Page 66 of Silent as Sin
“Has anyone seen Dusty?” I barked, keeping my face blank so the rest wouldn’t hear more than they needed to. If you had one rat, you may have two.
Half a dozen heads turned. Maul came inside, dirt clinging to his soles. “Wasn’t at the line when we closed it,” he said. “We found boot prints running to the service road.”
Boot prints. My gut dropped like a stone. The math clicked ugly in my head. Two sets at the door. One tread and a drag. A man stepping out with her, then walking back in with enough time not to be missed. My mouth went dry. I knew what that meant. Dusty had taken her to the edge. He’d left her there—for Bones.
Warden’s hands balled. “He could’ve split,” he said. “He knew we were on him.”
A memory of Dusty in the hall crawled behind my eyes, pale, apologetic, the way he wouldn’t meet my stare. I thought of the mud under his nails, the shaking hands. I slammed my fist into the wall to work off the nausea. “Where the fuck do we start?”
Elara burst in, hair wild, holding something like a bright flag. “I found this,” she gasped. She shoved it at me — one of Wren’s paper birds. I smoothed it open. An address sat scrawled across the crease. “It was sitting on the center of her bed.”
Warden took it, frowning. He squinted, then looked up. “This is Dusty’s handwriting. He meant for this to be found.”
Throttle leaned close, eyes cold. “That’s right outside Cinder Creek.”
My heart did a stupid leap. Dusty — rat or not — had left an address in plain sight. Maybe guilt. Maybe a last-ditch trail. Maybe a confession. Or maybe a map.
“Let’s move!” I snapped. I didn’t wait for permission. I ran for my bike, the bird burning in my fist like proof and promise both. My gut told me something had shifted, that Dusty hadn’t run to hide, he’d run to fix what he’d broken.
I shoved the starter, felt the engine kick. Warden’s bikes answered behind me, the line humming to life. We rode out hard, the night folding us into it, one thought driving every beat of my heart. Find Wren. Find whatever ugly truth Dusty left in our tracks, and pray we were fast enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DARK. THE KINDof dark that eats soundand keeps it, grey and thick behind my lids. You’d think having been trapped in darkness before would blunt it, but my palms were ice on my knees; the bars hummed under my fingertips.I was terrified.
Footsteps—slow, a measured scrape of leather on concrete—cut through the dark like a promise. He moved like the predator he enjoyed being, excited at what he knew he’d get to do. My throat closed. My whole body tightened at the memory of what he’d done to others, the way he stayed calm while they screamed. Especially the women. God.
The door clicked. Light from the corridor slashed the floor into thin bars and his shadow slid in after it. He watched me like a man inspecting a watch, patient because he knew he could wait me out.
“You awake, puppy?” His voice slid like oil. He clicked the cage open. “Ready to tell me the good stuff?”
He yanked my hair and hauled me up. Movement blurred, his arm at my waist, the rough tug, and I was pulled out. My breath came short and useless. I twisted, tried to wrench free, but he was too strong.
Close enough now, I saw the little scars on his cheek, the way his mouth smoothed before the teeth showed. He leaned in and nipped my ear causing me to tremble in fear, because I knew what would happen next—rape. “Talk,” he breathed.
“Bones!” The name sounded raw and tired, and I recognized it instantly. “Let her go!”
Dusty filled the doorway. For a second I didn’t know if I should be relieved. He held a gun with one arm extended, aiming straight at Bones.
Bones loosened his grip on me just enough to cock his head and smile. “Look who’s late to his own confession,” he said. “You think you scare me? We had a deal.”
Dusty’s voice came out ragged. “Get away from her.” He tried to sound unshakable and failed. “You don’t get to—” The words broke. “You forced me, Bones. You said if I didn’t—if I didn’t run right and give you what you wanted—you’d burn every tree in my life. My kids. My grandchildren. I— I don’t have it in me to keep doing this.”
He looked so small, old, hollowed like something picked clean. The confession fit in the room like a new truth: Dusty had helped. Part of me hoped I was wrong.
Bones laughed, slow and mean. “Honesty. A rare spice.” He took one step forward, the kind that sealed deals. “You leftsomething out old man. You played rat to settle a gambling debt. Either I kill you or your club will.”
Dusty’s fingers whitened on the gun. “I’m here to fix it,” he said. The words cut like effort. “I can’t live knowing I helped hurt an innocent.” He choked on the rest.
The quiet pressed in; Dusty didn’t stand a chance against a man like Bones. What was he thinking?
Bones’ smile thinned. “You want to fix it?” he purred. “How noble. Too bad your try had nothing to give.” He moved on Dusty like a shadow made solid.
The gun didn’t fire from Dusty’s hand, something quick and hard cracked the air. A wet, punched sound cut through, the sound of breath left too fast. Dusty staggered; the gun clattered away.
Bones was practiced brutality, fast, economical. He gripped my wrist and pinned Dusty to the concrete with a knee, then struck him with the blunt, efficient force of a man who made violence a habit. Dusty folded, cheek to the floor. Bones grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the shadowed corner like trash.
The older man landed in a heap. The gun skittered out of reach. Blood bloomed slow at his temple. He didn’t move; he was out before his head hit concrete fully, like someone had turned a lamp off.
