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After kicking off my boots, I hang my jacket over the back of the chair, step out of my jeans, then place my gun and phone on the bedside table.
When my head hits the pillow, I close my eyes and try to prepare myself for the horrors that await me in my sleep.
I landed on U.S. soil just before dawn on a Friday night in the middle of winter. My only thought was finding my sister. The letters had stopped almost nine months earlier. The only thing I could do was hold onto the illusion that she was so happy living and enjoying life that she didn’t get time to write.
But in the back of my mind, fear niggled.
As soon as I walked through my front door, I swiped my phone off the side table and plugged it into the charger. Pacing the kitchen, I swallowed down two beers while I waited for the battery to charge enough for me to make a call.
My first two calls went unanswered. On the third attempt, it went straight to voicemail. I left a message.
“Hey squirt, I’m finally home. I haven’t heard from you in a while… call me back okay? No matter the time, I’ll be here.”
After two short rings, the next call answered.
“Demon! Fuck man we were just talking about you! You home?” It felt good to hear a familiar voice and a rare smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
I chuckled. “Yeah, I got in a couple hours ago. Fuckin’ good to be back.” Kingston Blake—AKA Priest—and I became best friends the minute we met. Having both come from broken homes, we bonded over our shared experiences and a love for fast bikes and sexy women.
“Listen, have you heard from Sara lately?”
He hummed to himself. “Saw her a while back, she seemed good. Said she moved in with Tony.” He grunted with what I knew was disgust. “Invited her to come visit a few times, but she didn’t show. What’s goin’ on, D?” His tone shifted to worry in an instant.
Sighing, I said, “It’s probably nothing, I’ll try her again in the morning. If I don’t hear from her, I’ll come pick you up and we can go knock some teeth out.”
Priest laughed. “Count me in.”
The next morning, Priest pulled up at my house, pipes rumbling in the driveway as I pulled the front door closed and locked it behind me.
A few phone calls were all it took to get me Tony’s address. If he knew what was good for him, Sara would be safe and well.
The dilapidated house we pulled up in front of was not what I expected. It had “crack house” written all over it. Weeds grew two feet tall against the side of the house. Broken windows were boarded up with hunks of wood, and a wrecked car sat in the driveway.
My shoulders stiffened as I walked to the front door. Beside me, Priest tried to look in the windows, but they were covered from the inside with what looked to be bed sheets. I lifted my fist to poundagainst the door but froze when I realized it was already cracked. Using the toe of my boot, I shoved it the rest of the way. The odor that came from inside caused our eyes to water. My stomach dropped.
Inside, drug paraphernalia, liquor bottles, and trash littered the floor, the tables, and the ratty sofas in the dank living room. A hole in the wall was partially covered with duct tape, the dusty remains of the drywall was still on the floor.
Arms covered in weeping scabs, a guy on the sofa looked up at me with glazed eyes. He instantly reminded me of my mother. It made me fuckin’ sick to think Sara was quite possibly living like this.
Christ—I already saved you from this once.
“Where’s Sara?” I asked the coked-out druggie.
“Huh, the seller? He’s not ‘ere dude.” Druggie went back to picking at the weeping scab on his bicep.
I gripped his hair in my fist and pulled his head back, standing over him from behind the sofa. “SARA! Mother fucker! S-A-R-A. Where the fuck is she?”
“She’s workin’,” a croaky voice came from the doorway of what looked like a bedroom. I turned to find a skanky, rail thin redhead with tits bursting out a spaghetti strap tank. She was wearing a red leather mini skirt and knee-high boots that gaped around her gaunt legs. She took another drag of her cigarette and looked me up and down.
Priest took a step forward. I heard the crack of glass beneath his boots. When I glanced at the floor, I spied a broken needle. Jesus fucking Christ. It was like being back home all over again.
“Where does she work?” Priest asked, his tone calmer than mine.
Just standing here in this shit hole had me damn near crawling out of my skin.
“Corner of East and Fifth Street.” The skank blew a cloud of acrid smoke into the air. “Unless she’s with a John.”
Corner… with a John… “What the fuck?!” Before I knew what I was doing, my hand was wrapped tight around the woman’s throat. I had her slammed against the wall, the stench of her breath hot on my face. “The fuck did you just say?”
