash with the kill. Who would have the most fun. Get away with dragging it out a little bit and playing with him. Fuck knows the man deserves some torture.
I’ve mostly started to tune them out as Ezra and I watch Noah work. His fingers fly over the keyboard far faster than either of us can manage. The strings of code far more complicated as he puts pieces into place on our chess board.
It’s about more than finding the evidence of what he did to Berlyn. We know it to be true. They had no trouble finding his little cache of home videos. But we also have to lay the groundwork for the cops to connect the dots.
Everyone knows they never point fingers at one of their own.
We have to make it so they can’t ignore it. All roads lead back to one ungodly truth.
There can be no alibi for him. We have to erase any trace of his presence in Madison at the times the cops know the stalker was active. Have to plant evidence to make it appear as if he was here.
Skills out of Ezra’s scope when it comes to coding and hacking but seems almost too easy for Noah. He’s the least intimidating member of The Bleeding Roses, but watching what he’s capable of makes me reevaluate that assessment.
Maybe we should invest more in learning this trade. We’ve only ever really learned enough but damn. In only a few hours, Noah is managing to lay everything we need out. Enough to do the job without being perfect and screaming setup.
I nod to the files Cole brought with information that Ezra asked for. We weren’t supposed to meet until later, but when he found out The Bleeding Roses were in town for us, he pulled up on his motorcycle only seconds after they got here.
For protection or what, I’m not sure. They seem like old friends, the way they’re bickering and arguing over what qualities make the best hitman the best. Not surprisingly, they have completely different takes. As different as their preferred killing styles.
“Anything in there to help?” I ask, drawing Cole’s attention back to why he’s here.
“On your girl?” he asks, walking back over to us, Scar and one of her men hot on his heels.
“Nothing definitive.” He scrubs his hand over the stubble decorating his cheeks and chin.
“The Sheriff definitely raises red flags. Not enough for evidence, but enough to wake the beast a small-town rumor mill can be. I lit a match before I left town.”
Disappointing on its own, but with everything Noah is preparing, it will be enough to push everything over into the perfect line of dominoes, clearing our way to our happily ever after.
“On her friend though,” he continues, chuckling now and I raise my brows in interest. It’s rare to see this side of Cole. A guy I could have a beer with. Just talk. He’s normally so short with his words. Almost cold in the way he treats us. Detached. Uninterested.
“She’s a fighter,” he praises. “Interesting story, but she left no ghosts to come back and haunt her. Buried her monsters pretty damn thoroughly.” He’s impressed. A rarity.
The conversation with Summer is now at the forefront of my mind. In a weird way, I could see it working. Not necessarily grumpy and sunshine. But like stoic deranged and chaotic unhinged. Equally dubious in their morals.
I could see it. Maybe West was onto something with his little matchmaker suggestion.
“Did you look at her photos?” I ask, losing interest in her backstory. As long as it isn’t coming back to hurt Berlyn, she could have stalked the Pope or killed the King and I wouldn’t give a fuck. That’s her business.
Cole cocks his head. “Sure, why?”
I raise my brows in an expectant look.
“Have you?” he retorts. “She was thirteen when it happened.”
It takes me a moment to realize why that matters and then it clicks. He hasn’t seen any recent pictures of her. Oh, I absolutely have to introduce them now. Maybe they can both come over tonight.
A familiar ding sounds from my phone, and not only mine.
That can’t be right. She promised to go back to our house. There’s no reason for Berlyn’s alarm to be disengaged.
“Check where Matthews is,” Ezra snaps at Noah.
Scar almost takes his damn head before noticing the immediate change in all three of us. West already has his phone in hand, picking up the camera feeds.
“Fuck,” he curses, turning toward the car. “He has her.”
The words might as well be a dagger to my chest. We failed her.
We’re already on the move, halfway in the car when the others also jump into action. “Meet you there,” Cole promises, swinging his leg over his motorcycle and revving the engine.
