Читать книгу Chasing Impossible - Кэти Макгэрри, Katie McGarry - Страница 14

Abby

I’m against the wall, near the entrance and I’m doing my best Navy SEAL as I count the game pieces in the room. Stupid me. I should have caught on faster. Should have seen the strategy being formed, but I was caught up first with the narc and then with Logan.

Rule number three: don’t allow any distractions.

Dad ought to be proud of me. I’ve done nothing but surround myself with distractions over the past few months.

Two of Ricky’s guys are in the crowd. Both of them have made eye contact with me from across the room, but neither has approached, which means the situation we’re in is as bad as it gets. Tommy is the one who meets my eyes the most. He’s the protégé of the only guy I trust in Ricky’s organization, so at the moment, that makes Tommy my tightest alliance.

Tommy’s all mouse-brown hair and sharp angles. It’s easy to see why Linus picked him to mentor like my dad chose to mentor Linus. Tommy flashes four fingers and I tip my head to let him know I understand. There are four of Eric’s guys here that he’s made—possibly more. Eric is Ricky’s greatest enemy on the streets.

All around us are people way too young to become casualties of other people’s, specifically my, bad decisions.

I texted my safe word and location to the anonymous number, following protocol. Now I wait. For a reply from Mr. Anonymous, or a text from Logan saying he’s outside, and my stomach twists. If he texts or calls, I should ignore him and not drag him deeper into this nightmare than he already is, but at the same time, I don’t need Logan trying to save the day if I don’t answer and getting himself killed. Because that would seriously piss me off and make me possibly cry and I fucking hate crying.

I wait longer than I would have thought for either response then another buzz:

In my truck. You still in the club?

Yes.

Stay put. I’m coming to get you.

Right as I go to respond, another buzz and it’s not Mr. Anonymous and it’s not Logan. It’s unlisted, unknown and it’s numbers. Fear turns violent and becomes a sharp pain in my chest. It’s a code given to me by my father and it means the foundation on which I’m standing is crumbling.

It also means to trust no one, not even Ricky himself, and it means to get the fuck out.

Players, on both sides, have always been known to change allegiance in midcharge and I’m being warned that pieces are shifting.

A glance up and both of the boys on my side are watching me. So are Eric’s boys. According to the code, I’m prey and any of them staring me down could be the hunters.

Survival instincts flood my system and all the two million thoughts I’d been having streamline into one—I need to disappear.

A group of boys maneuver past me. I push off the wall, slip into the middle, and walk with them the several feet needed to reach the exit. The moment I’m out I’m texting the only piece around not knowingly playing the game: I’ll meet you halfway. I need out of here.

It’s after midnight and the sidewalk outside the bar is still packed with people willing to party. There are a ton of bars on this strip of road and they don’t host teen nights.

I asked the narc if he was a child of the night. Am I? I don’t know. I love summer nights. I love the heat rolling off the sidewalk. I love the humidity hanging in the air. I love the dark.

It doesn’t scare me. It’s the people who smile at you during the day while plunging a knife in your back that are the monsters. It’s bills I can’t pay. It’s systems that fail. It’s people preying upon the weak who fill my nightmares.

My phone rings and I accept it when I spot Logan’s face. “What?”

“You never listen.”

“I like walking. Fills my lungs with oxygen. It’s good for the circulatory system. Healthy and all that shit.”

“I told you to stay put.” I can imagine that serious expression on his face. The one where his dark eyes blow into storm clouds and everything about him becomes clipped. It’s not a huge change, it’s subtle, but I’ve memorized it.

“Miss me?” I tease because that’s more comfortable than focusing on terror. “Because I missed you, and I wanted to see you faster.”

“What happened to your plan?”

“It changed.”

“You in danger?”

Yes. “You’re cute. I forgot I’m not capable of walking down a street by myself. Just a friendly stroll and you’ll pick me up along the way.”

“You sound scared.”

As I’m scanning the crowd a flash of anger joins the fear he’s hearing. “Bite me, Logan.”

“I don’t like you on the open street.”

“Well, life fucking sucks.” I pause and switch mental directions. “You don’t want bullshit—how’s this? I’m in deep and I don’t even know what I’m dealing with.”

Logan’s silent, and I pray he’s struggling with how to tell me he’s leaving and heading home, but another part of me begs him to stay. Without a ride, I’m an easy target. My need to live and my need to protect him are colliding in my brain.

