26. The Savior
The Savior
Chapter 26
The dingy walls of the safe house pressed in around me as I sat in front of the computer. I had already been there for a day, and aside from research, I felt no closer to finding my sister. Ivy’s files taunted me, a jumble of information on a thumb drive he had given me the last time I saw him that I knew could be entirely useless.
Sighing, I ran my hand through my hair, clicking through what was stored on the device. Everything around me reminded me of the man I was before I had met Scarlett—the ruthless assassin who ended lives without a second thought. Now here I was, trying to save a life…again.
My sister’s name echoed in my mind as I scanned the files, looking specifically for any mention of Delacroix’s known associates, headquarters, or hangouts. I could not listen from the shadows if I didn’t know where the remaining members of Delacroix’s gang were lingering.
So much guilt twisted in my gut as I thought about all the potential places and states of being my sister could be in. These men were monsters, and she was out there somewhere, in danger because of me, because I could not protect her. The one thing I did not think her captors had considered was that she had a bigger monster on her team, and her monster wasn’t fighting because of a payout… Her monster would destroy them because of love.
As I scrolled through the files and emails on Ivy’s thumb drive, I came across a bar near the port owned by a close friend of Delacroix, Marcel. According to Ivy’s notes, it was frequented by Delacroix’s men. It was a long shot, especially with the FBI sniffing around, but any lead was better than nothing.
Grabbing my keys and holstering my weapons, I rushed out into the muggy night air.
The streets of New Orleans were busy at such a late hour, but the closer I got to the port, the more the crowd thinned. The air was heavy, more so than just from the humidity. There was always a dark, macabre weight to New Orleans that crawled across your skin and sat on your shoulders to witness any despicable things you did under its influence. Some would say it was the spirits who gave it the reputation of being one of the most haunted cities in the country. But I did not believe in such things. Perhaps if I did, I would not have made a career out of leaving so many more ghosts in my wake.
Parking my car in an alley two blocks away, I pulled my hood over my head and slid my gun into my pocket. From where I was parked, I could see Marcel’s bar, a rundown building with neon signs flickering in the windows. There were a few motorcycles parked out front, as well as a few vehicles in the alley behind the building. People who were perhaps trying to stay off the radar…just like me.
Sixties and seventies rock blared from the jukebox inside the bar, the air filled with smoke and the smell of stale liquor. A few patrons lingered at the dimly lit bar while another handful sat at tables around the space. I felt their weathered faces watching me, but I did not meet anyone’s stare. The less people who saw my face the better.
Approaching the bar on the more shadowed side, I slid onto the bar stool, lifting my hand to order a whiskey, never looking the bartender in the face as he dropped off my drink and took my money. Instead, I scanned the room, listening in as snatches of conversations drifted to me, mentions of jobs, money, and trouble.
I sat there for a while, sipping slowly on the whiskey in my hand, not wanting it to dull my senses. There was a high chance that I was going to need my strength and my wits before the end of the night. A few more guys walked into the bar as I sat there, taking a seat at a table in the corner where a lone patron had been all night. Mere moments passed before a conversation started up that I was more than a little interested in.
“Heard there’s a bounty on that Prejean broad and her old man, Etienne. Fifty grand for the bitch, hundred for her father.”
My fingers tightened around the gun in my pocket, rage boiling in my veins at hearing them speak about my wife in that way. If I had time later, I intended to remove their tongues for daring to disrespect her.
I signaled the bartender for another drink, even though the one in my hand was still mostly full, using the motion to glance at the men in the corner. Although I could not tell if they were Delacroix’s thugs or just a couple of Cajun shit-talkers, it was clear in their body language that they believed everything they said, which made me think there must have been at least a flicker of truth to their claims.
“And that Italian who took over for Delacroix wants them alive, at least for now.”
Tossing a bill onto the bar, I stood, watching as one of the men at the corner table walked toward the back of the bar, heading toward the bathroom. “You have a good night now,” I said as I walked away, however I did not leave.
With my hand on the blade in my pocket, I followed the taller mobster into the hallway, but before he could push open the bathroom door, I shoved him through the back door instead and into a darkened alley. He startled, spinning around, but I already had him pinned to the exterior wall, forearm crushing his throat.
“Where is she?” I growled.
Panic flooded his eyes as he struggled for air, so I eased up just enough for him to rasp, “Who?”
Not in the mood for his stupidity, I slammed him against the wall again. “Don’t play dumb with me. Where the hell is the girl they took for Aresco?”
He sputtered something unintelligible, clawing at my arm. Snatching the knife from my pocket, I pressed it under his chin, cold metal biting into his skin.
“Last chance,” I warned, enunciating every word. “Where. Is. She?”
“I don’t know!” he choked out, his brown eyes wild with fear. “Aresco put out a bounty on her, and I heard some guys were hunting her, but I don't know where they took her!”
Hunting. The word was like a knife to my gut, twisting deep. I should have done more to protect her.
Having already scoped out the area, and needing to get him somewhere with more privacy, I dragged him away from the back of the bar. Fury burned through my veins, barely contained beneath my skin. He stumbled and fell to his knees, gasping for air and only pissing me off more.
“Please,” he rasped, hands held up in surrender. “I told you the truth.”
“You’re only still alive because you may still be useful.” Grabbing him by the collar, I hauled him to his feet and shoved him toward the abandoned building down the alley. “So, you’d better think really hard about how badly you want to keep those secrets.”
The old storage building was decrepit, needing nothing more than to be torched, but it was the closest place I knew I would be able to interrogate him further without his screams being heard by passersby.
With my knife put away and my gun in my hand so he would not fight, I bound his hands and ankles to a chair, the light of the moon providing the only illumination.
Once he was tied up securely, I opened up my duffle bag and pulled out my blade and my catfish skinning pliers. Somewhere, Aresco had Caroline, and this pathetic waste of flesh was going to tell me exactly where she was.
For twenty minutes, I pulled the skin from three of his fingers, gagging him to keep him from making too much noise. Still, he kept repeating the same stories, and my patience was running thin. Rage burning through me, I pressed the blade to his throat again. He was wasting my time. “Last chance. Where is she?”
He whimpered through the cloth, moisture puddling on the ground beneath him. “I told you. I don’t know!”
All I wanted was to slit his lying throat, but then he would not be able to give up his men. I slammed my fist into his jaw instead, relishing the crack of bone.
“Useless piece of shit,” I spat, stalking away. My hands shook with the urge to hurt him, to make him talk, but it was no use. Either he did not know anything, or he didn’t have enough of a sense of self preservation to choose himself over them. Either way, he was a dead man.
As I paced, he slumped against his bindings, whimpering through bloodied lips. Just as I was debating slicing his throat and being done with him, a sharp ring shattered through my thoughts, sending my pulse racing. I answered it on the first ring, dragging my blade against the table to remove some of the flesh.
“Tristan. What’s up?”
“It’s Caroline,” he said, panic clear in his tone. “She activated the tracker I gave her. She’s still in Alabama, a few hours from here.”
Heart flipping in my chest, I closed the distance between myself and the groaning man on the chair, slicing his throat, the dropping weight of his body making the chair fall over. I barely paid him any mind. He was useless to me. “Where? Can you pinpoint it?”
Tristan went silent for a minute, giving me time to spread the gasoline I had left in the alley all over the interior of the structure. “I’m trying. The signal is coming from a heavily-wooded area northwest of here—near the state line. But it’s deep in the southern Appalachians, so from the map I can’t even make out any buildings or dwellings of any kind.”
“Text me the exact coordinates the second you have them,” I said, tossing a match on the dead man’s body before stepping out of the building. “I’m leaving New Orleans now. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”