Chapter Nineteen
The Crusader
“You fucked the guy once, and suddenly he’s more important than Rat? Than us?” A humorless laugh. “Hell, if I’d known she needed dick so bad, I would have volunteered years ago.”
Edward groaned, the world shifting around him as he came back to consciousness. What the hell is going on? He pressed a hand against his aching head as he tried to get his bearings. The last thing he remembered was crouching behind the concession stand in search of a beer. He’d never confessed his love before, but liquor seemed like the perfect companion to heartbreak. And fuck was his heart broken. He was reaching for a strawberry-watermelon-flavored wine cooler when someone wrapped their arm around his neck from behind. Now, he was sitting against the brick side of a restaurant. It was late evening, and people were milling about, so many packed together until he was surrounded by a sea of legs. People were singing, and their voices grew in volume as the crowd all got on the same page, filling the street with the lyrics to some church song Edward couldn’t quite place.
Getting to his feet, he glanced around, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of whoever had been muttering over him before he opened his eyes. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar figure maneuvering through the crowd.
Jaw tight, Edward followed. Dusty would have to try a hell of a lot harder than this to get rid of him. Leave it to me to get kidnapped from my own goddamn kidnapping, he thought. The singing ended, replaced by a smattering of applause before the squeal of a mic signaled everyone to silence.
Distracted from the chase, Edward glanced around. His heart sank. Diesel had dropped him off at the edge of Grand Park. Even from where he stood on the grass, Edward could see the glowing fountain several feet away, streetlights reflecting like fireflies searching for purchase on the cascading surface. The fountain had three levels, each with its own shallow pool where visitors could go and splash for a bit. Everyone was gathering around a stage they’d erected up front. A stage surrounded by armed police. Standing at the mic, dressed in a somber gray suit, was a man Edward knew all too well. Ronald Edison Wilks had been the governor of LA for the last decade. A politician of some renown, he was an everyman on pace to run for congress the following year.
He was also Edward’s father, and the very last person Edward expected to find hosting a vigil for his missing son. But then again, the cameras were rolling, and Governor Wilks had never shied away from the public eye despite having so many secrets to hide. Edward glanced at a group holding up a sign reading ‘Gays for Willie.’ He thought about his twelfth birthday when his father shaved the word Fag into his hair and kept him home from school for two weeks until it grew back in, and nausea rose to choke him.
“Thank you all for coming here today,” Wilks began, expression somber. “As you know, my son Edward has been struggling with his mental health for years now. Several days ago, he found himself in crisis, and that crisis was broadcast on television for the entire world to see. Now, he’s missing, and I need the help of my constituents now more than ever to bring him home safe.”
Edward’s knees weakened and he stumbled, a mumbled apology on his lips as a woman turned to glare at him. Her eyes widened, darting between him and the sign in her hands where an old picture of him had been plastered beneath some pithy saying. Edward didn’t stick around long enough to read it. Instead, he ran, shoving past people when they didn’t get out of his way fast enough. His heart was beating so hard against his chest it was as if it would crawl through his ribcage, and his vision blurred with tears. Blurry with hate. He missed Dusty. He wished she were there with him, but he was alone. Again. A terrible, yawning emptiness opened within him, and he wrapped his arms around himself and stumbled to a halt. He had to get out of there. As much as morbid curiosity urged him to linger and listen to whatever bullshit dear old Dad was spouting, he wasn’t strong enough.
Shame.
Shame.
Shame.
Edward ducked his head and crouched. He had to get away before he lost himself. What was it again? Five things, four things, three, two, one . The sidewalk was cracked, with bright sprigs of green leaves fighting their way through, anxious to reach the sun. The speakers boomed so loud with his father’s voice it made his stomach hurt. He wanted to cry, but he was afraid someone would call him a faggot again, and he’d have to crawl out of his skin from the shame of it.
“Hey! Dude, are you okay?”
Hands on him, and he flinched back. He didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t like it. But there was no point in complaining because no one ever listened to him anyway. Where was Dusty? Missing her was like an ache, something deep in his bones that made it hard to breathe right. People were cheering and there were more hands, excited hands, the pressure of a thousand bodies and a thousand eyes. They bored into his skin and left him dirty and bereft.
“No,” he said, but his voice wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear but him.
He stumbled up a set of stairs, almost falling but for the hands straightening his spine and brushing the dirt from his clothes. Some kind soul smoothed his blond hair back from his brow, but he forgot to say thank you because the lights were too bright. The cameras zoomed in close and Edward shut his eyes. Five things, four things, three, two, one . He tried and tried, but all he knew was fear, and laughter that was more of a sob slipped through to wave hello to the ecstatic crowd.
The prodigal son! The lost lamb! Returned to his father all on his own. What a fairytale of a happy ending when so many imagined him dead somewhere, lost in the mire of his own mind.
