Читать книгу Badlands - Jill Sorenson - Страница 11

CHAPTER SIX

“WHAT THE FUCK is going on in there?”

Shane released the talk button, listening for a response from Brett. Still nothing. Jesus. When he’d told Brett to shoot Owen in the foot, he’d been bluffing! He never thought Brett would actually do it. He’d just wanted to ensure Owen’s cooperation. Maybe Brett had gotten trigger-happy. He was young and green and eager.

Shane didn’t want to wait for Dirk and Roach to return to the entrance. “I’m heading inside,” he said to Dirk on the radio. He turned on his flashlight and made his way through the narrow passageway, taking care not to bump his head or scrape his elbows. He could barely fit through the tight squeezes.

He should have taken Owen through the tunnel instead of Brett. Shane didn’t trust Dirk—he was an arrogant bastard. Shane didn’t trust himself, either. He couldn’t shoot a family member. Owen clearly had feelings for this girl and her kid, which complicated the situation. Putting a gun to his brother’s head had made Shane’s flesh crawl as if a thousand centipedes had walked over his skin.

He hoped Owen wasn’t dead. Their mother would be devastated. She already thought Shane was responsible for ruining her life and for messing up Owen’s. She’d been a shell of a person since they’d both gone to prison.

Fuck.

He couldn’t get Brett to answer on the walkie-talkie, so he gave up and used a loud voice, calling out his name every few minutes. When Shane reached a fork in the path, he paused, pointing the beam of his flashlight in both directions. There was a dark, wet trail on the right, along with the telltale drag marks of a person with an injured limb.

Heart racing, Shane drew his gun from the back of his pants. “Owen!”

“Over here,” Brett shouted.

Shane stepped around the soaked dirt and continued through the tunnel. Brett was around the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. His face was smeared with blood and dust. He’d removed his white T-shirt and tied it around his boot. The effect was cartoonish, like a giant bandaged foot.

“Where are they?” Shane asked.

Brett pointed into the dark. “I think they went that way.”

“How far?”

“I don’t know.”

Shane stared down the twisted passage in disbelief. “I told you to shoot him in the foot,” he said, even though he hadn’t meant it. “Not yourself!”

“He shot me,” Brett mumbled.

“What?”

“He took the gun and knocked me out. Then he came back and shot me.”

No wonder Brett’s face was mangled. On second glance, his nose appeared to be broken.

The radio at his belt sounded. “We’re at the front of the cave,” Dirk said. “Do you want us to come in?”

Shane didn’t answer right away. He squinted at Brett, weighing his options. The shirt wrapped around his boot was soaked with blood. Shane didn’t think he’d die in the next few hours, but he needed immediate medical treatment, and they were out in the middle of nowhere. Driving him to the emergency room would take all day. More importantly, hospitals reported gunshot wounds. His contact, Ace, would probably tell him to eliminate this problem right here, rather than risking capture.

Brett wasn’t so naive that he couldn’t see the wheels turning in Shane’s mind. Perhaps getting shot had introduced him to cold, hard reality. He looked terrified and trapped, writhing in agony. But he didn’t cry or beg. He would go out like a man.

After a moment of indecision, Shane let him live. Not because he’d shown a hint of courage, but because Brett reminded him of Owen. The kid had tagged along with his good-for-nothing brother and ended up in a world of hurt.

Explaining the second shot to Dirk would have been tricky, also.

“Yeah, come in,” Shane said into the radio. “We’re on the right side.”

Brett slumped against the dirt wall, relieved.

“How did he take your gun?”

“I don’t know. He just...attacked me.”

“Did you try to shoot him?”

“I didn’t get the chance.”

“You had the flashlight,” Shane explained. “He was in front of you.”

“He said something about bats,” Brett said, panting. His forehead was dotted with sweat. “I looked up for a second.”

Shane stared at his misshapen nose, wanting to break it again. Every minute that ticked by gave Owen and that Spanish cunt a greater opportunity to escape. He wondered if his brother had lied to him about their relationship. They acted like a couple, and he had her son’s name tattooed on his chest. What kind of sucker did that for a girl he wasn’t even dating? Why get a tribute for a kid who wasn’t his?

By the time Dirk and Roach reached them, Shane was seething. He’d been pissed at Gardener for dropping the ball, but confident that a woman with a child wouldn’t get far. Now they had Owen’s help. The three of them might leave this cave and walk all the way back to civilization.

Shane felt the situation slipping from his hands. These idiots were going to ruin everything, and the stakes were too high for him to back out. He owed the Aryan Brotherhood more money than he could ever pay. If he skipped town, they might threaten his family. It was a matter of honor, if nothing else.

Dirk went nuts when he saw Brett. He paced back and forth, plotting revenge on Owen. “I’ll kill him,” he repeated, baring his teeth. “When I find him, I’ll cut off his head and piss on his neck.”

“Shut up,” Shane said wearily.

“I’ll do his bitch, too. I’ll do her right in front of him.”

Shane fisted his hand in Dirk’s shirt. “You won’t do a goddamned thing unless I say so. Got that?”

Dirk didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue, either.

Shane let him go. “Stay here while Roach and I check the rest of the cave.”

He sat down beside Brett, his nostrils flaring. Shane crept down the passageway with his gun drawn. They came to a large room with an opening to the outside. Cursing, he bent down and looked through the hole.

