Page 56 of Claymore
“You done dragging Ella through the wringer now?”
His eyes widened, and he let out a deep sigh before he nodded.
“I am. She’s been through a lot. More than I would’ve expected. I guess it’s good that you’re looking out for her. We may not need her help now, but the closer we get to finding Ray and Fang, the more useful she could become.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Because she’s the only one of us that he maynotkill. So far, every hit, every piece of intel we’ve gotten points to the fact Ray doesn’t want to kill her. She understands his crazy mannerisms better than anyone. Hopefully, we won’t have to use her, but right now, she may just be our smoking gun.”
“I’m not putting her in harm’s way,” I said firmly.
“You won’t have to. She already is. Come on, we need to go,” Tank responded, tapping the wooden table.
Fifteen minutes later, I was following him out of the Tavern, hopping onto the back of my ride, taking off into the night. I followed him closely, my mind wandering off to thoughts of Ella, her safety, and how quickly everything could turn on its head. I promised myself that no matter what Tank decided was best for the club, I had to keep her safe. I had to ensure that she didn’t get caught in the crossfire.
Tank and I drove around for at least two hours, hitting up potential safe houses which were all semi-detached homes that hadn’t been cared for in ages. After the fourth overgrown lawn, I was sure we hit a dead end, that this Don was in the wind and he couldn’t be of any help to us, but I was wrong. Tank and I pulled up outside a large apartment building that looked like it had to have been standing for at least fifty years.
I pulled off my dome, hearing Tank’s voice cut the silence around us.
“That’s his bike.”
“The one with the tassels?” I asked.
The bicycle looked real beat up—with a few clips in its wheels and tears in the leather handlebar tassels.
“May not look like much, but that shit got Don out of a whole lot of trouble over the years. He’s a fast motherfucker.”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” I murmured, my hands out, palms up.
“Come on.”
I followed Tank up the apartment building stairs, buzzing into Don’s apartment along with a few others, but none of them answered to let us in. I didn’t so much as hear the buzzer go off. Tank fiddled with the door, opening it up with ease.
“Looks like the buzzer’s broken.”
“Well, that makes our job easier.”
I strolled in, immediately hit with an old, musty scent. The floors were muddy, dirty like they hadn’t been cleaned in a while. The stairs creaked as we headed up them, careful not to touch anything much because it all looked like it could fall apart. The chandelier above my head still made me nervous because the more we moved, the more the damn thing swung.
The hallways were quiet, but I heard coughing from behind a few of the doors, some dogs barking softly, not like they were sensing any immediate danger. Tank approached 32B, noticing that the door was slightly cracked open. He nudged me and I pulled my gun out, holding it close, watching his back.
Tank burst in with his gun drawn, pointing it directly at the kitchen when the man standing there nearly dropped the glass bottle of milk in his hand.
“My God. Don’t they teach you fuckers to knock anymore?”
“Don. Sorry. We thought you were in danger.”
“The only danger I’m in is not getting my goddamn groceries in the fridge before they spoil,” he said.
“It’s way past midnight,” I muttered.
“And? Your point is? There’s a twenty-four-hour convenience store a few blocks down the road. I don’t exactly have time to buy my shit during the day. Some of us haverealjobs.”
He looked us both up and down, nodding over at the breakfast nook table near the window for us to sit.
“What brings you ’round, Tank?”
“I need help finding someone.”
