Alpha Knight Page 16

  At least Rikki isn’t here, too. That would’ve killed me.

  I cough, gagging a bit, and one of the guy’s faces comes into focus where he’s looking back at me. Tom. “She’s awake again.”

  “Take care of her,” Vinny says.

  “What if she needs to go to the bathroom or something? I don’t want her doing it in the car. I mean, how’s it work with this shit?”

  “Just give her another fucking shot!” Vinny snarls.

  I try to make my lips move. “I do have to pee,” I manage to croak. It’s probably true. I can’t really tell because I can’t feel my body. But I definitely want them to stop somewhere, so I can get away.

  “Fanculo,” Vinny snarls. Probably some Italian curse. The vehicle brakes suddenly and comes to a stop.

  Well, shit.

  I was kinda hoping for a rest stop. Or gas station. Or some other place besides the side of the road.

  Tom gets out and throws open my door, hauling me out. My legs buckle beneath me, and I fall to the ground. He stares down at me with contempt. “Well, pee, then.”

  I’m sure I do have to pee. I work hard to get my hands to move and manage to unbutton my jeans and pull them down. I hobble up to a squat and release my bladder.

  Cornfields.

  We’re surrounded by cornfields. Which means… we’re somewhere in the midwest.

  Unexpected.

  But I’m sure they need sex slaves everywhere.

  I slowly stand and get my pants back up, but there’s no time to button them before Tom shoves me back in the Navigator. “Water?” I croak. I’m so freaking thirsty.

  “Give her another fucking shot,” Vinny orders from the driver’s seat.

  “I am. Do you think she needs water, though? I mean, how long can a person go without drinking? It’s been, like sixteen hours.”

  Sixteen hours. I’ve been out for a long time.

  “I need water,” I repeat.

  “You give her water, she’ll have to pee again. We can’t risk it.”

  “Please,” I beg. “Just a swallow.”

  Tom comes at me with a needle and jabs it in my arm. He slams my door and climbs back in the front seat. The vehicle peels out. The last thing I remember is him handing me back a bottle of water, but I never get it to my mouth.

  * * *

  Bo

  “Fenton, drop and give me twenty!” Coach Jamison yells at me during practice when the ball hits me in the head. “Get your head out of your ass and show me and your teammates some respect!”

  “Yes, sir!” I yell, but it’s just mechanical. I’m answering by rote. I hardly register what he said or what he wants from me. I’m fifty fathoms under water right now, and I don’t know which way to swim for air.

  I don’t even know what I’m feeling, other than that everything is wrong.

  I’m pissed at Sloane. Pissed at myself. Pissed at the world. And deep down is the gnawing sensation that I need to find my way out of this coffin I’m stuck in, but I don’t have a clue how to do it.

  Somehow, I make it through practice.

  “What’s going on with you, Bo? Any word from Winslow?” Wilde asks in a low voice in the locker room. I expected him to give me shit for fucking up practice so much today, and the question helps pull some of the cotton out of my ears. Especially when the rest of the alpha-holes—Austin, Cole and Slade crowd around me to hear the answer.

  I throw my hands in the air. “He’s just been chillin’ in Tucson. Right along with Ben Thomasson and the rest of the banished pack.”

  Ben Thomasson was banished after it came out that he bit Bailey, Cole’s human girlfriend during the full moon run.

  Cole snorts. “Figures. That dick is too cocky to hide or lay low. No offense.”

  I shake my head. Definitely none taken. My buddies have been subject to Winslow and Ben’s tyranny for as long as I have, which means all of our lives.

  “What about Gone in Sixty Seconds?” Slade asks.

  I shove him up against the lockers, my hand at his throat. “Don’t call her that.”

  “Okay, take it easy, bro.”

  I don’t want to let him go. I’d prefer to kill him. Just for mentioning her. For thinking about her.

  Austin and Wilde each grab one of my arms and haul me back. “Dude. Chill. Will you chill?” Wilde gets his face right up to mine to growl the words.

