Page 79 of Shattered Souls
“Got something?” Grayson asks when he answers.
“Not what you want, but we’ve got an address for the driver. Want to come with?”
“Fuck yes, I do.” Despite the absolute shitstorm that has been this day, my lips twitch in a semblance of a smile.
“I’ll stop by to pick you up. Be ready to jump in the car.”
“Sure thing.”
Instead of hanging up, I hesitate. “How is she?”
“Sleeping, finally. Logan convinced her to eat some food, but she was a strung-out mess. We need to find out where my dad is keeping Aurora, and we need to find out now.”
“We will,” I assure him. “Let’s get some answers from this fucking asshole, then we’re going to deal with your dad.”
Hanging up, I climb into the car. It doesn’t take long to make it back to Halston, and by the time I reach the house, Grayson is standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. He jumps in, and I’m away again, following the directions on the Satnav to Timberline Trailer Park.
“Tell me about this guy.”
“Not much to tell. He’s a thug, a street brawler,” I tell him. “I’ve seen him hanging around The Depot, but I don’t know much about him.”
“He’s a fighter?” Grayson asks, turning to look at me.
I snort. “A shitty one, but he’s a dirty fighter. From what little Blue sent through, he’s a petty criminal. Still lives in the same rough neighborhood he grew up in. He’s not smart, but he’s street-smart.”
“So what the fuck is he doing trying to run over our girl then?” Grayson growls, hands forming fists as his anger gets the better of him.
“Fuck if I know.” My finger taps against the steering wheel, the road disappearing beneath my wheels as we leave Halston behind. “Going after her isn’t something he’d do on his own,” I muse. “He has no reason to target her.”
“You mean someone paid him,” Grayson deduces with a cold calculation.
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. It’s my best guess, but what the fuck do I know? We’ll get answers when we talk to him. It’s a tense ride to Timberline Trailer Park on the outskirts of Boxum County. The farther from Halston we drive, the more apparent the neglect becomes until we’re bumping along roads that are more pothole than asphalt. Glancing skyward, I can see that most of the streetlights have been smashed out.
“This place is a shit hole,” Grayson mumbles as we pass trailers that are packed together tightly. “Which one is his?” I jut my chin out the windshield, indicating the trailer in the far corner of the lot. It’s the worst one in the park—a single-wide relic from the 70s that’s seen better days. The paint is chipped and peeling, revealing the bare metal underneath, and the roof sags in the middle, threatening to cave in with the next heavyrain. A couple of junk cars sit on cinder blocks in the front yard, the parts slowly being cannibalized for cash.
Slowing the car to a stop, we both lean forward to look at the rust bucket through the windshield. “Looks… homie,” Grayson drawls, lip curled up in disgust before he throws open the door. “Well, what the fuck are we waiting for?”
Getting out of the car, I follow him up the rotted steps. We share a glance before he bangs his fist against the flimsy door. Immediately, we hear footsteps approach from the other side before the door swings open. A muscular man in his mid-thirties with a barrel chest fills the doorframe. “Who the fuck are you?” Vincent sneers.
He looks down his nose at us like we’re shit on his grimy boots, and I let my focus slide past him and into the trailer. The inside is worse than I imagined—filthy dishes piled in the sink, an ashtray overflowing on a rickety coffee table, and the stench of stale beer and sweat permeating the air. The carpet is stained, with patches worn down to the floorboards, and the walls are yellowed from years of smoke. The main piece of furniture is an old, threadbare couch, and trash is scattered across the floor. What I don’t see is anyone else in there.
Perfect.
There’s no holding back. I shove at his shoulders, sending him stumbling back into the trailer as I barge my way in. Grayson is right behind me, slamming the door to keep any unwanted eyes out. Although, I imagine people are plenty used to turning a blind eye to trouble here. The walls creak as the door shuts, and dust particles float in the stale air, catching the dim light from the single, flickering bulb overhead.
Vincent’s eyes go wide as he holds his hands up. “What the fuck? Who are you guys? What do you want?”
“We want to know why you were in Halston today,” Grayson demands, standing over him.
“Halston?” Vincent attempts to laugh. “Why the fuck would I be in that preppy shithole town?”
“Well, we have CCTV footage that says you were,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and staring him down. “So let’s try this again, Vincent.”
His eyes widen. “Hey—” He points a finger at me. “I know you. You’re Ruthless!” His lips twitch into a smile. The dumb fuck must’ve forgotten that we just barged into his house because he looks at me like we’re fucking friends. “Yo, man, I’m a big fan. Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re in my house!”
“Yeah, no.” I’m not having any of that. I grab him by the front of his stained T-shirt and slam him backward. The entire trailer rattles with the force. “Answer my fucking question, Vincent. What the fuck were you doing on Halston University’s campus today?”
“Whoa, man, whoa.” He’s still giving me that stupid fucking smile, but his eyes are wide with wariness as he holds his hands up placatingly. “I was just there for a job, man. It was nothing.”
