Chapter Thirty-Four Blaze
Chapter Thirty-Four
Blaze
The drive to Birch Falls is only about half an hour from the hospital, but every minute drags on for what feels like hours. And every second that ticks past is one more that keeps Savannah in danger.
Nash’s red pickup is already parked close to the road where we’d turn in toward the warehouse. It’s the same location where I thought I’d end up in a shipping container filled with acid not too long ago.
If luck is on my side, I’ll escape that fate again today.
Judging from the number of cars parked around the perimeter, my hopes of that aren’t sky high right now.
Nash folds his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan? I already took a look inside the place. I see eight guys. At least. All armed.” His eyes hold mine for an agonizing second. “Savvie’s in there too. Tied to a chair.”
I push past him and run toward one of the windows. I scale some wooden crates to get close. My heart beats a hole through my rib cage as I peer through the dirty, smudged glass.
It’s her. Right in the middle of the sick fucks who work for Wilkerson.
I can’t see him, though. He’s got to be in there, and it’s gonna be my pleasure to kick his fucking ass once Savannah is safe and out of his line of fire.
I jump down from my spot by the window. “I’m going in alone.”
“The hell you are,” Nash says. “It’s suicide. And a shit-ass plan.”
“It’s the only plan.” I square my shoulders and look between him and Colt. “Look, they want me, not any of you guys. I’ll go in and negotiate for her release.”
“And when the negotiation fails?” Colt says.
“Then you come in. But only then. Savannah’s safety is the top priority, understand?”
They’re quiet for a minute. I glance at my father, who stands a little bit away from us.
Fucking coward. He’s here to save his ass, not mine.
Probably hoping Wilkerson gets taken down before anyone starts asking questions about who else has been working with him all these years because I seriously doubt it’s only been gambling debts that put them in each other’s crosshairs.
“We’ll be watching. If anything goes wrong, we’re coming in,” Colt says.
I give a swift nod.
“Don’t get her killed,” Nash says.
“I won’t.”
We creep over to another set of windows around the back.
“Hey, this spot gives a pretty good view of what’s happening inside,” Colt says, kneeling down in front of the window. Nash and I take positions on either side of him.
I peer inside. I’ve got my Glock G19 from my time in the military and a sniper rifle, but these guys have some serious shit in there. Probably from Wilkerson’s smuggled stash.
One of the guys inside, not too far from where we’re watching, shifts his position. He reaches to adjust something, and his jacket falls open.
“Holy fuck,” Nash mumbles, pressing his forehead against the glass. “Is that . . . how the hell . . . ?”
“What’s wrong?” I say, my voice low. “What do you see?”
“That guy’s tattoo.” He turns to look at me.
“I’ve seen it before. The night of the explosion.
The guys who showed up . . . the rivals who sabotaged the job.
One of them came at me, and I shot him. When he went down, I saw his neck.
Same ink. Exact same tattoo. Lightning bolt with the number 211 in the center of it. ”
His voice shakes.
“They weren’t rivals, Blaze.”
“They work for Wilkerson,” I say, my stomach roiling when my mind trips back to the day I came here to pick up parts for my underground-well “repair.” That guy had the same tattoo. “They were his men.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Son of a bitch.”
“But why would he purposely want to sabotage his own job?” Colt asks.
“I don’t know.” Nash’s voice is tight. “But I know what I saw. Those men worked for Wilkerson. Which means . . .” He stops for a second. “Which means Wilkerson sent them. To the ranch. The night my parents died.”
The pieces are there, but they don’t quite fit. Why would Wilkerson attack his own operation? Unless—
“Something else was going on that night,” I say. “Something we don’t know about.”
Nash’s hands curl into fists. “And Wilkerson’s gonna tell me what. Right before I put a bullet in him.”
I glance at my father, still standing apart from us but close enough to hear. His face is white, and he won’t meet anyone’s eyes.
He knows something.
“Dad,” I say. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Nothing. I don’t know what—”
“Bullshit.” Nash takes a step toward him. “Those were Wilkerson’s men at my ranch six years ago. Why would he send his own crew? What the fuck happened that night?”
Dad’s silence is answer enough.
“We’ll deal with this later,” I say. But I have a sinking feeling about what we’re going to find out. “Right now, Savannah’s in there, and we’re wasting time.”
“Be careful,” Nash says, his voice hard. “You don’t know what’s waiting for you beyond that door.”
But I do. I know exactly what’s waiting.
Wilkerson. And a whole lot of fucking answers about a night that destroyed everything.
