Come To Me (Owned Book 3) (9 page)

Taking a deep breath, I let go. As cathartic as it was to break my shit, it wouldn’t help Lenny. Not yet, anyway. I hadn’t had a chance to move on to the Bs of the ABCs
.
I picked up one of my phones and stared at the glass for a split second before punching in the number. When the line picked up, I didn’t give him a chance to say hello—or fuck off.

“I need a favor.”

“You don’t have any favors left,” Charlie replied. He sounded serene, almost lazy. I stood up again, crunching over pencils so I didn’t smash my computer.

“Well then I will owe you something, fucker,” I growled.

“Chill your shit before you say something you’ll regret, Vic,” Charlie growled right back. I looked again to the face of my computer, wondering when I’d transformed from the calm, stoic man everyone knew into this hulking, bear he-man.

“Lennox is missing,” I explained, turning away. “I don’t have shit to chill.”

There was a pause before Charlie asked, “What do you think I can do?”

“Give me his number.”

“D
on’t fucking do it, man,” Charlie immediately replied. I expected him to tell me no. That was the way in our world. We didn’t say yes, not immediately. We demanded blood.

So, yeah, I expected Charlie to tell me to fuck off. I expected him to demand a favor, just as I had the day I’d saved his life. I expected that—fuck, I was ready for that. I didn’t expect a warning. Whatever game he was playing was new. I didn’t have time for new. Somewhere Lennox was playing the old game, the dirty game, the game I had spent my life mastering.

I ran a hand over my face, wondering if I could tear off the skin.

“What the fuck are you getting at Charlie?” I demanded.

“You don’t understand,” Charlie replied. “Seven is not a savior, he’s—”

“What would you do if you were in my place?” I cut off.

There was a long, heavy pause before Charlie responded. “I would do the exact same thing.”

“So just give me the goddamn number!”

“I wish I could help you. I wish there was some way I could help. You have no idea. I really wish I could offer some fucking service. You’re the reason I have Vera.”

“Well, do you have any contacts in GEM?”

“Fuck no! After what happened with my leg? You kidding me?”

“Does Seven?”

Another lingering, pressing pause followed and then Charlie responded, “If anyone does, it’s Seven. Crazy fuck.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“You know what this means,” Charlie warned. “The type of favors he demands go beyond money. They transcend borders. You won’t be able to hide from him until you’re dead. Maybe even death won’t stop him.” The way Charlie spoke made me question—not my resolve, but Charlie. I’d always thought Charlie and Seven got along—well, as along as someone can get with a man like Seven.

There was dirt between them now. Soil dug up from a graveyard. I didn’t have time to dig into it, though; I had my own shit to shovel.

“I know.”

“I’ll send you what I have.” We ended the call without another word. We both knew it was best to stop talking. Like Voldemort or some shit, speaking of Seven was best done quietly and quickly.

T
he ringing had ended, signaling he’d picked up my call almost five minutes ago. He hadn’t said hello, he hadn’t said anything, but I’d said my peace, so he knew. The hush of dead air, a bit of a crackle, and unease followed. I waited for him to hang up, or demand blood, not sure what to expect. I was prepared to throw all my cards on the table before we’d even started playing poker.

I’d only worked with Seven once before, and then I’d watched him behind a scope. I’d heard him miles away on a radio. It was all with some degree of separation, not like this, with only the crackle of the connection between us.

Crackle.

Hush.

ROAR.

“I’m sorry, did I miss some fucking memo? Is there somebody out there lighting my name up in the sky like fucking Batman? First Charlie, now you. Why the fuck is everyone calling me for help now?”

“I don’t need help, just your contacts.”

“That sounds like help to me. Actually, that sounds exactly like help.”

“What do you want? Name it. I’ll do it.”

Laugh.

Crackle.

Hush.

“I want people to stop bothering me on my nights off. I was about to sit down and watch that new TV show, you know, the one with the chicks. Everyone is talking about it; they say it’s really fucking good. They say it’s genre bending. I was gonna see what the fucking hype is about. Now I have Vic fucking Wall on my ass wanting a favor. My popcorn is getting cold.”

“I just need to know where GEM has their nodes at in Santa Barbara.”

“That’s some high class intel you want.”
Pause.
“I’ll make some big enemies giving you that shit.”

“I know.”

