Rip
Lights out, I sit at the desk and type on my computer.
Beatrice Williams
I check the same old links and articles, desperately hoping something new will appear. It doesn’t.
Negan Kroger
Kroger family london neglect case
Negan and Beatrice Kroger parental rights terminated
All the links show up in purple because I’ve clicked them hundreds of times before. I’ve put these exact words in the URL too many times to count. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
I’m insane.
I search old addresses, relatives’ Facebook accounts, arrest records, the black market—even fucking porn sites, and what have I come up with? Jack shit.
A few nights a week, I stay up late looking for the twats who lost custody of and left their son then never came back for him. My birth parents.
I’ve had private investigators on it, and my mums have gotten the Requiem to look into it, but they always come up with nothing. So, it’s only in my hands now, but apparently, Beatrice and Negan Kroger fell off the face of the earth after they lost custody of me.
Muscles tense, I continue typing different variations of the same slew of words. One of these days, I’ll stumble upon something I haven’t seen before; I know it.
The bedroom door swings open, letting in the bright light from the living area. Thomas stands in the doorway, phone in hand, looking like a silhouette in the light.
“She’s gone?” he asks hesitantly.
The “she” Tommy is talking about is Linda, the housekeeper who stays next door to us. She usually shows up on her days off, spending the night with me, and then leaving the next morning.
“If she weren’t, you’d be interrupting.”
“It wouldn’t be my first time walking in on one of your one-night stands.” Thomas shudders. Then, his eyes fall on my computer. “You had her leave tonight, yet you’re still awake.”
He flicks the light on, and I shield my eyes at the flash. When I get used to the light, I’m met with Tommy’s sad, half-frowning face. He’s not stupid; he knows what I’m doing.
It is too late at night for me to listen to Thomas’ pleas for me to give it up.
“What do you want?” I groan. “It’s one a.m.”
Thomas doesn’t push it because he already knows how it’ll end. He kneels before the bed and sets his phone between us. “Mummies are on the phone.”
It’s already on speaker when Mum speaks. “Rip? How are you?”
“Spectacular. Do you realize how late it is?” I grunt. We’ve been undercover for a week and a half, and the first call we get from them is before the sun rises.
“Watch your tone, Rip.” That’s Mother, her voice way stricter and more commanding than Mum’s. “No one cares what bloody time it is. Why haven’t we heard from you both?”
“We’ve had to transform into creative social media marketers while trying to get close to the most indifferent person I’ve ever met. But yeah, sorry we forgot to call with the nonexistent updates.” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
“You’re lucky you’re ten thousand miles away,” she practically growls, and I shiver. I am lucky. No one wants to be on the receiving end of Emma Redgrave’s wrath.
“Calm down, Emma,” Mum soothes. “He’s tired.”
My mums definitely win the award for being the most patient people on earth. They took in a twelve-year-old with anger issues, who would yell, break shit, and even get violent, yet managed to keep him from turning into a much darker, unstable version of myself than I am today.
Granted, maybe bringing an aggressive child into a crime syndicate wasn’t a stellar parenting choice. But because of the organization, my anger had somewhere to go, so it wasn’t the worst option.
“Sorry, mums,” I mumble, feeling like a kid again. “Things have been going okay. Thomas is a social media genius. He’s gonna be the reason the Beaumonts give us a full-time position tomorrow.”
The end of our two-week trial period is at the end of the week, but Xavier will have his decision on whether he’s extending our employment tomorrow.
“Well done, Tommy!” Mum exclaims.
My brother grins from ear to ear. “It’s kind of fun. If the Req needs someone to advertise, I’m your guy.”
“Yes, I can see the next post. ‘Just killed the head of the Bratva! Come celebrate with us at the pub.’” I throw my hands up and do my best Thomas impression.
Thomas pouts, unamused, but Mum and Mother’s laughs echo through the phone.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Mum praises. “What about things with Kingsley?”
Thomas and I share a look. I’m not exactly eager to share how little progress we have made with Kingsley in the week and a half. The guy is the epitome of silence. We’re lucky if we can get more than a couple of sentences out of him, besides the ones we have him say for the camera.
The only time I’ve had a meaningful conversation with him is when I made a snide comment back at mini golf, and it sparked a reaction out of him. Since then, we’ve talked a bit, but it was never a smooth conversation. Same for Thomas.
