Page 37 of Betrayed
“Lucifer fuckin’ Bachman, ye wee devil!” Bayne drawls in that thick Scottish Isle brogue. “Didn’t expect your number. Who’s dead?”
“No one yet,” I mutter. “But I may be soon if you don’t show your ugly mug,” a joke between us, Bayne being ridiculously good-looking and overly confident, his only physical flaw his crooked smile, the one the girls went wild for.
“And you are, where?”
“Over here in nowhere England, surrounded by sheep and not much else. You’d love it.”
He laughs. “Sounds like home.”
“And just like home, there are issues here.”
There’s a pause. “If it’s important enough for you to ring me after all these years, I’m guessing this ‘issue’ involves a lass?”
“Aye,” I laugh, copying his brogue.
“I’m listening.”
I keep it brief. The Hoax is the King’s archenemy. I tell him about the bruised girl named Mary, the missing girls, the creeping threats, and the boots outside Erin’s cabin.
Bayne doesn’t interrupt. Just listens. Then gives a low whistle.
“You’ve poked the nest of the Hoax, eh?” he finally says. “Nasty fuckers. They’ve expanded. Multiple leaders. East Glasgow’s been a mess. Where is Caleb now?”
“He went to university in England. That’s where he met Cass. Swore he was out of the Hoax.” I share the information Cass gave me, which my team confirmed this morning. “Now, we’re pretty sure he’s taken over a town in England. Somewhere close to where Erin grew up.”
Bayne grunts. “Has he contacted Erin since she landed?”
“No,” I answer too quickly. “Wait. She mentioned boot prints, but hasn’t said?—”
“And you haven’t asked, directly, ‘has he contacted you,’” he asks, smug as always.
“I need to.”
“Women with men like us feel like they need to keep secrets from time to time. To protect us. Get every ounce of information you can from her. Call me back.”
“I will,” I promise, delighted by the prospect of caressing secrets from her beautiful body. “Until then, can you do me a favor?”
“Depends.
“Find Caleb, isolate him, and keep The Hoax off your back until we figure this out.”
Bayne chuckles. “Still as bossy as Rafe says you were back then.”
“And I can still kick anyone’s ass I need to.”
“Doubt it, old man,” he says, but there's affection under his words.
“Old? You’ve got a decade on me, don’t you?”
“And don’t look a day over it. You know me. I only have one weakness.”
“I remember.” He had beautiful horses on his property, Romani Cobbs, with large brown and white spots, long brown and white manes, and pretty, long white hair hanging down their legs over their hooves. I got to visit the day before we left. “Illegal street horse-cart racing, a hobby you picked up from your great-grandfather’s Romani traveling people’s heritage.”
“Great memory.”
“It was an incredible race. Hard to forget.”
“Kitt won’t let me ride anymore. She says, "Leave it to the younger men." I only place bets and watch now. I guess I am old.” He laughs, but the sound is short. “I’ll start making calls. Callum is over in Glasgow. He’s got a solid team under his feet.”