Scar already has her laptop out, fingers flying over the keys nearly as quickly as Noah.
“Take him out,” she calls after us. “Try to make it look like self-defense, yeah?” she warns but quickly continues.
“We’ll clean it up,” she promises, pulling out her phone and putting it to her ear even as she keeps typing with her free hand. “Rogers? How’s my favorite ME?”
We don’t stick around for the rest of the conversation. We’ve got the all clear and that’s all we need. Cole follows behind us as Ezra drives like a bat of hell to get us to our girl.
West keeps the feeds on his phone and the scene playing out is far worse than anything I ever could have imagined. It’s an endless stream of insults hurled at Berlyn like daggers, punctuated with the sound of fists hitting flesh.
Worse, she just lays there and takes it. She doesn’t fight, doesn’t scream.
As soon as we get her back, we’re teaching her self-defense. She can never be in a position like this again. Defenseless. Alone. We’re never leaving her side.
Her father is more vile than even what Berlyn relayed to us.
He treats her as a play thing to be used to take out his anger, frustration, and fantasies.
She acts like that’s exactly what she is.
Not the bright and beautiful woman she is.
Accepting each and every blow without so much as a whimper.
As if she can’t even feel blow after blow.
The only sign she can, is the way her body recoils and tenses with every strike.
Rage like I’ve never experienced boils my blood, a need to stop what’s happening and avenge her so intense, it’s painful. If I don’t release this building inferno on her father soon, I very well may explode.
It takes forever and a day to reach her house. Just as we pull onto her street, something changes in her house. An energy shift as Berlyn shifts, the smallest “no,” escaping her lips. It does nothing to stop her father. I’m not even sure he heard her. But we did.
“Just hold on, baby,” I murmur more to myself than anyone. West’s grip on his phone is so damn tight, he may break the damn thing. His own anger a beast radiating fury through the car. Ezra very well may be the only one of us three capable of rational thought at this point.
“No,” Berlyn screams again, finally fighting back.
“Atta girl,” Ezra says hoarsely, his knuckles white where they’re wrapped around the steering wheel.
Outside her house, he throws the car into park and we’re all running to the house, nearly ripping the door from the hinges as we crash into Berlyn’s living room.
Her father hovers over her, his body slightly shaking as blood drips on the hardwood floor. West grips the back of his shirt before I can get to him and rips him away from our girl, throwing Sheriff Matthews across the room.
Let’s see how he likes being someone’s ragdoll.
Berlyn shakes, blood pouring from her hand as she grips a shard of glass. Her hazel eyes normally filled with so much kindness, are dazed and confused as she stares at the shard and blood. Her body trembling, growing in force until she looks up at me.
Back at the blood. So stark against how pale her skin is, drained of all color.
Her eyes roll back and I curse, jumping down to catch her head from hitting the ground as she passes out.
“Self-defense, West,” Cole says wryly, closing the front door so no one can see what’s happening inside. I gather Berlyn’s now limp body in my arms, cradling her against my chest. She fought back. She protected herself.
Stabbed the fucker.
The boiling rage simmers as pride for my girl eases the raw fury of what she’s had to endure. She’s so damn strong, yet so delicate in my arms. Like she could fall apart and crumble before my eyes.
“West,” Cole warns again, more censure in his tone now. I look up to find him beating the ever loving shit out of Matthews. Blood pours from tiny cuts all over his face and a wound in his abdomen. She did so damn good.
Ezra crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall as he watches West pound his fist into Matthews’ rib cage over and over again. Cole smacks his shoulder, waiting for him to step in and calm West, but none of us are motivated to. Even if it means owing Scar and her men a bigger favor.
Hell, I’ll work for her for free if she covers this up and Berlyn never has to think about it again.
Cole sighs, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. “End it,” he snaps harshly, the words barely reaching West’s ears. “Your girl needs you,” he continues, slightly softer.
That does it.