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My colleagues’ eyes burned holes through me when we discussed Lauren and this apparent meeting none of us knew about until this morning. It’s shambolic if you ask me, but I do feel emotional that I could get to see her.
What would I say? Would she talk to me? Would she even come?
I unlock my car and slide onto my seat. Tipping my head back, I let my eyes close as I think. I used to drive around where she lived when she first left. If she’s expected tomorrow, she could be staying somewhere local. If I know her well enough, she wouldn’t go back to her uncle’s place, she’s more likely to be staying with friends.
Does she have friends? She could have been sleeping rough this whole time? The thought kills me. It’s unlikely I’d find her by simply driving around, but it’s not impossible that word wouldn’t spread if I started asking about her.
Pulling out my phone, I open a message to Dean to see if he’ll help me with what I’ve got planned. As I type, I see him already typing to me.
VP: Taking longer than expected. Don’t wait up x
My eyes close again, and I let out a sigh. What is going on with him lately?
Looking at the clock on my dashboard, it’s a little after five in the afternoon. He said don’t wait up, which means I have time to do what I’ve got planned. I’ll just have to do it alone. Even though I’m exhausted, I don’t want to wait around. I’ve got to do something. I didn’t protect Lauren well enough first-time around. I won’t make the same mistake twice.
Chapter Eight
DEAN
“Alright, alright, you’ve made your point!”
“Clearly, I haven’t. You haven’t given me a name or a location. So, what’s it going to be, cunt? Tell us who you’re working with, or do I cut off the other one?”
The man I don’t know hangs from a suspension cable looped over a beam above us, his left ear pouring with red. I watch as he tries his hardest not to panic, but even I can see the veins in his neck pulsing from where I sit.
He’s scared.
I peer at Travis sat to my left, giving him a knowing look. This is Vincent’s way of showing us what he’s capable of.
“I said I don’t know anything!” the man cries once more.
“Stop fucking lying!” Vincent’s man shouts in the man’s face, his spit flying through the air.
It’s clear what’s going on here.
We came for our sit down with Vincent, only to walk in on a butchering session. It doesn’t bother me what they’re doing. It’s the fact they dragged us to a remote location for the sit down that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall.
I’m not naïve though, I know he doesn’t fully trust us after they received that package. I took precautions when they suggested this place. It may only be me and Travis in this run-down barn located one mile from the nearest road, but my men are close by if things turn sour.
“I don’t think he knows anything,” I comment. I sit back in my chair, pulling my smokes from my pocket, thoroughly bored. We’ve been here thirty minutes but the hanging man isn’t speaking.
The butcher looks at me, pissed off with my sarcasm. “He knows something,” he starts, as he turns to the table lined with various implements designed for making people talk.
I light my smoke as he picks up a Kershaw knife from the table. “Look at him and tell me he doesn’t look a man who’s keeping secrets.”
The man’s eyes dart to me, and I hold his gaze before speaking. His arms are lifted high above his head with thick rope, the colour drained from them. “Are you keeping secrets?” I ask him.
He shakes his head, causing more blood to spurt and run down his bare chest.
Lifting my smoke to my mouth, I inhale then blow out a long breath, never taking my eyes off the man.
He’s sweating, trembling with fear. His eyes stay glued to mine, until they dart to the left momentarily.
I sigh. This is why Vincent chose here. It’s a test.
Scratching my head, I take another inhale before I slowly stand to my feet. The butcher watches me walk to the table, seeing I’ve cottoned on to what they want. “I asked you a question,” I say, eyeing a tool I like the look of. I pick it up to inspect it, twirling the medieval looking contraption between my fingers. He doesn’t answer.
Knowing the hanging man’s watching my every move, I take another inhale of my smoke, then turn, leaning back against the table. “If silence is what you like, I guess I should use this instead.”
