Page 42 of Devil's Due: Sarge

That kick starts my brain again. “That wasn’t your decision to make. I’m an adult. You don’t get to choose who I marry. And I’m certainly not marrying someone who threatened my life.”

And that’s when I meet the real Drew. He stands from his chair, leaning over the desk, his nostrils flaring, pure evil in his eyes. “That, my dear, is where you arewrong.”

16

Sarge

Icalled in a favor from an old friend, Clinton, a friend from my Raider days, to find Greer’s family home. He was our information man; he could find anything about anyone. Last we talked he was doing independent contracting for the government.

If he couldn’t find her, then she couldn’t be found and I refuse to accept that. While I wait for his call, I keep driving. Florida or bust… Florida or bust? Greer said the same thing about Halfway not too long ago.I’m coming for you, baby… I’m getting you back.

I’m only into Louisiana before the call comes in. I guess there aren’t that many art dealers on the dark web named Andrew who live in swanky cities outside Miami.

Need my brothers at my back for this mission. I pick up my phone from the seat next to me where I’d tossed it after the call with Clinton, then I press Vlad’s contact.

“When they let you out?” is how he answers the call.

“Let myself out… after Dark brought the truck.”

I hear his sigh. “That wasn’t smart.”

“Greer needs me. I refused to sit by the wayside and allow other men to take care of what’s mine to take care of. I’m calling because I need your help. I’m not stupid enough to go into a mission without backup, but it’smymission, brother.”

He sighs again. “I get you… but don’t forget, I sent you and the Lords on the trail of Nic when it was the smartest decision to make. And you know Nic was mine.”

“Different set of circumstances,” I answer. “Meet me at Rumble.”

“Almost to Miami, brother, be there waiting. You got something?”

“Affirmative.”

Rumble is a biker-friendly bar that finds most of its business during biker rallies. Considering we’re in the process of rebranding our image, we don’t really know who still are or aren’t our friends. No one club claims control over Rumble, making it the safest place for us to converge.

With the destination set and my brothers on the move, I turn up the radio to keep me from dozing off and press the accelerator.

Mississippi.

Alabama.

The truck eats up the miles until I’m crossing over into the panhandle. It’s dark and after thirteen hours on the road, I need to get out and stretch my legs, find a place to rest for the night because I still have another almost seven hours to reach Miami. My side is killing me and I need to find a store to grab some ibuprofen.

My battered face doesn’t help the cause, either. When I stop at a convenience store to top off my tank, grab the pain meds and a coffee, the young cashier, early twenties at most, strange hair color—almost taupe—piled in a knot on top of her head, she stares at me as I slide over the money. I’ve seen the look of desire on women before, but hers is mixed with pity and I’m guessing a dash of self-loathing for looking at a man who has clearly been beaten and still want to fuck him. I’ve never minded the first feeling. Don’t really care for the last two.

The woman who comes up next to me in line jumps when she sees me and takes a subtle step back, like she’s trying to slink away from a psychopath. Part of me wants to say something about her judgmental behavior. For all anyone knows, I was in a bad car accident or whatever, but I hurt too much to bother right now.

Instead, I thank the cashier when she hands me my change and put the store behind me.

Repeat when I find a place to crash for the night. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s nice enough digs. “What happened to you?” the woman at reception asks.

I shrug. “You should see the other guy.”

She has no reply, but I’m not wholly sure she believes me, either, the way she bites her lip as if biting back a laugh. But my money spends the same as anyone else’s and she slips me the keycard to my room. Coffee in hand, I move cautiously, cradling my side and that damn stab wound. I took the ibuprofen in the truck, but it hasn’t kicked in yet.

Once up in my room, I set the coffee down on the nightstand and lie down. A quick text to Vlad later, letting him know I’ll meet up at Rumble tomorrow, I order some takeout, just pizza, nothing special, and flick on the television. They have satellite with a lot of channels, but my mind won’t settle enough to let me concentrate on any one program.

It’s more than that. I keep staring at Greer’s contact wondering if it’s safe to call. In the end, I can’tnotcall. I have to at least hear her voice, find out if she’s okay.

I press the button and wait. It rings. Once. Twice. Two and a half times before there’s a breathy, “Sarge?” A whisper.

---