“My boy.” Arms wrapped tight around him.
Edward went very far away. Somewhere where his skin wasn’t his own, and the fire of his thoughts smoldered low, waiting to consume the world just as soon as he breathed fresh life into them. The wolf was frantic, snout and snapping jaws working their way past wood shredded by relentless claws. It was almost loose. Edward hadn’t been paying close enough attention to it and now there would be no holding it still.
“How much did you pay him?”
Edward went rigid; everything within him came to a grinding halt. “What?”
“The fucking biker,” Ronald said with a hiss, pulling away from the hug but keeping his hands on Edward’s shoulders. He was the picture of a man reunited with his son, even down to the sheen of tears in his eyes. For now, his words were hidden beneath the cheers of the spectators, beneath the politically correct smile he’d cultivated and perfected over the last twenty years.
“I thought you were dead,” Ronald said for all to see.
To any onlookers watching the words take shape on their screen, Edward was sure Ronald’s declaration made sense. After all, weren’t they holding a vigil because of that very fear? Only Edward heard the disappointment in his voice, the displeasure waiting to be unleashed. In that heartbeat, that one delicate second of time, Edward thought back to the bank. Something had been bothering him for the last few days. On the day of the heist, Diesel had been nowhere to be found and yet he was supposed to be playing lookout. The robbery had gone to shit almost immediately, but no one was punished but Bellum. Maybe because Dusty didn’t even know Diesel had been there. She’d rolled into the bar hours later, long after every person who could have told her otherwise had either been shot dead or arrested.
Well, everyone except for Bubbles. The shooter at the bank, the “fucking biker,” was Diesel. Memory painted a picture of a glass dome and a window cleaner positioned just so . Ah. So that’s where you were hiding.
The person who’d hired Diesel, the man who wanted him dead, was standing right next to him and telling an adoring crowd about his plans as their future congressman. “…the importance of comprehensive and universal mental health care. My son isn’t the first or last young man to be let down by the current system. That’s why it’s so important we drain the swamp and fill those positions with men and women who don’t just preach about change, but who are passionate about it because they know what is at stake if that change does not come to pass.”
The crowd cheered their approval, and something in Edward snapped. The fear took a backseat, and something else, something dark, took its place. For once, he let it, all too happy to let go of the reins. Under the guise of another hug, he pulled Ronald Eddison Wilks close, gripping his father by the back of the neck and holding the older man still when he would have jerked away.
“Soon, Dad,” he promised. “Soon.”
A beat of silence while Ronald processed his words, then another boisterous laugh. Ever the politician, he turned to the crowd, raising his and Edward’s joined hands into the air, he leaned back over the mic. “Do you see, Ladies and Gentlemen? Do you see the power of prayer? Do you see how much we can accomplish when we join in fellowship with one shared goal in mind? Together, we are unstoppable. Come election day, I hope to see each and every one of you at your local polls, as eager to fight for the change you wish to see as you were about the safe return of my son.”
Edward turned away, making his way down the steps on the side of the stage. He didn’t hear how the speech ended. Didn’t need to. It was all bullshit, so what was the point. Maneuvering past the police officers guarding the parameter, he paused as a disembodied voice spoke from the radios clipped to their uniforms.
“All personnel, be advised. We have a 10-40 in progress at Sunset and Forsyth.” Static crackled as the dispatcher continued, “I repeat, a 10-40 is in progress at Sunset and Forsyth. Proceed with caution.”
Sunset and Forsyth. The bowling alley.
Edward spoke to the nearest cop, a heavyset Hispanic man with a goatee. “What’s a 10-40?” he demanded. The officer glanced at his companions, and Edward remembered these people knew him as the Governor’s son – not as ‘Pretty Boy.’ For once, his relationship with his father worked in his favor.
Goatee shrugged. “Gang activity, sir.”
Shit .
“Don’t you guys have to go?”
A woman a few feet away scoffed.
“No, sir,” the first officer said, turning to glare at her. “We don’t get involved at this stage.”
Edward scowled, his mind reeling. “What do you mean?”
A third police officer sighed, shifting from one foot to the other as he spoke. Edward knew a lot about nervous ticks. “No point,” the guy said. “The gangs around here…” He shook his head in disgust. “They’re like a pack of wild dogs, always nipping at each other. If we responded every time they had a disagreement, we’d be getting shot at all damn day. We go in and make the necessary arrests once they get it out of their system.”
“And how many have died by then?”
At the third officer’s stunned silence, the first man reached out and patted Edward’s shoulder. “Don’t worry sir, it’ll be taken care of. Besides, our priority right now is to get your father somewhere safe.” He hesitated, then, suspecting a sympathetic ear, lowered his voice and leaned in. “His policies on gang violence have saved so many lives on the force already, sir. He’s a real hero down at the precinct.” He grinned as if it were a compliment instead of a nightmare. “He’ll always have my vote.”