Colt and Nash stand on either side of the door, out of sight as I step inside. Harsh fluorescent lights cast long shadows on the stained concrete floor. A small army of tattooed thugs in motorcycle cuts raise their guns, pointing them directly at me.
Like they were expecting me.
But how the fuck could they have known I was coming?
Wilkerson’s words grate against my brain.
“I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
Of course he’d have had me followed. He’s been tailing me for fucking years. Why stop now?
“Blaze, get out of here now. It’s a trap,” Savannah screams, wiggling around on the chair, her arms behind her back, legs locked against the chair legs.
Wilkerson slants her a look that can cut through bone. “If you don’t want that mouth taped up again, I suggest you keep it shut.”
“Fuck you,” she yells. “Blaze, get out now!”
“Let her go,” I say to Wilkerson. “This is between us.”
“From where I’m standing, I’d say she’s very much involved.” He gestures around the warehouse. “She’s the reason you’re here. The reason you couldn’t do your job. The reason you became useless to me.”
“She’s innocent,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “She has nothing to do with our business.”
Tyler Burgess emerges from the shadows with a roll of silver tape. My jaw drops as he uses a scalpel to cut a piece of it, then slaps it over her lips. Her muffled cries make my heart shudder and ache. “She has everything to do with it.”
“You motherfucking bastard,” I growl, my trigger finger itching to pull the trigger of the Glock stuffed in the back of my waistband. “You’re working for this asshole?”
Christ, I knew it. Knew I didn’t imagine the glimpse of batshit crazy in that guy.
“Ah, so you’ve met my nephew,” Wilkerson says. “He’s been very helpful, keeping an eye on things for me. Reporting back on things you’ve fucked up.”
“I was helping Savannah out,” Tyler says. “Someone needed to be there when you kept hurting her. I made sure she was taken care of.”
“Get away from her,” I say.
Tyler tilts his head slightly, lifting an eyebrow. “You’re not in a position to make demands, Hartman. You lost that right when you chose to betray her.”
My jaw grinds tight. This sick fuck was watching her too. Stalking her. Obsessing over her.
At that moment, the door crashes open. Colt and Nash barrel in, weapons in hand.
Wilkerson doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “And here’s the rest of the rescue party.”
Nash’s eyes immediately scan the room, landing on the men with the tattoos. His expression turns to stone.
“Something you want to say, boy?” Wilkerson asks.
“Those men.” Nash raises his gun and points it at Wilkerson, his hands steady despite the rage in his voice. “Your crew. They were at my ranch six years ago on the night of the explosion that killed my parents. They have the same tattoos. They belong to the same group.”
Wilkerson smiles. “Very observant.”
“You sent them,” Nash says through gritted teeth. “But that was supposed to be your operation. Why the hell would you sabotage your own job?”
“I didn’t sabotage my operation. I sent them to eliminate a business problem.”
“What problem?” Nash demands, moving closer.
Wilkerson’s eyes slide past us to where my father cowers in the doorway. “Ask Harlon.”
Dad’s face drains of color.
“That wasn’t my job,” Wilkerson says. “It was Harlon’s. He organized it behind my back. Used my contacts, my routes, my infrastructure . . . and planned to keep all the profit for himself.”
My heart rattles in my chest. The pieces click together in my head with sickening clarity. Dad not showing up to the Carlson ranch that night, making up bullshit excuses when I asked where he’d been.
“I have eyes everywhere,” Wilkerson says. “Harlon thought he could double-cross me. So I sent my crew to that ranch to deliver a message. Eliminate the problem at its source.”
The gun shakes in Nash’s hand. “My parents—”
“Were collateral damage. Your father and uncle were Harlon’s partners in that little scheme. They all needed to be dealt with.” Wilkerson shrugs. “My men took back what was rightfully mine and then triggered the explosion. Unfortunately, the primary target wasn’t there.”
“What?” Nash’s voice is barely a whisper.
Wilkerson shoots a look carved out of ice at my father. “Harlon was supposed to be at your ranch. But he conveniently didn’t show up. So he survived.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t process what I’m hearing.
“You’ve been holding this over his head ever since, haven’t you?” I manage to force the words out. “That’s why you’re still working together. Why I’m—”
“Leverage is everything. Harlon knows I planned to kill him that night. And he knows he’s alive today because I chose to let him live.
For a price. He’s been paying it ever since.
With you, Blaze. He used you as repayment for his gambling debts for years before the explosion, and after that shit show, he made sure you were mine for good.
Or at least while you were still valuable. ”