Sage

Her voice haunts me as I watch the video again. Her trembling lips are thin and her face is so pale, it makes me want to punch a hole in the earth. “He says he’ll kill a brother every day until you are the only one left,” she squeaks out.

“We are a mouse in his trap, and he’s just toying with us,” I growl.

“You see this?” College asks, pointing to the screen the video is blown up on.

“What?” I snap, looking at where his finger points. It’s the tiled floor she’s kneeling on. “It’s a floor. The fuck am I looking at the floor for?”

“Look how clean it is. That shit is new. Why the fuck would a kidnapper be concerned about having a clean floor? That shit looks freshly grouted.” He pauses the video and runs his finger along the crystal clean white line of the grout. “He’s got her in something newly built.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then shift back to the screen.

“Bring up the last video,” I snap at Wiz, who quickly does as told. The first video is the same as I remember it, but I try to look past it, past her, as College did in the second video. The bed she is on is bare, but new. No stains or runs in the fabric. Behind her, Wells doesn’t give much but a small sliver of the wall. A white wall. A clean white wall.

“It’s got to be in one of those new complexes. That’s the only place I can think of that would be freshly painted and spotless.”

“Those aren’t even on the market yet. How the fuck would he get his hands on one?” Ringer chimes in, scratching at his thick beard.

“They aren’t on the market ‘cause while they were setting the foundation for the third building, they broke ground of an old Indian burial site. Tribe shut the whole thing down. Now the place is caught up in the courts,” College states.

“Well, thank you, Mr. USA Today,” Ringer quips, rolling his eyes.

“Not my fault the only thing you look up online is porn. Would it kill you to read a news article instead of watching videos on chicks getting choked while having their asses rammed?”

“The fuck?” Ringer snaps at Wiz.

“Yeah. Clear your history before leaving the computer. Just a thought.”

“Will you two quit,” I bark, thumping my knuckles to the table. “We need to get into those buildings. Find out which one he has her in.”

“If she’s even there. It’s just a hunch. Not even sure how the hell he would have gotten in. That place is locked up tight.”

“Well, how the fuck do we get her? You got an idea in that college educated brain of yours or are you just here to tell us it’s impossible?” I snap at the kid, my patience wearing thin.

“Maybe we don’t have to get in. Maybe we can get him to come out,” Ringer suggests with a sly grin.

“The hell are you talking about?” I ask, but he ignores my question.

“Let’s take a ride.” He claps my shoulder once before walking away, knowing I’ll follow.

I step outside to find him swinging his leg over his bike. “Let’s roll, a-hole,” he calls out before he brings his bike roaring to life. I quicken my pace and pull on my helmet before I’m revving the throttle after him. I try to push back my thoughts of Brook being kidnapped, push back the fact that it’s been days and we still haven't come up with a thing except she could be being kept some place clean. I shake it away and follow Ringer into Cental.

Before long, we find our way to the edge of town, the part only the wannabe gangs patrol, along with the druggies and prostitutes. Ringer pulls up along the street across from and abandoned office building and I do the same, cutting my engine as he does. I’m about to ask why the hell he brought us to this part of town when a woman comes walking our way. First, I take her for one of the girls who work the streets, but the closer she gets, the more I see that can’t be her profession. Her long black hair is clean, past her shoulders and blowing in the slight breeze, and her face is clear of any sores to indicate she’s a junkie. Plus, she isn’t skin and bone. No, this woman doesn’t belong in this part of town. She looks more like a runway model. “You got anything for me?” Ringer asks as she stops at his side.

“He hasn’t come looking. I swear, he doesn’t—”

“Better not be lying to me, Paris,” he growls, and that’s when I catch it: the bruises on her throat. Perfect handprints on her creamy skin. Ringer has spoken to her before, and by the slight tremble she can’t hide at the sight of him, I suspect the talk was a little more interrogation than casual conversation.

“I’m not, Ringer. I swear. If I saw him, believe me, I would tell you. I want him gone as much as you do.” Tears well in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit fuckin’ crying,” Ringer grumbles, shooting a glance back to where I’m watching, somewhat baffled as to who the hell she is. “I got an idea. Get on.” She backs up just a fraction of a step, most likely ready to run, but the pinned stare Ringer shoots her must change her mind. She hops to and climbs on the back of his bike. He starts up his engine, as do I, and we drive through town, stopping at a dive bar—one I remember Gin getting his ass kicked out of some years back. The owner hates Riders. What the hell is Ringer doing?

“The hell are we doing here?” I ask under my breath after we park the bikes, being sure to park them for a quick getaway.

“Got an idea,” is all he tells me while hooking his arm around Paris and leading both of us into the bar.

Inside, there are only three people at the bar and one bartender serving drinks. Luckily, not the owner. “Three buds,” Ringer instructs, pulling out a stool for Paris, then getting on one himself. I follow suit, taking the beer placed in front of me. Paris sits to the left of Ringer, giving me the chance to talk to him. “Mind letting me in on that idea?”

“You know who this bitch is?” he refers to Paris.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” I answer honestly. Never seen the woman before in my life, and I would have remembered if I had.

“Wells’ woman. Or at least was, ‘til she got away from him. Used to make a habit of smashing her face in on occasion.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I lean forward, looking her over. Obviously not dead, but from the faint bruising around her neck, she might have been close not too long ago.

“Yeah,” she squeaks, then takes a sip of her beer, clearing her throat after. “I am dead.”

“Well…” I gesture for Ringer to continue, the confusion of all this shit starting to piss me off.

“More of a story for another time. Let’s just say we ran into each other some years ago and have kept in touch.” Ringer winks and lets his devilish smirk shine from behind his beard. “Right now, I’m thinking that fucker, Wells, has eyes on us. He sees us with his old lady and—”

“Shit. You think he’s gonna just come stomping up into the club ready to make a trade?” Paris sucks in a sharp breath, clearly not wanting to be traded back to the maniac.

“Nah. But it might piss him off enough to make him slip up.”

“Or piss him off enough to go off the deep end with Brook.” This is such a bad fucking idea.