  I’d rather fight Slade. I’d rather fight them all.

  But I probably won’t feel any better.

  I go slack then shake them off. “I need a ride home,” I mutter.

  “Why, did she steal your bike?” Cole scoffs.

  I’m on him in an instant, tackling him to the ground. Cole is a mean motherfucker, especially with what’s been going on in his home the last couple of years, but that doesn’t stop me for a second. I want blood, and I want it now.

  It takes Austin, Wild and Slade to pull me off him, and the whole time, they’re whisper shouting because Coach is in the locker room now and will bust all of our asses if he catches us fighting.

  They end up sitting on me—Wilde on my chest, Austin on my stomach, Slade on my legs. They sit on me until my vision changes back to normal, and I sag in defeat.

  “Did she really steal your bike?” Wilde asks mildly.

  This time I don’t feel like fighting. I need my friends to help me understand what the fuck I’m navigating here. I nod.

  Wilde whistles and climbs off me. The other two move and help me to my feet. “What are you going to do?”

  I shrug. “I really don’t know.”

  They all stare at me. I can’t imagine why I thought they’d be any help.

  “Well… I can’t hurt her.” Can’t and wouldn’t. Not ever. “I guess I’m gonna go fuck her.”

  It’s stupid and reductionist, but the moment I say it, I feel a hundred ton weight shift off my chest.

  Like my wolf is celebrating that I’m going to her. That fucking her is still on the table. That I’m not walking away.

  Cole thumps me on the back. “That will definitely fix it, dude.”

  I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or real, but it doesn’t matter. The lightness has taken over my body. I need to see Sloane. Fuck her senseless as punishment.

  Then figure our shit out.

  It’s the only solution that makes any sense.

  “Give me a ride to the shop,” I say to Wilde, pulling my backpack out of my locker and slinging it on my back. “I gotta get Winslow’s car to drive down to Cave Hills.”

  * * *

  My heart stutters as we pull up to the shop. My bike is parked in the back, and I scan the area like maybe she’s here, too.

  I jump out of the Jeep and wave Wilde off, then run for the bike. The keys aren’t in the ignition. I search the saddle bag and find them, along with the envelope of money I got from Trey. And a note.

  I’m breathing hard as I read it.

  And re-read it.

  Bring it to my nose to sniff it. I smell her tears. That shouldn’t be possible, but I swear it’s true. Sloane was crying when she wrote this.

  She fucking loves me. Don’t erase my memories of you. I need them.

  Everything snaps into place and becomes crystal clear.

  She overheard about the memory wipe, so she ran. Who knows, maybe Winslow threatened her when they were alone, too. Yeah, knowing him, he probably did. And she’d been worried about me getting involved with her mafia problem.

  So she cut me loose. She wasn’t being a cunt. She cared. Cares.

  And she didn’t sell my bike. It was sweet of her to leave me a little of the money, too. Pocketing it, I get on my bike and start it.

  If she thinks she gets to call the shots with me, she is sorely mistaken.

  I drive to her aunt’s townhouse and go with the old-fashioned method of knocking on the door.

  Her aunt answers the door, and I’m unprepared for the blast of tension that erupts from her. “Bo!” She looks past me. “Where’s Sloa
ne?”

  I look behind me, even though I know she won’t be there. “What do you mean? She’s not here?”

  Her aunt bursts into tears. “She’s been missing since Saturday. I thought she was with you… she never came home, and now she’s not answering her texts.”

  Shock flashes through me. Like in a horror film, where they play the sudden blast of screechy music.

  “Fuck.” I stride into her aunt’s house, not even apologizing for the bad language. I pull out my phone, as if it might magically have messages from Sloane on it now, and my hand shakes as I hold it.

  “She didn’t come home last night? Not at all since Saturday?”

  “No. I’ve already called the police. They won’t do an amber alert because she’s over eighteen. I don’t know—they don’t seem to be taking it that seriously.” Her aunt’s voice breaks again.