I never was good at making friends.
“He’s a tough guy to get close to,” I admit. “But I’m working on it.”
“We need updates sooner rather than later.”
“But you haven’t even explained what we’re supposed to learn about him,” Thomas complains. “Don’t you think it’s difficult and dangerous to gather intel, having no clue what we’re looking for?”
The only instruction we got for this mission was “get close and learn about him.” They provided us with hardly any background information on the Beaumonts, saying it would make sense eventually.
I tried to figure out why the Requiem has been so secretive about this mission, but if they don’t want me to know, it’s almost impossible for me to find out.
Mum sighs heavily. “I wouldn’t put you boys in unnecessary danger. What exactly you’re looking for isn’t important yet.”
“No, I have to agree with Tommy,” I say. “It will be easier to figure out how to get to him if we knew what we need him for.”
A forceful slam rings through the phone, followed by a rattling that sounds like a table. Knowing better than to say more, Thomas and I let silence fill the space between us.
“That will only make it worse. End of discussion,” she states.
An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. What the fuck are they hiding from us?
The tension still lingers when she speaks. “We love you, boys. Make us proud.”
The phone hangs up instantly.
“Rip,” Thomas utters quietly, sliding his phone into his pocket. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”
I don’t know, but we’re sure as hell going to find out.
In the mirror, I adjust the cuffs and tie of my suit.
Man, I can’t get enough of how well suits snug my torso and outline my muscles, giving me a dangerous, yet classy feel.
When I first joined the Requiem, I looked up to the men who walked around in suits every day, strutting around like they were above all of us dressed in rags.
Funny. Now I’m one of the suit and tie men.
In the mirror, Thomas appears beside me, smoothing his black suit jacket. “So this is it.”
I face him. “What?”
“Xavier Beaumont’s words tonight decide whether we get to keep this job, or if we get to go home as failures.” Thomas takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to be a failure.”
Me neither. No one back home will ever let us live it down if we come back after two short weeks and nothing to show for it, and we can kiss goodbye to ever getting another job like this one. Not that I’d complain. I don’t think the spy shit is up my alley.
“We’re Redgraves, and Redgraves don’t fail.” He winces when I punch his shoulder. “Even if Xavier tries to cut us loose, you’ll convince him to change his mind.”
Thomas rubs his shoulder. “Oddly optimistic of you.”
“Someone has to be.”
He gives a weak smile. “Clicks and engagement for the mini-golf ad seem to be pretty good based on what I read. It’s all thanks to my killer filming and scriptwriting skills.”
“And Jordan’s editing,” I add.
We posted the mini golf ad a few days ago, and it’s done better than I expected, considering we have no true qualifications.
Thomas knows how to work a camera better than I thought.
We got Jordan to edit the video once we found out he’s pretty knowledgeable at it, having done it a lot back in school before he dropped out.
But Tommy’s wrong about why the ad’s getting so many clicks.
People are going wild on social media for seeing Kingsley again.
They’re wondering where he’s been, some are spreading rumors, and others are glad to see his pretty face again.
Nobody cares about his lame line delivery and forced smile because they’re stoked their prince is back.
If the results from the ad are enough for Xavier, Kingsley will be the reason we get to keep our jobs.
As I walk off, I pat Tommy’s fluffy hair like I would a child, and he swats it away. I head for the door, and Thomas, still standing before the mirror, looks at me. “Where are you going? We aren’t meeting with them for another hour.”
A cool, but still warm, night breeze hits me as I open the door. “If this goes to hell, it might be our last chance to talk to Kingsley. If I catch him off guard and it’s just us, maybe I’ll get more than ten words out of him.”
“More optimism? I like it.” He smirks.
I wink at my brother, and then I’m out the door and heading for the Beaumont home.
It’s a perfect night for a walk, not too hot, not too cold, though the air’s a little heavy.
Back home, I would be bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf, but my suit jacket is all I need to keep warm during early November in Louisiana. It’s wild.
It’s hard not to get lost on the way to the Beaumont house.
You’d figure it’d be hard to miss since it’s so huge, but it’s tucked away behind the resort, past some trees, a big gate, and more foliage.
They built it at the edge of the property, away from the guests, and even the staff housing, though closer, is a fifteen-minute walk. I need one of those bloody golf carts.