Page 51 of Devil Inside: Green

“Thanks,” I say, patting his arm, then I turn back to my car to head up to Sarge’s place. He legit lives a minute from the clubhouse parking lot.

I park and climb out of my car to the sound of a little girl’s squeal and I walk toward the fence.

Sarge has the kids outside in their backyard. “Danni?” he asks when he sees me.

“Hey, Sarge.”

“Greer’s under the weather today.”

“Yeah, I heard. I hope she feels better soon, but I’m actually here to see you.”

Little Tasha with her head full of blonde hair just like her mother, sits in the sandbox scooping sand into a small, red plastic bucket, the kind with a yellow handle. Sarge has Ace on his knee, bouncing the little guy. I see glimpses of both Sarge and Greer in him. They have a beautiful if not rapidly expanding, family.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah, um—” I dart my eyes down to little Tasha. “A certain person we’ve both been following the activities of has been very naughty again.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I saw the notification.”

“So what are we doing about it? Do you guys have any leads that Green and I haven’t come across?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You know what we know. You gave us way more than we had the time to get on our own. I should be askingyouif there’s any more.”

I sigh, chewing on my lip. “Okay, well, thank you anyway. I’m sure Greer’s bug will pass soon.” Then I turn to start walking away, but I call over my shoulder. “It’s another boy. I feel it.”

Sarge’s rich laugh reaches my ears as I jog down the driveway. I knew it. Why anyone would want to pop out that many kids—especially in such a short span of time—is beyond me. I’m willing to bet she saw the same ‘how a condom works’ movie in school that I did.

Sarge is hot so I get why she’d want to ride Dongzilla as much as humanly possible. I’m not ready to have kids, but I’m happy to practice how to make a baby with Green as often as he’d like. Just as long as we don’taccidentallymake one. I walk back to my car, and once I’m in and seatbelted, I dial Carter’s number. He doesn’t answer. Why, why,whydo peopleneveranswer when you want them to? As I pull out of the drive, I leave a voicemail and set my new destination for Middlesboro where I can get a Starbucks. Today is a Starbucks kind of day.

The drive-thru procession backs out onto the street. Yeah, I’m not waiting in that. Are people so remiss to get out of their cars that they’d rather wait a half hour in line rather than park and head inside? My need for caffeine outweighs pretty much anything else on the face of the planet and propels me out of the front seat and into the store where I’m greeted by a friendly, green-aproned person waiting to take my order. I only have to wait maybe six minutes to get my usual iced mocha and a piece of lemon pound cake—and that’s from order to stuffing my pie hole. After stuffing a tip in the tip jar, I thank the baristas and call it good. It’s such a nice day that I walk down to the park located across the street and down about half a block. I’d been hoping for some outside Starbucks seating, but all the tables were full.

The swish of the cars speeding past on the road behind me has a calming effect. I drop down onto a bench partially covered by the shade of the trees, but I sit in the sun, soaking up the rays while I try to figure out what to do next.

Okay, so think, Danni. Where else can we go with the information that we already have?

Women won’t be safe until he’s caught or dead. Part of me would love to be the one to end him, but Misty, Rae, and all the other families deserve their closure from seeing him stand trial.

I take a sip of my coffee.

Dark, Green and—

Everything goes black.

18

GREEN

“Danni, wherethe fuckare you? This is call number four.” I lower my voice. “You know after Dela, I can’t get a hold of you, I’m losing my shit. Call me back—I love you, woman.”

I hang up, shoving my phone back into my pocket, and pick up my wrench to keep working on this Honda, but my gut won’t stop churning. It’s not like Danni to not at least shoot off a quick text to me if she can’t answer the phone.

She got herself a nice severance check from the place she used to work and we have my income. The choice is hers if she ever finds another job. I can take care of us just fine, but right now, we decided that until our manhunt is over, it’d probably be better if she didn’t start looking for one because it’s hard to drop everything and take off to follow a lead. Not that we’ve had many of those as of late.

That part sucks, but I get home-cooked meals every night. Danni’s one hell of a cook. I know my way around a grill, but Danni—whoa! Her mother taught her all these Argentinian comfort foods, and she keeps a jar of chimichurri sauce in the refrigerator at all times that she and I use as a condiment. Her food’s so good, she could open up a restaurant and make bank. We constantly have brothers conveniently showing up at dinner time because they know she won’t turn them away.

And my mind should be on the car I’m fixing, not Danni’s cooking. But distracting myself seems to be the only thing keeping me from tearing this place up while I freak the fuck out about what reasons she could possibly give for not answering her damn phone. I use all my strength to pry a rusted nut from a bolt and the wrench slips, slicing my hand on the bolt. Right in the meat of my palm.Son of a bitch—the damn thing opens up, bleeding everywhere.

“Fuck,” I shout as I walk over to the sink to wash it off.

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