“Move!” A loud horn blaring from his end and I check out the road. It’s bumper-to-bumper. People coming into the area to party, people leaving the area to party. He won’t get here. He won’t reach me fast enough.

“I’ll come on foot,” he says.

“Don’t,” and I make no attempt to mask the fear. “You need to get as far from me as you can.”

“Do you know what I want?”

I’m betting not being in a messed-up, chemistry—based relationship with a drug dealer is currently at the top of his list. “What?”

“Quiet.”

My feet freeze on the sidewalk and a strange eerie sensation crawls along my spine. There’s an exhaustion in Logan’s voice I’ve never heard before and my mind ticks back to Rachel’s original text. Something’s wrong. Beyond me. Beyond my problems. “If you want quiet, you should go home.”

“It’s loud there, Abby. There might not be sound, but it’s still loud. All I want right now is to find you, and drive along some dark county roads. What do you say to that? Me, you, a dark night, and some quiet stars.”

An ache ripples through me. It sounds like the devil is mocking me with my idea of heaven because dreams don’t become reality for girls like me.

“Abby?” he asks. “Still there.”

Hang up. Mock him. Laugh. Make a joke. Tease. Lie.

Lie.

Lie, Abby. That’s what you’re best at. Lie.

“That sounds good.” It’s a whisper and by the relieved intake of air on his part, Logan heard it.

“You didn’t listen, did you?” he asks, and I’m grateful for his normal, condescending tone. “You were told to stay home and you didn’t listen.”

“Do you think I do what people tell me on a regular basis? That’s one step away from being a trained monkey and if you remember, I don’t like trained monkeys. Not since that one bit you in fifth grade. You said the rabies shots were a bitch.”

Logan snorts and an engine rumbles in the background. “Which side of the road are you on? I don’t want to miss you.”

A group of guys stumble out of a bar ahead of me and the hair on my arms stands on end as if the reaper had laughed in my ear. A skinny guy. A few years older than me and he appears way too happy to see me. It’s Ricky’s greatest foe on the streets. A guy I’ve threatened in the past. It’s Eric and all of Ricky’s warnings avalanche upon my shoulders. “How far away are you, Logan?”

“I’m two blocks from the club.”

Eric turns his head, his mouth moves and from behind him, two of his boys join his side. Neither of them has a problem hitting a girl. Neither has a problem with raping one, either.

“Do you think you could speed? Break some traffic laws? Maybe tell me your truck is secretly a hovercraft? That would be greatly appreciated.”

Eric’s boys stride in my direction and I cross the street without looking. A car blows its horn, a screech of tires, but I’m sprinting, not paying attention to the moving bullets on wheels.

“Abby!” Logan growls. “What’s going on?”

A hurried glance over my shoulder and Eric’s boys follow. My mind races and wars between thoughts. Find Logan, don’t lead Logan into trouble, duck into a club, but I don’t have my fake ID. He’s two blocks away and my mouth dries out. Logan’s so close yet too far.

A shadow steps in front of me, a person in a hoodie. Adrenaline in the form of fear, my hand reaches back, switchblade in my fingers, but he’s faster than me. He grabs hold of my arm, I go to bite his wrist and then—

“Do that and I’ll fucking shoot you. I’m the reason you’re still alive. It’s me who sent the code.”

I convulse with the familiar voice. Linus releases me with a shove then yanks back his hoodie. The joy of seeing my father’s protégé nearly brings me to my knees.

Linus steals my phone, powers it off, then snatches my arm and drags me into an alley. “Ricky told you to stay off the streets tonight.”

“He told me not to sell.” I trip over a can as he continues to pull me deeper into the darkness. A right and a left. A maze of passages. I’ve been here before, during the day, and I’m completely lost without the light.

“Same fucking thing and now you’ve got Eric hunting you, plus you met with a narc tonight. And we thought you were smart.”

“You knew he was a narc and nobody warned me one was on the streets?”

Linus doesn’t say anything and I can’t stop the smugness trying to rip past the fear.

“You didn’t know until I figured him out.”

“I’d suggest shutting the fuck up.”

Shutting the fuck up doesn’t make me less right. “What the hell are you doing sending me that code? Even Ricky doesn’t know about it. That code means I can’t trust anyone.”

“Except the one who sent it, right?” Linus halts his progress forward and rounds on me. He’s pure rage wearing human skin, but of all the things I fear, it’s not him. If he was going to kill me, he would have already plugged two shots into my brain.

He’s ruthless like that. My father was his mentor and my father taught him well. Where I’ve memorized my father’s rules, Linus plays by them as if they’re the Ten Commandments handwritten on stone by God.