Edward followed his gaze; his dad was perched on the edge of the stage, speaking earnestly with a pair of college students wearing T-shirts with WILKS 2026 emblazoned in bold white letters across the front.
“Right.” There was a ringing in his ears. When he slipped away, no one stopped him. Why would they? He was a grown ass man and—as far as they could tell—in full control of his faculties. What they didn’t know, what they couldn’t have guessed, was that the Door was wide open. The wolf missing. Dusty was in danger and all bets were off.
Edward needed to get back to the Rinky Dink with some serious firepower. The wolf had no idea how many people were inside the bowling alley, but chances were, they were outnumbered. He didn’t have a plan. Most of Edward’s life had been mapped out. It gave him a much-needed sense of control. But ever since he’d met Dusty, he’d learned how freeing giving in to the uncontrollable could be. How powerful. The wolf loved the power the best. He left the park behind, walking until the sounds of the vigil-turned-rally faded.
Diesel wouldn’t hurt her, would he?
He didn’t know for sure, and it was driving them crazy. Ronald thought Edward had paid Diesel enough money to nullify the original kill order. That would make him a man motivated by money, something Edward was familiar with. So familiar, in fact, he knew there was more to Diesel than just that. The look in his eyes whenever he talked about Dusty. His muttered complaints. Had he seen them together in the shower? How long had he been watching her, and why was he lying to her about his extracurricular activities? The wolf’s steps quickened until he was running. He had to get back to her. Had to…
When they asked him about it later, about why he did it, he’d say it was because the armored truck was just sitting there. The bank doors were already open in preparation for the transfer. Even from the sidewalk, he could see straight through the bank, to the doors leading to the vault. Striding toward it, he imagined the look on Bubbles' face, and the mental image was enough to bring a smile to his own. The driver’s side door of the truck opened as he neared, and the officer inside stepped out, gaze darting around the parking lot in search of threats before closing the door behind him. He was already fiddling with the keys at his belt as he headed toward the back doors.
The wolf followed, stalking after him, grabbing him by the back of the head, and slamming his face into metal before he could cry out. The blow stunned the guard, and he went limp. The wolf caught him and lowered him to the ground. Undoing the security belt from around the man’s waist, he put it on. The gun at his hip was heavy and unfamiliar. He gripped it anyway and retraced the guard’s steps back to the front of the truck, near the driver’s side door. He waited a beat, threw the door open, and pointed the gun at the second guard lounging in the passenger seat.
The woman froze, her eyes growing wide.
“To me,” he motioned with the weapon. He didn’t want her out of his sight or reaching for the gun he knew she had. “Slowly,” he snapped when she shifted, her motions jerky. The woman nodded, climbing awkwardly over the center console to jump down.
“Your gun,” he ordered, and she removed the weapon with shaking hands.
His gun trained on the back of her head, he urged her inside of the bank. At the sight of the two of them, the tellers screamed, and the smattering of patrons at the counters dropped where they stood, others in line put their arms over their heads or fell flat to the floor. The wolf ignored them, and gripping the guard by the elbow, held her still as he slipped off the safety on his stolen gun. He fired several shots into the floor and into one of the security cameras for good measure.
There, that should do it.
“Edward?”
He glanced over.
The woman was looking up at him, her hands up and her expression sympathetic. “Edward Hayes, right? You don’t have to do this. You haven’t hurt anyone yet. There’s still time to…”
He frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “My name is Bradly Star.”
He didn’t expect everyone to know who he was. Still, it was always frustrating when people couldn’t tell the difference. He understood it to a certain extent. He and Edward did look surprisingly similar.
He left the bank behind, sprinting back to the armored truck. The first guard was still unconscious, and Bradly breathed a sigh of relief. He shut the door and put on his seatbelt before starting up the truck. A series of tat-tat-tats against the door told him the guard was shooting at him, and he waved to her through the window. The bulletproof door was denting in places beneath the onslaught, so he drove off, leaving the bank and the guards behind.
They should automate these things, he thought. Keys were antiquated. Wouldn’t it make more sense for the controls to be biometric? Any weirdo off the street could operate these things.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he hummed to himself. He couldn’t recall the words to the song, but the refrain tasted like nostalgia. He spared his sideview mirror a glance as he blew past a red light and swiped an Audi. The car spun in a full circle and came to a violent standstill against a fire hydrant. Water erupted in a geyser behind him, and Bradly whistled long and slow. The truck wasn’t as fast as the Mustang, but what it lacked in speed, it made up for in power. Time would tell if the trade-off would get him killed before he could lead the cadre of police cars where he needed them to go.
The judge isn’t going to like this, Bradley thought, meeting his own gaze in the rearview. It was Edward who pulled their lips into a determined line and pushed the armored truck just a little faster, a little farther. For once in perfect agreement with the wolf at the door.