  I walk in and pace the small living room, eating it up with my long strides. “She was with me until yesterday afternoon, and then she left.” I stop and run my hand through my hair.

  Something bad has happened.

  Something really bad.

  And while it’s not my story to tell, I can’t keep her aunt in the dark any more about Sloane’s problems.

  “She’s in some trouble,” I manage to say. “Let’s sit down. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Sloane’s aunt drops onto the couch, and Rikki sits beside her. I sit on the edge of an armchair and start to tell the story. I get to the part about following her to Naco when I leap to my feet and whip my phone out. “I put a tracking app on her phone. Fates, maybe it’s still on. Please let it still be on.” My thumb skims across the screen on my phone, opening the app. I suck in a harsh breath when I see the bubble with her name.

  “Michigan. She’s in Michigan.”

  “Do you think she went to see this mafia guy?”

  The room swoops around me. “Or they took her back there. They seemed to believe she had their stuff. Like she was hiding it or had already cashed it out something. I guess she threw away her dad’s letters without opening them, so we’ll never know if he told her before he died.”

  Sloane’s aunt’s mouth opens, her eyes wide. “The letters!” She suddenly surges up to her feet. “She never opened them! I would find them in her garbage, unopened, and I pulled them out and saved them. I kept thinking one of these days she’d be ready or need closure and want to know what was in those letters. I tried to bring it up when he died, but she literally got up and walked away from me any time I mentioned him.”

  “So you still have them?”

  She leaves the room without answering and returns with five envelopes. Rikki, Aunt Jennifer and I each begin tearing them open and skimming.

  “I think I found it,” Jennifer says, her voice rising as she reads, If anything happens to me, check the storage locker 2238 at the EZ Storage by your old middle school. The key is on the ring with your bike lock.

  “I’ll get the key!” Rikki jumps up and runs out of the room to the garage.

  “I’m going to Michigan,” I declare. “Sloane is there, and she needs my help.” I pull the wad of cash out of my back pocket and thrust it at Jennifer. “But I don’t have a credit card. Would you book me a flight?”

  “I’m going, too,” she says.

  She’s an adult, but the alpha in me has to overrule. “Nope. No way. Sloane didn’t want you and Rikki involved.”

  “She’s my niece. And you’re just a kid,” she says indignantly, although she has to look up—way up—to meet my eyes.

  I shake my head. “I’m eighteen, and I can handle myself.” I thrust the money Sloane left for me at her.

  She sighs and walks past me, not taking the money. “You won’t be able to rent a car!” she calls over her shoulder as she heads down the hall.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  Rikki reappears with the keys. “Here they are.” She hands them to me.

  “Bo? Get in here,” Jennifer calls from the kitchen, and I follow her in. “I need your full name. And put your phone number in my phone right now—and your mother’s. And I’m going to require hourly updates.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She looks over her shoulder with a wobbly smile. “I’m glad Sloane has someone like you, Bo.”

  Her words fortify the rod that runs down the very center of me. Like she’s speaking to my very purpose in life.

  Hell, maybe it is. If only Sloane would let me.

  * * *

  Sloane

  I wake up in a dim room—a warehouse, maybe—because there’s concrete under my feet and lots of space overhead. I’m tied to a chair and my head hurts so badly I can’t think.

  “Hello, Sloane.” A familiar smooth voice says. A salt-and-pepper haired man in an expensive suit appears in front of me. Mafia don. I missed when he got there.

  I blink, trying to bring him into focus.

  “You haven’t delivered on your promise.” He strokes my cheek with the back of my fingers and chills run down my spine.

  My heart hammers in my chest. “I-I just need a little more time. I thought I had another week or two. I’m still working on it.”

  He backhands me across the face and my neck wrenches with the impact, stars dance in front of my eyes. “You’re not working on it. You’re screwing around stealing cars. I have my own car theft rings. I don’t need a teenager to reinvent one. Now I’m back, and I want my gold.”

