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“Grease stains on his shirt says he is more worried about his next meal than my shadow,” Desmond whispers to me in the harsh night. “Lyric isn’t just my bodyguard or my fixer. A serial killer trained him, so he knows how to play the ghost, and he never gets caught. That man breathed too heavily. He’d never get one over on Lyric.”
I follow closely behind Desmond, my heart pounding in my chest. The adrenaline rush is addictive, and I can feel my body craving more. We weave our way in and out of the trucks, our boots splashing in puddles as we move toward the one with the red cab.
The truck looms ahead, dark and ominous. I glance at Desmond as he rushes toward the cab and flings the door open, his gun drawn.
I barely have a moment to jump backward as a man tumbles from the cab. His body makes a thud as it hits the concrete. I can only stare as his face smashes into the loose pebbles.
“Dead,” Desmond announces.
My eyes jump up to him and the cab’s interior. It’s hard to make out what I’m seeing in the darkness until my eyes focus. There’s blood everywhere. It’s splattered on the windows and the seat.
For a long minute, I just stare, my breathing even and calm. My fingers are wrapped around the gun in my hand, and I feel…
Nothing.
“We need to check the back,” Desmond moves away, leaving the body where it lies as he walks the length of the truck, heading toward the back. He glances at me once, a finger pressed to his lips, then he’s gone. His body disappears around the side, and I wait. One breath. Two.
“Clear,” Desmond shouts.
I round the end of the truck and peer inside, unprepared for what I’m about to see. There’s more blood on the walls and the sidewalk, but no bodies. However, with the amount of blood, there is no way anyone survived, and if they did, they are hurt.
My eyes flick from one side to the next, not understanding what I’m seeing until Desmond crouches before me, his gun in his holster and a block of something in his hands. There’s a stern expression on his face as though he’s holding back his anger, but just barely.
Reaching into a pocket, he stabs the block, causing white dust to fly up. I wince at the sight, gripping my gun a little tighter. His demeanor tells me to stay put and trust him, but my instincts are screaming at me to back away from the truck and the drugs inside.
Desmond glances at me, his eyes softening just a fraction. He gently touches my arm, a silent reassurance that we’ll make it through this.
“Stay close, Charlotte,” he says, his voice low and steady, and despite the chaos around us, I find solace in his words. I nod, my trust in him unbroken, my resolve strengthened.
I wave my hand around my face and take a step back. “What is that?” I hiss.
“Cocaine,” he grumbles. “What the fuck did Matty track down?”
“No Lyric.” I peer behind him at the stacks of more of those same blocks and a small seating area. Whatever happened here, Matty interrupted it. There is no telling how many people were involved or who died. Only one factor simmers at the forefront of my mind—Lyric and his absence.
Desmond seems to sense my unease and places a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he says, his voice firm and reassuring. “We have to.”
I nod, grateful for his support. It’s clear that Desmond is not only doing this for his purposes, but also because he genuinely cares about Lyric and his safety. I itch to know how they met, how Lyric ended up miles away from Texas, and the man who kidnapped him as a child. Was he the serial killer? All of this gets put on the back burner as I turn around, intent on heading back toward Lyric’s Impala, Desmond following silently behind me.
I feel the weight of the gun in my hand and Desmond’s presence beside me—a shield against the darkness we’re about to face. He is my protector and guardian, and together, we’ll find Lyric.
As we round the front of the red tractor-trailer, a sudden movement catches my eye in the woods—a shadowy figure moving near the forest’s edge. At first, I think it’s nothing but a bush, but the dimensions are all wrong. They are off. I grip my gun tighter and nudge Desmond.
Desmond immediately follows my gaze and nods, silently signaling for me to follow him. We make our way toward the forest’s edge, our footsteps barely making a sound on the damp ground.
As we get closer, I can see that it’s Lyric. He’s slumped against a tree, his eyes closed, and his breaths are shallow. Blood is seeping through his shirt, staining it a dark crimson. His hand presses against what I assume is his wound.
“Lyric!” I shout, rushing toward him.
Desmond is quick to follow, his gun drawn and ready, but Lyric waves him off weakly, his eyes still closed.
“It’s okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not…hurt that badly.”
“Not hurt that badly?” Desmond scoffs. “You’re bleeding out, man.”
Lyric’s lips quirk up in a faint smile. “I’ll survive,” he says. “Just need to rest for a bit.”
“Charlotte, stay with him. I’m getting the car.” Desmond sprints back to the car, his body slicing through the dark.
