Page 3 of Link's Property
Great. So now I’m out of a job and a place to live. If I didn’t think life could get much worse, it just did.
“But if you leave tonight…” His voice softens as if he’s actually offering me a kindness. “I won’t file the paperwork.”
But where am I going to go?
A motel. That’s about the only thing I can afford right now.
2
Link
“So, do we have a plan yet?” Razor sinks his shot, lining up his next one. His eyes are sharp, hand steady, and I’d never bet against the man in a game of pool. He would take me every time. He strikes the cue ball and sinks two balls this time. One going into the middle pocket, the other sinking into the top right corner. Damn, he’s good.
“Fuck!” King shakes his head, realizing his fate in this match. Whatever he wagered on the game is about to go straight into Razor’s pocket. He should know by now never to go against the man. But our President doesn’t like to back down from a bet. “We’re just waiting on Faraday and Wallace to give us a call and then we’ll move in. Link and I are gonna review the floor-plans of the warehouse tomorrow and figure out how many guys we’ll need for the job.”
I tip my chin in agreement. Based on everything I’ve seen so far, it’s not going to take too many of our men to handle thisone. Plus, we’ll have the cops there for back up. Funny how the moment shit goes south with Otiffe, they’re calling on us to come and do their dirty work for them. This is the perfect example of why I turned my badge in. Here you’ve got a major drug dealer pushing his shit all over town, killing kids with his toxic pills, and the judge goes on and lets him off with a warning. A slap on the wrist because it was his first offense.
Yet, shortly after the bastard was released, two more kids wound up dead at the local high school. Overdosing on Adderall which was laced with Fentanyl. The same drug that was found on Otiffe when his ass was taken in. And not by fucking surprise, the pills were traced back to the same lab. But was his ass hauled back in? Nope. The Sheriff gave orders not to touch the fucker because they needed more evidence. In the meantime, more kids are going to die.
Damn, I can’t tell you how eager I am to get my hands on that piece of shit. Preying on kids makes me rage. Back when I was a correctional officer, I saw one too many kids getting addicted to drugs. Kids that would’ve had a real shot at life had they not found themselves at the mercy of a substance. I wanted to kill every last one of the dealers who lured them into the addiction.
I worked hard to get that shit off the streets, but I was one man going up against an entire gang of traffickers. It’s one of the main reasons I joined the brotherhood. The Savage Knights take matters into their own hands. They don’t wait until they have ten victims lying dead in order to prove they have a problem on their hands. They take the fuckers out and get that shit off the streets and out of the hands of babes.
And lookie now… The cops have called on us for a “favor.” Wanting us to be the ones to take out Otiffe, because their own Sheriff isn’t backing them up. Out of respect for those officers, some of whom I knew back in the day, we’ve agreed to lend ahelping hand but it’s not going to come without payment. When the time is right, we’ll be cashing in a favor of our own.
“What about you, Link? You get word from any of your old connections down at the detention center? Has anyone come in with pills that match up?”
“Nah. I think the fucker is trying to lie low for a moment. But they’ll keep an eye out.”
If any kid comes in on drug charges, they’ll be sure to let me know. Punk-ass kids are the first to open their mouths and rat their suppliers out. You hit them with the threat of being tried as an adult and being sent to a real prison, and they start squealing like pigs.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The lightest tap on the front door has all our heads turning. If it hadn’t been for the room growing silent as everyone started tuning into our conversation, a conversation we should be having behind closed doors and not in the common room in front of the sweetbutts, we would never have heard the knock.
King grabs his piece out of the back of his jeans and holds it down by his side as he goes to see who it is. We aren’t accustomed to having uninvited guests at this time of night, which is why I’m reaching for my own gun.
King looks through the peephole, then shoves his gun back into the waistband of his pants before he opens the thing. “Sorry, but we don’t take in strays,” he says to whomever is out there. It’s a crazy night for anyone to be traveling in this weather. Probably some kid looking to patch in. Every once in a while, someone will show up, having gotten wind about us. But King’s right. We don’t take randoms off the street. Our prospects are heavily vetted. They’re men we’ve personally invited into the fold.
“Is um…Officer Price here?”
The soft voice has me jerking back. No one’s called me that in years. I rise from my chair and move in, wondering who the hell came knocking, and how the hell they found me.
“You know this girl?” King asks as I approach his side.
Shit. Yep, I do. And it’s definitely a stray kitten. One who’s soaked through and dragging a suitcase in tow. What the hell is she doing here?
“Shayna?”
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she quickly says, looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen her. The girl was always tough as nails as a kid. Too tough for her own good because she always found herself in a heap of trouble. Looks like she’s found herself sunk in shit again, wanting me to bail her out just like I always have in the past.
“Come with me,” I state, taking the suitcase from her as I let her inside. She’s a soaking mess and dripping everywhere. I need to get her out of those clothes before she catches a cold. Damn, it’s a bad night to be driving out on those old narrow windy roads. There aren’t any streetlights up on this mountain. She could’ve gotten herself killed, which pisses me off further.
“This way.” I lead her down the hall to my room and walk straight into my bathroom in search of a dry towel. “Here.” I hand it to her. “Now, you want to explain what you’re doing here?”
“My landlord kicked me out, and I didn’t know where else to go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown up like this, but you told me that if I ever needed anything to come find you, and…”
Her voice drops off as her teeth sink into her lower lip. The girl is nervous as all get out, which is a first in my presence. Her hair is a stringy mess, clothes soaked through, and her mascara is running down her face, looking like black tears. I release a sigh, reminding myself of her past. Reminding myself that underneath that tough shell and lengthy juvenile record is agood kid who got dealt a shit hand. She may have been trouble as a teen, but she’s had a rough go at life. Nine times out of ten I think she was acting out just for an ounce of attention.
