16. Rook
ROOK
The roar of the convoy of our bikes is like a huge monster growling as we ride down Jarrod’s street.
I wonder if Jarrod has any idea that I'm coming for him. Definitely not, I think. He’d have skipped town if he’d thought that was a possibility.
He most likely thinks I'm dead and he'll never hear from me again.
Jarrod's one of these assholes who’ll never believe there'll be any repercussions for his actions.
Somehow, even though his brother is locked up, he's managed to avoid jail.
I have a feeling, once this is all over, he'll have wished he had the option to be safely behind bars.
I don't even care if he hears the bikes coming.
In fact, a perverse little part of me hopes he does, and the sound terrifies him.
There's a possibility Jarrod isn't home, and that'll fuck up all our plans. But we sent a scout earlier. He says he saw him going into his house less than an hour ago, and his car, an old-style Ford Cortina with rusty wheel arches, is parked out front.
We've checked out the neighborhood and covered the rear as well as the front, so if he tries to run, he'll slam straight into one of our guys. I want him to be terrified. I want him to be fucking shitting his pants and regretting every choice he’s ever made when he realizes what's coming for him, and that I’m the one behind it.
At one point, after Ledger had taken us, I’d assumed I’d never see this place again.
I'd truly believed we'd lost that day and I would die there.
But here I am. And even though what I went through with Camile in that fucking outbuilding was hell, I'm glad to have been able to come back from it.
I feel stronger now, a bigger man. Though what they made me do to her in there still haunts me, and it probably will to my dying day.
We don't waste any time. We park the bikes out front and march straight toward his house, with me taking the lead. I don't even bother to knock. I just lift my boot and kick the fucking door in. It flies open with a crash, smashing against the wall behind.
“Jarrod!” I yell as I storm through the house.
I find him sitting on the couch, a blonde in her early twenties, too skinny, and strung out by the looks of things, curled on his lap.
There's a bong at his feet, and the haze of smoke in the air tells me they're both stoned. He leaps up the minute he sees us, spilling the girl onto the floor.
“Hey,” she objects.
Jarrod ignores the angry cry and clearly doesn’t give two shits about her, as he darts left and right, but there's no way he's getting around the likes of us. Who said chivalry was dead? I roll my eyes at how pathetic he is.
It seems to take him a minute to realize who's come for him. His eyes widen at the sight of me, and he uses my real name.
“Ryan, what the fuck? I thought you were dead.”
“Yeah, I bet you did, asshole,” I say. “Maybe I'm a ghost and I've come back to haunt you.”
Jarrod takes a staggering step back, but there's nowhere he can go. We're blocking the only exit, and unless he's planning to merge through a solid wall or throw himself through a pane of glass, he's not going anywhere.
He seems to remember something and lunges for the coffee table.
“Watch out!" someone shouts.
Jarrod’s going for a gun perched on the lower shelf of the coffee table.
We don't want anyone getting shot tonight.
Aside from anything, it'll bring the cops here, and we could do without any more of their interference.
But Phoenix is already on Jarrod, slamming him to the ground before he can get anywhere near the gun.
The girl, now curled into a ball, lets out a scream, and Jarrod gives an ‘ouf’ as all the air is expelled from his lungs.
He must realize this is hopeless. He’s completely outnumbered and he has nowhere else to go.
“Please,” he begs as Phoenix hauls him to his feet. “Please, you don’t need to do this. I’m sorry, Ryan, okay? I fucked up.”
“Yeah, you did,” I tell him.
“But it’s all right, isn’t it? We can be friends again. I mean, you’re okay. They didn’t hurt you too badly. You look fine!”
I growl. “You’ve got no fucking idea.”
I walk up to where Phoenix has hold of him, draw back my fist, and slam it as hard as I can in his guts.
He’s only just recovered his breath, and now it punches out of him again, and he doubles over.
Rage boils over inside me, and I fight the desire to break his fucking nose.