“Some of Ricky’s guys were in the bar,” I say, “and you 911’d me out. You don’t think I would have been safer there?”

Linus remains blizzard cold and my insides sink. “What’s going on?”

“I know you pegged the narc and I know you haven’t sold. I know you came here because you thought this was neutral territory and it was safe. I know because I’ve been watching you fuck around all night.”

I quit breathing. “Why?”

Linus leans into me. “Because Ricky knows you don’t listen and we’ve got shit going down. Empires are going to war, and in the morning, we’ll see who’s still standing, and Ricky wants you on the rise up.”

I scan Linus’s face, desperate to read him, but he’s closed off. Always closed off—just like my father was. “Eric didn’t start this war, did he?”

“Eric’s weak and he’s ripe for the taking, but he will try to make us bleed on the way down, taking out as many of our key players as possible.”

My stomach cramps. “I’m not a key player.”

“You’re Mozart’s daughter. You could be a crap game piece and you’d still be worth the kill just to piss us off, but besides that—you’re good at this. Shit—you pegged a narc my top guys haven’t sniffed out yet. Except for tonight, you’re smart and what the fuck were you doing tonight?”

I refuse to shrink from Linus. As much as he tries to act like it, he’s not my father. “I was hanging with friends.”

Linus appears to grow in size. Let him. He could become the boogeyman and I’d still flip him off. Spit flies out of his mouth as he announces, “We. Don’t. Have. Friends.”

But I do. My phone buzzes continuously in Linus’s hand. It’s Logan and he’s scared for me. My heart beats hard as I realize how scared I am for him. I’m in the middle of a war and he could be caught in the cross fire. That fear—it’s why I shouldn’t have friends.

Rule number two: attachments create weakness and your enemies and allies will use your weakness against you.

A clank of a glass bottle and the sound of it rolling echoes off the walls of the alley. Linus extracts a gun from the back of his jeans and he nods his chin for me to do the same. I extract my switchblade, flick it until we see the fun shiny part and Linus grimaces. “Fucking grow up already and get a real weapon.”

I won’t carry a gun. I’ll sell pot, but I have no interest in killing.

“Stay here until I come for you and, in case you’re wondering, that is an order I mean word for word.” He slips my phone back to me. “Text your friend. Tell him to fuck off and hope he does. It ain’t my job to save him. It’s barely my job to save you.”

He’s right, it’s not, but he made a promise to my father and I’d wager he’s regretting that oath. Linus heads back the way we came and I lean against the warm concrete of the building, permitting my head to hit the wall harder than necessary.

I strain to hear Linus in the silent alley. Strain to hear anyone or anything. Strain, but all I hear is my pulse pounding in my temples. My blood tingles with fear. I hate fear. I hate what I can’t control.

Two shots. Loud. Angry. My body flinches. Two more shots and nausea eats me alive. Everyone thinks I’m big, bad and tough, but the sweat that breaks out on the hand holding the switchblade tells a different story.

I study my surroundings and a lump forms in my throat as I readjust my hold on the blade. I’m trapped—surrounded by three walls, and I exhale to steady my nerves. Calm the fuck down, Abby. Rule number seven: nerves create more problems than the ones you currently have. Learn how to become ice.

I often wish number seven came with an instructional video.

Calming thought: Linus is here. But so is Eric and his crew. If Linus is here, then so are possibly more people loyal to Ricky, but I’m a pawn on the chessboard and pawns are typically the first ones sacrificed.

My phone buzzes again and Logan’s face appears on the screen. I should ignore it. I should text him. I should do a million things, but my hands shake and this sickening fear snakes along my veins.

I don’t want to die. Another breath out. I don’t want to die tonight.

I slide down the wall, caving into a crouch, and accept his call. “Logan?”

“Where are you?” His voice is tight, yet there’s a hint of relief. “There’s all sorts of shit going on. Shots fired. People are running. Screaming to get off the streets. Tell me where you are.”

“Go home,” I whisper. “Stay in your truck and go home now.”

“Not without you.”

My head drops forward. “This isn’t a fucking game. My world is going to hell and you need to leave.”

More shots and a man yells out in agony. He begs. For his life. Asking for whoever not to do it. Says he has a brother. He has a mother. He says please. He says it a lot. He says it like he’s a scared child. He says it like he means it and tears prick my eyes. I can imagine him—on his knees, his body trembling, staring up at Linus.

