Chapter 41 41

Chapter 41 41
  ~TESSA~
    Just when I thought all my fears had been buried, things seemed to be falling apart.
    Again.
    Though Ryder had told me not to worry my head about what I'd seen earlier, it still... didn't feel okay.
    He said it was probably some kid... who'd done it. But... that thing?
    It looked odd to me. Only one name echoed through my mind.
    Marcus Reynolds.
    Who else could it have been?
   ~
    Dinner should’ve felt normal.
    Debbie made pasta... ... and Mrs. Bishop was glowing, talking about some garden party she wanted to throw before the weather changed.
    But Ryder barely touched his food.
    He wasn’t tense exactly... he was coiled. Calm. Polite. But somewhere else.
    I watched him from across the table. Said nothing.
    But I felt it.
    Like he was preparing for something.
    A storm, maybe.
    Afterward, I found him in the garage... alone, standing beside his bike.
    I didn’t speak right away.
    Just leaned in the doorway and waited.
    He was loading something into his saddlebag.
    A gun.
    Black. Compact. Familiar.
    He saw me watching.
    And didn’t lie.
    Just zipped the bag closed.
    “I didn’t want you to see that,” he said quietly.
    “But you were going to take it anyway.”
    He nodded.
    I motioned towards him.
    “I know something’s happening,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But… don’t shut me out.”
    He reached for my hand and kissed the back of it.
    Then held it to his chest.
    “Just one more night,” he whispered. “One more, Tess. And then I’ll tell you everything.”
    I looked into his eyes.
    And believed him.
    But deep down, I knew...
    He wasn’t going out just to scare someone.
    He had a good reason behind whatever he was doing.
    ~
    ~RYDER~
    I killed the lights at nine sharp.
    Locked the front, shut down the alarm, and stayed behind.
    Just like I said I would.
    No movement. No light.
    Nothing.
    Just me, my blade, and the Beretta tucked at my spine.
    Knox was already posted up across the street, blacked out in an old van that looked like it hadn’t run in a decade. 
    He had night vision on the alley cam, and a rifle across his lap.
    Silent. Patient. Brutal when he needed to be.
    This was the part I hated most.
    The wait.
    I checked my watch.
    9:42 PM.
    Then I heard it.
    Gravel shifting.
    Back gate creaking.
    Footsteps... two of them. Quiet, but not quiet enough.
    They came from the side lot. Not amateurs, but not pros either. One was tall, lean. Moved like a guy who thought the knife at his hip made him dangerous.
    The other was bigger, heavier...
    I didn’t move.
    I let them get in.
    They slipped around the side toward the rear... where the message had been sprayed, where the camera was still "broken."
    I stepped out from the shadows of the paint booth, slow and quiet, just as the tall one raised his phone.
    “Got the place scoped. No sign of anyone. What next? Burn up the place or something?"
    Marcus. Had to be.
    They didn’t see me until I was close.
    I let the silence crack first.
    Then I said, flat and sharp...
    “You picked the wrong goddamn fence to jump.”
    The tall one turned.
    Too slow.
    I drove my fist into his gut, grabbed his collar, and slammed him against the wall. The second guy came at me swinging. 
    I ducked, cracked his knee sideways with my boot, and slammed the back of his head into the dumpster.
    The first one fumbled for his knife.
    I drew mine faster.
    Pressed it to his throat.
    His breath stuttered. “W-We didn’t touch her... he just wanted us to send a message!”
    “You messed with the wrong guy.”
    I knocked him out cold.
    Then looked up toward the streetlight.
    Knox gave one short blink of his high beams.
    He’d seen it all.
    ~
    I dragged the one still breathing into the backroom.
    He wasn’t fighting. Not now.
    Not with his buddy bleeding on the pavement and Knox’s silhouette pacing across the street.
    The shop’s old storage room didn’t have windows. Didn’t have cameras either.
    Just shelves. Dust. A rusted stool.
    I tossed him onto it.
    “Name,” I said.
    He groaned.
    I took two steps forward, slow enough for him to hear the creak in my boots.
    “Name.”
    “Joel,” he spat, like it might save him. “My name’s Joel. We weren’t gonna hurt her. Marcus just wanted to scare you.”
    I crouched.
    Got eye-level.
    “You think I’m scared of Marcus Reynolds?”
    He swallowed. “I dunno, man... he’s different now. Got guys. Got gear. He said... he said she was still his and you were just borrowing her—”
    Wrong answer.
    I slammed the heel of my palm into his chest hard enough to rattle his lungs.
    He wheezed.
    “I’ll ask once,” I said. “Where is he staying?”
    Joel blinked fast. Sweat starting to show.
    “He doesn’t… doesn’t stay one place,” he stammered. “Keeps moving between hotels... he’s paranoid. Last one I dropped him at was Harborview Hotel, down by the docks. Room 106. He had some chick with him.”
    I didn’t blink.
    “Did he tell you to grab her?”
    “No! I swear. Just watch. That’s all.”
    “Who’s he using next?”
    Joel hesitated.
    So I leaned in... so close I was sure he could smell the oil on my collar.
    “I’m giving you one chance. One.”
    “…Guy named Danny. Works at a car shop out on Fifth. Slim. Tattoos... He’s been talking about grabbing her if Marcus says go.”
    I stood.
    Then grabbed a zip tie from the shelf and bound Joel’s hands tight behind the chair.
    “You’re gonna sit here for the next hour while I decide what I’m doing with you.”
    His voice cracked. “You... You’re not gonna kill me?”
    “Not unless you lie to me again.”
    Then I shut the door and locked it.
    And I called Knox.
    “We got a lead,” I said. “Harborview. You in?”
    Knox grunted. “Always.”
    ~
    The Harborview Hotel looked quite luxurious.
    Room 106 was on the third floor.
    We didn’t knock.
    Knox stood lookout while I jimmied the door with a flat shim and too much patience.
    It clicked open after ten seconds.
    Inside smelled like stale beer.
    I walked in slow. Room wasn’t trashed. But it wasn’t clean either.
    Unmade bed.
    Ashtray with two half-smoked cigarettes... 
    Knox followed me in, eyes scanning everything, silent like usual.
    “He was here,” I said. “Not long ago.”
    Knox nodded. “That’s a new bag.” He pointed toward the foot of the bed... plastic shopping bag with a hoodie inside. Tags still on.
    My jaw clenched.
    I looked at the table at the corner of the room.
    Then drew my knife.
    Dragged it slow and hard across, cutting letters into the cheap wood.
    COME FOR ME.
    Knox arched a brow.
    “Message clear enough?”
    “I want him to see it,” I said. “I want him to know I’m waiting.”
    Knox nodded, then checked the closet for good measure.
    Empty.
    We didn’t take anything.
    Didn’t leave fingerprints.
    Just that one thing.
    Let him come back.
    Let him see it.
    Let him try.
   I was fucking ready for him... because no shitty person was allowed to mess with my woman.