I can’t, though. We need to gag this motherfucker so we can pass him off as Ledger, and he won’t be able to breathe with a gag and a broken nose.
“Tie his hands,” I tell the others.
Alarm sparks in Jarrod’s eyes. “Wait, what? What are you going to do with me?”
He must realize he’s not just going to walk away with a beating. He has far worse to come.
“You don’t get to ask questions, asshole. I came to you for help, and you fucking betrayed me.”
“You deserved it,” he spits back. “You barely did time, while everyone else is still rotting in there. Verona Falls Prison is a fucking hellhole, and you know it. No one gets to walk from that place unless you’ve turned into a rat.
And then you turned your back on my brother, because you found some new friends, but when they didn’t do what you wanted, you came running back to us. You deserved everything you got.”
I can’t hold myself back this time. I take a swing, and my fist connects with his ear. He lets out a howl, his head rocking, though Phoenix holds him in place. Bright red blood appears from his ear. I must have burst his eardrum. Good. He won’t be needing to hear anything for much longer, anyway.
I assess his height and build. Yeah, I reckon with a bag over his head, he’ll pass as Ledger. We just have to make sure he doesn’t say anything, or Hector will know immediately that this isn’t his son.
“You didn’t see anything here,” Phoenix says to the girl, who’s still curled up on the floor, watching everything go down with horror in her eyes. “Go on, scoot, and keep your mouth shut or you’ll have the Riders after you.”
She nods frantically and scurries from the room. A second later, the rear screen door bangs shut. I don’t think she’ll cause us any trouble.
I spot one of Jarrod’s discarded white Nike socks.
It’s filthy, the sole brown with grime, and I ball it up and shove it into his mouth.
He jerks his head back and forth, trying to avoid me, but it’s no use.
Then one of the guys hands me some black electrical tape, and I slap it over his mouth and wind it around the back of his head, ensuring there is no possible way it can come loose. We can’t risk having any slipups.
One of the others had gone back to recover the clothes we’d taken from Ledger’s body. They’re filthy and they stink, but they’re all we have of his. And anyway, Ledger would realistically be filthy and stinky if he’d been kept by us in the same clothes for days, so it doesn’t really matter.
Jarrod’s fear and confusion deepen as we start to strip off his sweatpants and t-shirt and replace them with the filthy clothing. I’m glad he’s afraid. He deserves everything that’s coming to him.
Cash drove one of the trucks here, so we drag Jarrod out of the house and into that.
I can sense that we’re being watched, and I bet there are curtains twitching in the neighbors’ houses, but no one interrupts us or asks what we’re doing.
I highly doubt any of them are on the phone to the cops, either.
In neighborhoods like these, people are asking for trouble if they willingly stick their noses into other people’s business.
Once we shove Jarrod into the back of the vehicle, we force the bag we’ve brought specially for the occasion over his head and work on binding his feet. He’s completely helpless now, and I’m happy not to see his face anymore.
Cash screws up his nose. “Christ, he smells like he shit himself. Do I really have to drive with him in the back?”
I smack Cash on the shoulder. “Put the windows down. You’ll be fine.”
He rolls his eyes. “Sure, Rookie. Or should we all be calling you Prez by now?”
“There’s only one Prez, and you know it,” I say, a warning in my tone.
I know he was only screwing around, but we don’t even want to joke about shit like that.
We don’t yet have a definite time or place to carry out the exchange. We’re going to have to keep hold of Jarrod until we know where and when to do the swap. Because we don’t have a contact number for Hector, we’re reliant on him getting in touch with us.
My stomach churns with nerves at the thought.
This is going to happen, and it’s going to be rough.
The moment Hector realizes Jarrod isn’t his son, all hell will likely break lose.
Assuming he has at least twelve men with him, like Ghost indicated, and all of them are armed, including Hector, it’s going to be one hell of a shootout, and the odds are that not everyone is going to make it out alive.