Probably a lot like me when I collapsed on the ground when I was younger begging God for my world not to be destroyed. How old is he? How old am I? My throat tightens, and my lower lip quivers. This is real. Too real. “Go home, Logan. Go home now.”

“Jesus, Abby. Where are you?”

I’m trapped. Bile sloshes in my stomach, and I breathe out hard as I try for cool and calm. “Too far away.”

“It’s okay, Abby. I’m going to find you, and it’s going to be okay.”

It’s not. It was going to be, but now it’s not. “We were going to have a lunch table at school, did you know that? I picked it out. It’s a big circle one, by the windows, and it would have had plenty of sun during our lunch break. Rachel and I would have had the seats in the shade and you guys would have sucked it up and dealt with the sun in your eyes. It was going to be me and you and Rachel and that friend of West’s.”

“Jax?” Logan says like he’s running. “Do you mean Jax?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have it. Even if I have to arm wrestle someone for it.”

I choke on the laugh to keep from giving myself away and my eyes burn. “I would have loved to have seen that.”

“It’s going to happen and when it does, I’ll buy you all the tacos you can eat and then we’ll have quiet. You and me and all the quiet you want. There’s a place near my dad’s. A little brook with a small waterfall. Thought of you last time I was there. There were bunnies.”

Bunnies. My heart hurts. “You’re just trying to get into my pants.”

“You figured me out. Are you in the alley, Abby? That’s where people are running to and from. Tell me if you’re in the alley.”

In the distance, police sirens wail, but they won’t get here fast enough. This will be over soon. Too soon. A dry heave runs up my throat as the images of all I’m leaving behind flash in my mind and I shake my head to ward off the panic. There’s a job to do. A job...a life that’s left undone.

“Logan, listen to me. 5212 Brook Street. Go there. The back door key’s in the birdhouse in the backyard. Second-floor bathroom, move the towel shelf, pull up the wallpaper, take the door off. You’ll need a screwdriver. There’s an envelope. You’ll know who to give it to. It needs to be done tomorrow. Before 3:00 p.m. Do you understand?”

“Where are you, Abby?”

I don’t want to die. Not tonight. Not now. I needed time. Time to make things right. Time to be redeemable. Just time. “There’s enough money in there for a few weeks and after that...”

I don’t know what comes after that. “Ask Isaiah. He’ll think of something. But only then. He’ll understand. He’ll figure out what to do. He won’t fail me on this.”

“Stop screwing with me. Are you in the alley?”

Yes. “Stay out. They’ll shoot whoever enters.”

A crunching of debris under heavy footsteps and I rub my forehead. It’s not Linus. Linus would have given me a heads-up. I wonder if this is how my dad felt, if this is how my grandmother felt, I wonder if this what everyone feels before they meet death...I wonder if they feel like they’re falling into an endless pit of cold.

“I’m here,” Logan says. “Just stay with me.”

He is. God knows he is. Though my knees are weak, I struggle to my feet. I’m Abby. I’m the daughter of Mozart, a legend of the streets. Some people at school call me names. They label me a slut, call me evil. Some call me a killer. But they’re wrong on the last part. They’re wrong on most of it.

When I’m standing tall, I speak what normally doesn’t come naturally—the truth. “No matter what, I liked you.”

Logan begins to talk, but I turn off my phone, drop it to the ground and smash it with my foot. I’ll not take down anyone else with me, legally or illegally. Won’t allow my phone to be the trail of bread crumbs. A dark form slowly approaches, the moonlight glinting off the gun.

He doesn’t see me against the wall, but I’m not stupid enough to think he won’t find me. My slick palm causes a weak grip on my switchblade. That Hunger Games nonsense where the underdog can win with a stick is bullshit. I could try to fight, but I’d rather not be tortured.

Escape is my only option. Fighting signifies I have a choice and I don’t. Set fates typically end in the cruelest fashion.

I don’t close my eyes as the shadow inches closer, I only try to imagine what it would have been like to lie in Logan’s truck, listening to a babbling brook and staring at the starlight.

And bunnies. I would have loved to have seen bunnies.

Pretty images of a pretty world that doesn’t exist.

Garbage crackles under his feet in his search for me and intuition causes him to swing in my direction. Adrenaline shoots through my veins, fear floods my mouth, I duck, a shot to the wall behind me, loose rocks cutting my face, my knife slips and the cut into his body misses the mark—off to the side.

He grunts, I push him away, willing my feet to move faster, willing air to push further into my lungs.

Then there is another bang and then there is...