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Shaking my head, I hurried to where my hog sat. The quietest way out of here was via bike. Quiet was paramount if I was to leave without waking Ronnie.
It didn’t take me long to push the Harley out of the garage, along the driveway to the entry gate.
My phone vibrated again as I typed in the code on the security panel to open the gate.
Half expecting it to be Ronnie—awake and no doubt glaring at the note I’d left—I withdrew my cell from my pocket.
“Will meet you at the normal place. Still think you’re being stupid. See you soon. L.W.”
I couldn’t help but snort out a chuckle. Lila hadn’t invited herself often into the bowels of my shit past life, but every time she had, she’d made light work of the fray.
Maybe, just maybe, I might walk out of this alive after all.
The low rumble of a car engine at the now open gate drew my attention from my phone.
A pickup sat in the mouth of the driveway, rusted and beaten up and looking like it wouldn’t make another mile before breaking down.
Appearances can be deceptive. And disarming.
The driver’s side window lowered and a beefy arm covered in tribal ink extended from the truck’s interior in a low-key greeting.
I nodded in return, climbed astride my Harley, and turned over the ignition.
As the truck drew level with me, I fixed the driver a steady look. “Watch her, Fluffy,” I said to the Marine behind the wheel. “She’s feisty. And she’s going to want to fucking kill me when she realizes what I’ve done.”
Fluffy chewed over my warning for a second and then gave the Doberman sitting up on full alert on the passenger seat a pat. “Francis and I won’t let anything happen to her, Lucas. We’ll keep her safe for you.”
I nodded again. I felt hollow already. Empty. “Thanks, dude.”
Francis barked.
Before I could change my mind, I put the hog into gear and tore up the road.
I didn’t stop until sunset, and that was only to refuel. I didn’t dare look at my phone despite the fact it had been vibrating in my pocket over and over during the hours I’d been riding.
I didn’t need to look at the thing to know it was Ronnie.
I gassed up and took off. The closer I got to my old stomping grounds, the bleaker I became. No, bleak wasn’t the right word.
The closer I got, the grimmer I became. In my mood, my soul, my intentions.
Mile after mile of ignoring Ronnie’s calls and texts, mile after mile of riding farther away from her being in my life, mile after mile of obsessing about what Rufie would do to her to get to me.
By the time I pulled into the driveway of the old house I used to use as a safe-house back in my Trinity days, on the fringe of a tired suburban neighborhood, I wasn’t just ready to end Rufie’s existence, I was looking forward to it.
Hungry for it.
Craving it.
The Lucas Pratt Ronnie had fallen in love with was long gone. In his place was a cold, ruthless, highly efficient man of violence.
I dismounted the Harley and pushed it past the side of the house to the backyard, the dead, dry grass crunching beneath my feet. After a quick sweeping scan of the yard, I stowed my hog in the derelict garden shed, closed the door, and uncovered the deadbolt lock hidden beneath a dead potted plant next to it.
Once my bike was secure, I unlocked the back door and entered the darkness.
Only two people knew of the house’s existence—me and Lila Winchester. It sat at the end of a dead end, the houses around it empty thanks to brutal banks and a fucked-up economy. I’d spent more than one night or three here, recovering from various clashes and MMA matches, off anyone’s radar.
To anyone who happened to find themselves curious about the house, it would appear as rundown and abandoned as the rest of the street. It was filled with dust and neglect, what furniture in it cheap and broken and unappealing.
