Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Rage
The scene in front of the motel where Ginger overdosed is chaotic. There are police cars, detectives, an ambulance, and a lot of curious onlookers. I recognize a couple of the club girls, huddled together, crying. And standing next to them is Metal.
He shouldn’t be here. If this is about the club, he could be a target, and even if it isn’t, he’s too close to the situation. This is a clusterfuck regardless, and it has to be triggering as hell for him this soon after losing Layla.
I walk in that direction, and he sees me right away.
“Thanks for coming,” he says quietly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him.
His eyes snap to mine. “Where the hell else would I be? I told you guys that Layla didn’t kill herself. Now two more girls are dead—what does that tell you?” He’s pissed, and I don’t blame him, but this isn’t the place for this conversation.
“It tells me we have to be careful, and standing here in the middle of the crime scene isn’t productive.”
“Why are you here?” he counters gruffly.
“I’m here because your boss called mine, and they asked me to take a look.”
“At what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He looks annoyed but then one of the girls starts crying and he turns to her, putting an arm around her thin shoulders.
God, this is a mess.
My original plan was to skulk around, see what I might see or hear, but with so many people milling about who might recognize me, I have to pivot. A few more guys from the club have just shown up, so I do my best to blend in with Metal and the girls, keeping an eye on everyone around us.
I don’t see anyone who appears more suspicious than anyone else.
There are a few guys who look like low-level thugs—probably local pimps—but they seem more concerned than anything else.
Even if it’s not one of their girls this time, the fact that there’s been three in such a short period of time means their girls could be next.
The bigger frustration for me is that the police seem more bored than anything else. Another addict sex worker who took herself out. Probably nothing more than paperwork for them, and that pisses me off.
I don’t believe in coincidence.
Three of the same club’s girls in less than two weeks? No way.
These ladies were targeted.
The only question now is whether or not it’s personal to one particular member of the club or the club in general.
And that’s too many options.
No wonder Silver called Daniil. He and his club are somewhat powerful in the general area, but this is Oceanside and they’re based in Temecula. Technically, this isn’t their turf, but the girls like the clientele around here better. It tends to be cleaner, safer, and with higher-paying johns.
I think that’s another reason the club asked us to help.
This isn’t some seedy ghetto and guys in leather cuts with obvious club affiliations will stand out.
They don’t need that kind of exposure, but frankly, neither do we.
I still don’t completely understand Daniil’s friendship with Silver but I can’t tell him whom to be friends with. Or whom to help.
When Allora was originally kidnapped, Grim was the one to rescue her, and it’s because of her we met the Renegade Demons.
She doesn’t have much to do with the club beyond a somewhat strained relationship with her dad, but she’s known Metal most of her life and she got friendly with Layla.
By the same token, Daniil took the opportunity to create a loose working relationship with the Demons.
He said it was better to have them as allies than enemies, and he’s right about that. Unless you count Allora’s kidnapping, there’s been no overlap in our business dealings, but protecting the vulnerable is one of the core values of Shadow Security, so it makes sense that he wants to help.
I’m just not sure it’s the best use of our time or resources in this particular case because this seems like club business.
I feel for the girls but it’s the club’s job to protect them—that’s why they get a ten percent cut of their earnings—not ours.
Silver asked for help, though, so now I’m out here in the middle of the night searching for a killer.
Instead of balls-deep in the sexiest woman I know.
“Rage? That you?” The voice is low and well-modulated, and I turn in surprise.
It takes a second to recognize the man I knew back in my UFC days, and then it clicks into place. He’s older, completely gray now even though he’s only about fifty, and I hold out my hand. “Garth. Hey, man. What are you doing here?”
“I was walking back to my hotel from a bar around the corner when I heard the commotion. Thought I’d come see what’s what. What are you doing here?”
It’s easy to twist the truth. “The victim was a friend of a friend. Came to offer support.”
“Was she a hooker?” He tries to act nonchalant but I detect a tone of condescension that surprises me.
“A sex worker, yes. But not a junkie.”
He frowns. “I overheard the cops say this was an open and shut case, a simple overdose.”
“There’s nothing simple about addiction or OD’ing.
” I’m not going to tell him what I know.
He’s more than a decade older than I am, leaving the fighting world right when I was getting into it.
We never fought, but he was a kind of mentor for a short time.
Then he rode off into the retirement sunset and we lost touch.
“I was going to look you up,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t know if you were still based in L.A. or not.”
“Actually, no. I live in Temecula now.”
“New job?”
“Yeah, I do some bodyguard work for a firm out in Sage Canyon.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. I’m certainly not going to mention that I’m a part owner, but he doesn’t seem interested in my current career anyway.
“You still fight?” he asks.
I chuckle. “Other than kicking my buddies’ asses in the gym? No.”
“I’m running a charity exhibition fight. Any interest?”
“A fighting event?” I frown.
“Lost my wife to cervical cancer. She started a foundation before she died and this year I’m doing a fundraiser. Gonna bring in some friends I used to fight with. You were on my list of people to call.”
“So, it’s just an exhibition?”
“It’s for charity, so there’s no money for the fighters, but it’s mostly older guys, retired, getting back into it for a good cause.”
I hesitate.
Part of me is intrigued—but I left that life for a reason. However, if it’s for charity, I may want to consider it.
But do I have time for something like this?
And why am I suddenly being pulled back into a phase of my life I left behind more than five years ago? Would Daniil even let me do it considering how busy we’re going to be as we get deeper into the summer?
“I have to figure out my work schedule,” I say finally. “I’m interested but I have some commitments I have to look at first.”
He nods. “Of course. I’m in the area scouting talent.”
“In Oceanside?”
“Nah, this was personal. Came to see an old friend. But I’m heading back to L.A. tomorrow.”
“Give me a couple of days, will you?”
“No problem at all.”
We shake hands, exchange a few more pleasantries, and then he disappears down the street.
Of all the times and places to run into my old mentor, this was the last place I expected to see him.
There’s movement in my peripheral vision and I watch a guy in a dark hoodie, face obscured by both the shadows and the hood pulled over his head.
He’s not acting suspiciously, but he’s also not standing with the others.
With his head down the way it is, I almost wonder if he’s talking into an earpiece of some kind, reporting back to someone.
I keep my stance casual as I edge in his direction, close enough to still be with Metal and the others, but on the far edge of our little group. My head is down as well, but I keep the guy in my line of sight.
His lips are moving, so he’s definitely talking to someone.
He lifts his head and for a fraction of a second our eyes meet. Then he spins around and ducks down the alley. I move to follow, but if I run, it will alert the cops, and by the time I get there, he’s gone.
Dammit.
The good news is that I’ll recognize his face if I see him again.
The bad news is that he could be anyone.
He looks to be about thirty, dark hair, maybe Latino but it was hard to tell in this light. That’s not a lot to go on.
“What did you see?” Metal asks, coming to stand beside me.
There’s no point in lying. “Guy in a dark hoodie, talking to someone like he’s reporting on the scene.”
Metal’s eyes narrow. “Should we pursue?”
“He’s gone. And we don’t need the cops looking at us suspiciously.”
He grunts. “This whole thing just pisses me off. If I find out who’s behind this, I’ll gut them.”
That’s what I’m afraid of—that Metal will look for revenge and get himself in trouble in the process.
By the look on his face, I don’t think he’s open to listening to reason. All I can do now is be supportive. Maybe distract him.
“I’ve got your back, man. Just make sure you don’t go after them alone.”
He looks down the alley, a faraway expression on his face.
“No promises.” With that, he turns and walks back to the others.