“You prepared to pay for that?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Laugh.

Crackle.

Hush.

“I’m like the Lannisters, you know, except I always collect my debts.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Are you going to give me the information or not?”

“Wait.”
Pause.
“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Are you fucking with
me
right now?”

“You’ve never watched
Game of Thrones
? One of the biggest crossover hits of our time?”

“This is time sensitive!”

Rustle.

Crunch.

Sigh.

“So was my popcorn…”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“So it
is
help.”

Laugh.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Hush.

“I’ll send you your information. In the meantime, maybe you should get a subscription to Netflix.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“And Vic?”

“What?”

Hush.

Crackle.

Laugh.

“Blood for blood. I hope she’s worth it.”

Click
.

T
he neon T was burned out and the L hung limply to the side. Other than that, the exterior looked okay. With wooden molding and white stucco, it reminded me of the bohemian hotels I’d frequented on my trips to Amsterdam. Like those trips, though, I knew better than to take what I saw at face value.

According to Seven, GEM only had two outfits in California; one in San Francisco and one in Los Angeles. That was official though, and according to Seven, “The last time GEM did anything official, Gorbachev was getting fucked in the ass by Reagan.” He went on to say there was an unofficial GEM outfit on the outskirts of Santa Barbara. It had popped up a week before and was masquerading as END, but after some minimal digging was clearly GEM.

He didn’t give me any more than that. He ended the email by saying, “I could tell you who is pulling the strings on this one…but that’s never as fun.” I didn’t need more. I was sure now that Alice was the puppet master of the whole goddamn thing.

Four floors besides the bottom one. A roof. A shitty fire escape. Two balconied floors. Possibly a basement. I quickly scanned the building, trying to learn as much as I could in what little time I had. It was anyone’s guess as to where they were keeping Lenny.

A doorman sat outside an arched, heavy wooden door, his face in a crooked scowl. I didn’t need to bet money to know he was more than a doorman. He was the first line of defense, but still probably just a brute with no other training than punch-hit-lights-out. If this was as low key and unofficial as Seven said, Alice couldn’t spare many men and would have likely had to outsource i.e. pay random street thugs.

I could take him down easily, but that runs the complication of letting my presence be known. It would be better to wait, scope out the building’s weak points, and discover the rituals of those inside. It would take time, but results in less bloodshed.

Fuck it.

“Hey you!” I yelled out. A short smile played on my lips when his head spun around, looking for me. Calling out like that wasn’t smart. It sure as shit wasn’t how I was trained. Maybe it was testosterone, or maybe it was just a side effect of living with Lenny, but I was sick of playing it smart.

I wanted blood.

Coming out of the shadows like water seeping from stone, I made myself known and advanced toward him.

“Wh—what are you doing?” The doorman faltered a bit when he saw me. Maybe it was the crazy grin on my face.

I shrugged. “Going for a walk.”

“Well fuck off.” He puffed up his chest and raised his chin. “You can’t be here.” I studied the man, taking slow, careful strides in a circle around his body. Though he had thick muscles and wore his weapon strapped obnoxiously beneath the front of his waistband and jocks, his cheeks were still full and there were no lines marring his face. The boy couldn’t have been more than nineteen.

“Why?” I responded. “It’s a free country.” Now I was just fucking with him.

“It’s not free here.” He was taller than me, but unsure on his feet. He had uneven whiskers on his face and a beanie about to fall off his head. I started to wonder if this was his first night out. Maybe Alice had promised him money and women if he worked for her. Maybe he believed her. Maybe he thought he’d never meet someone like me.

Too bad.

Before the guy could react I threw a right hook, hitting him square in the jaw. He fell like a tree. That’s the worst thing about throwing a knockout: when someone passes out, all their body weight lands on you. I could’ve let him fall, but his body hitting the cement might’ve attracted unwanted attention. So, I was stuck dragging a hundred and ninety around the corner—a hundred and ninety plus whatever gravity decided to throw in.

After I’d thrown the poor rookie among the refuse, I returned to the heavy wooden door. It would be a bitch to knock down, but I was never one to shy away from a challenge.

Y
ou know that moment in movies and books when someone says, “It’s too quiet?” Yeah, well, it was too fucking quiet. I blasted the goddamn door down expecting bullets and bodies, but instead received a graveyard at midnight. Not even the sound of a footstep was heard.