There was no sign of them.

As Shane straightened, the implications of Owen’s actions began to sink in. His little brother had a gun. He knew the badlands as well as Shane did, if not better. Owen could survive out here. He could hide.

That wasn’t Shane’s only challenge. He’d planned to recapture this bitch and her brat before checking in with Ace. Now Shane had to deliver the bad news. He’d lost his quarry, and he had an injured man to deal with.

He turned to Roach, his eyes narrow. “Find their trail and follow it. We can’t afford to let them get away.”

“What do I do if I see them?”

“Keep your distance. Watch them until we come back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Roach left the cavern, armed with a jug of water and a walkie-talkie. Shane went back down the tunnel to rejoin Dirk and Brett. “They’re gone,” he said, clenching his hand into a fist. “Let’s get him out of here.”

Dirk helped Brett stand up and supported him on one side as they limped away. The return trip to the SUV took forever. Brett might have been prepared to face death like a man, but he handled a gunshot wound like a total pussy. He moaned every time his boot dragged along the ground. Dirk had to lift him up and carry him the last half mile.

Shane didn’t slow down or offer to help. When they reached the SUV, Dirk loaded him into the backseat, elevating the injured foot. It was still bleeding.

“Should I take off his boot?” Dirk asked.

“Hell if I know.”

“Don’t touch it,” Brett wailed.

Dirk removed the soaked T-shirt, to Brett’s dismay. He had a small hole in the top of his boot and a slightly larger one in the sole.

“It went in and out,” Shane said.

Brett grimaced. “Is that good?”

“It’s better than ricocheting around in there, shattering bones.”

Dirk wrapped another shirt around Brett’s boot and gave him a bottle of whiskey, which he sucked on like a tit. “He needs to go to the hospital.”

“Let’s go,” Shane said, annoyed.

He got behind the wheel of the SUV while Dirk climbed into the back with his brother. Brett made a sound of agony every time Shane went over a bump. He turned the radio up to drown out his whimpers.

Back at camp, he slowed down to talk to Gardener, another useless wretch. He was sitting in the shade, smoking a joint.

“Get in,” Shane said.

Gardener blinked at him stupidly. “I just started this.”

“Bring it.”

As soon as he got in the passenger seat, Shane took the joint away, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply. He was going to smoke the rest without sharing, but then the mellow mood hit him and he handed it back.

“What happened?” Gardener asked.

“Brett got shot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

They followed the road to the highway. It was a long drive, so long that they were sober again by the time they arrived. Brett hadn’t lost consciousness, and his color looked better. Shane was glad; he didn’t want to go to all this trouble for a goner.

While he drove, he tried to plan what he would say to the boss. Ace was really just a middleman, a connection between Shane and his unknown clients. Shane knew they were affiliated with the AB, but he’d never met any of them. He didn’t want to meet them. He just wanted to do the job and get the hell out of Dodge.

Before he bit the bullet and called Ace, he took Owen’s phone from his pocket, scrolling through his list of contacts.

Janelle was there. Owen had her home number and her cell phone number, unlike Shane. She refused any communication from him, even letters. She told him that he had to apply for visitation rights if he wanted to see Jamie.

Shane knew Janelle was friendly with Owen, but he’d never envied their relationship. Probably because he’d held an outdated view of his little brother, like an old picture he hadn’t bothered to replace. Owen was a man now. The better man, according to Janelle. The man who was allowed to visit Jamie.

Shane dialed her number on his throwaway cell. She picked up right away, her voice raspy from sleep. The sound hit him like a main-line rush. She wouldn’t have answered if she’d known it was him. They hadn’t shared an uncontentious conversation in years. Shane wished he could ask to speak to his son.

Instead, he shoved the phone at Gardener. “Tell her to take Jamie and go to her mother’s house. Stay there for a few days.”

Gardener repeated this message.

Shane listened as Janelle’s tone turned shrill. She demanded answers and issued threats. This was the woman he knew, sharp and combative. But even her foulmouthed tirade elicited a pleasurable response in him, oddly enough. He remembered the good times, the passionate arguments and wild nights.

Clearing his throat, he ended the call. Then he dialed Ace’s number. “We have a problem.”

“I don’t like problems.”

Shane broke the news about Brett’s accident and claimed he had the situation under control. No need to worry Ace with too many details. Shane was optimistic his brother wouldn’t be on the loose for long. Owen had limited resources. The girl and her kid would drag him down. In this heat, they couldn’t outrun Shane on foot.

“Let me talk to Roach,” Ace said.

“He’s back at camp. Keeping an eye on things.”

“Just handle it,” he said, and hung up.

Shane said he would. If he didn’t, he’d be a dead man.

He had a third call to make, to Jorge Sandoval. It couldn’t be traced, but it could be triangulated. The government might scrutinize all communication signals from the same basic area, and there was nobody else out here. He drove twenty more miles to the town of El Centro, pulling over at a dusty truck stop.

Shane got out and glanced around to make sure the coast was clear before dialing. Dirk waited in the backseat, an impatient look on his face.

“This is Jorge Sandoval.”

Shane had planned for Owen to make this call. It was the only reason Shane had brought him along. He didn’t trust Gardener to do it right, so now his only option was disguising his voice. “Do you have the money?”

Jesus. He sounded like Cookie Monster.