“Holy shit kid…” he trails off when he sees me. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I wave a hand. “I’m unarmed. Please, please, help me.”
“Are you hurt?” he asks. Thank fuck for truckers.
I think how to answer that… emotionally? Oh, I’m damaged goods. Physically, well the scars will heal. They always do.
“I’m… I’m… I wanna go home.” But do I? Where the fuck is home now, it’s been more than ten years.
He races back to the cab, then returns with a blanket and wraps it around me. “I’ll get you to a hospital. Jesus, kid.”
“T-thirsty,” I tell him. Two days without food or water. I’m malnourished as it is and my body feels weak, but it didn’t fail me.
He disappears again then brings back a bottle of water. He hands it to me and I chug it down, spilling it down my chin.
“What happened to you?” he asks, standing back to assess me. I’ve no doubt I look like something out of a horror movie.
“I was trafficked,” I tell him, not holding back. “I escaped two days ago. They probably think I’m dead and aren’t looking for me, but please don’t leave me here.”
“Not gonna leave you,” he says. “Let me help you into the cab, I’ll find help.”
And he does. A stranger in the night saves my life and I never even got his name.
I wake with a start, Pipes nudging me in the ribs. “You okay, bro?”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “I-I was dreamin’.”
“Uh, most people do. Sounded like you were bein’ chased by a bear.” He frowns, then glances at me. “Was it about… that place?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “It doesn’t matter.”
We’ve been staking out Regi’s place. The son of a bitch still thinks the deal went ahead because I only just tore out Barry’s heart. Having Forest’s phone was helpful in more ways than one. I traced one of the photos he sent a few days ago to a nice, modern apartment in the downtown area. His home. Right now he’s just finished playing poker because that’s how much he gives a shit about what happened tonight. He thinks everything is gonna be okay, but it’s not.
My phone buzzes and it’s Cash. “You want this done, we do it now,” he says.
Just when I thought this was all gonna be over, Regi slipped up. He trusted too many people in a very small pond. And now I get to kill him.
When I think back to how we even got here, it amazes me. I’ve come so far, but I’ve never given myself a breather. And maybe this is why. I don’t know if it’s because of the images I’ve seen in the last few hours— haunting my every waking moment—finally realizing that this was the man in charge of my kidnapping. I’d never forget a face like that, even if he did change his name several times. This is just the cherry on the cake.
“I’m ready.”
“We’re in, and we’re out, make it quick. We wanna make it look like an accident. Tag and Harlem will take his bodyguards.”
“Roger.”
He hangs up.
I’m prepared for all of it, and it surprises me.
I don’t bat an eyelid when the boys take the two big men down.
I don’t remember hauling the man responsible for my pain up to his apartment. Sucker punching him in the throat to shut him up. I don’t remember telling him my name, and what he was responsible for, but I do remember him penning a note. I remember that vividly. As much as I recall him flying off the balcony, finally meeting his maker. We leave a string of pills, several of which he took before he flew, to corroborate the story. And then we leave. Me and my brother.
We’re silent on the way down the elevator, masks on, just in case. I’ll erase any and all footage as soon as I get back, but one can’t be too careful.
“Feel better?” Pipes asks as I meet his eyes in the mirrored doors.
“Much.”