  “Here’s what she had on her, Don Salvatore,” Vinny says. “She brought thirty grand in cash.”

  Don Salvatore. Now I have a name to put with the nasty face. Salvatore takes my purse and rifles through. He pulls out my phone. “You left her phone on?”

  “She never touched it, Don. She was out the whole time.”

  “People can be traced through phones, you idiot,” he growls. “And her fucking location setting was on.”

  I sit up straighter. Location setting. Bo was tracking me before. Could he still be?

  Probably not.

  Definitely not after I told him we were through.

  But however slim a chance there is, I find myself fixating on that sliver of hope. There’s a chance I could be found. My aunt would’ve called the cops by now.

  Maybe they’re tracking my phone.

  Salvatore takes the cash out and looks at it with disinterest. “I’ve been patient with you. Extremely patient. But I’m starting to think I didn’t apply enough pressure. I told you to find the fucking gold and the painting. So where is it?”

  I jerk in my chair at the sheer volume and closeness. His breath smells like sour coffee.

  “I’m trying to find it!” I protest and get slapped across the face. And least it wasn’t the backhand. That fucking hurt.

  “Work her over,” he orders, walking away.

  * * *

  Bo

  Lots of freaking firsts for me today. I’ve never been out of Arizona. Never flown on a plane before. Never taken an Uber.

  It’s all easy, though, because I’m in warrior mode. Ready to tear those assholes apart when I get to them.

  I stride through the EZ Storage complex with the key out, seeking the right unit. I had to sign in and show I.D. and the key to the locker, but no one stops me from entering. This place isn’t Fort Knox. If there are assets hidden here, the only thing keeping them safe is the fact that the storage unit was under the name S. MacCormac—spelled totally wrong—and that no one knew about it.

  I find the right number, and the key to the corrugated metal unit fits and turns. I shut the door behind me for privacy, even though there’s no light inside.

  There are a few filing boxes. Three paintings wrapped up in moving blankets, including the small one of a bird. And a little briefcase-sized fire safe that’s locked. I try the key to the storage unit on it, a puff of relieved laughter escaping my lips when it actually turns.

  For once in this whole convoluted story, something’s going right.

  I open the lid and
my body reacts to the sight of what’s inside before my mind does.

  Bars of gold. Slender, iPhone-sized bars of gold. Way more than the six Sloane said the mafia guy demanded from her. There’s—I do a quick count—actually close to thirty. Which means Sloane’s college tuition problem has also been solved.

  If she’s still alive, and I can get to her.

  * * *

  Sloane

  Oh God, it’s torture time. I may have once thought of myself as strong, but I’m pissing my pants right now.

  “Wait!” I call to Don Salvatore. I don’t know if that gold still exists somewhere I can get to it or not, but I do need to buy time.

  “I have more money for you,” I lie. “A good faith payment. Fifteen grand. M-my friend has it. He can bring it. Let me call him.”

  It’s wrong to involve Bo. Very wrong. But if I can just get this message to him, maybe he can call the cops. Track me and get some help. Does tracking even work after locations have been turned off? I can only pray it does.

  Salvatore cocks his head with a frown. I don’t think he believes me, but he’s greedy enough to entertain me. He pulls out my phone and turns it back on. It can’t have more than one percent battery left on it. “Contact?”

  I clear my throat.

  Dammit, do I really want to do this? What if they kill me and go after Bo? But I don’t see what other chance I have. “Bo.”

  Salvatore dials the number and puts it on speaker phone, holding it up to my face.

  “Sloane.” The urgency in Bo’s voice tells me he knows I’m missing.

  I almost weep with relief at hearing that strong, clear note.

  “Hey, Bo,” I speak fast. “Remember that money—th-that money that I had that belonged to someone else?”

  “I have it.”

  I’m momentarily stunned by his clipped and unexpected answer. It’s like he knew exactly what lie I just told and how to back it up.