Page 93 of Riff

I didn’t stop.

Not even after the light fully left his eyes, after his face went slack, after his skull started to flatten from the impact.

By the time I did finally stop, I was winded, gasping for breath as I sat back, feeling aches in my arms, shoulder, and back from the exertion.

I sucked in a few deep breaths, using the dead fucker’s shirt to wipe some stray blood off of my hands, then moved toward the door, suddenly painfully aware that Vienna was out there alone, scared, traumatized all over again.

Well, not alone.

With Jack.

But since she didn’t even know him, that might make shit even worse for her emotionally.

I slid the door open just far enough to allow me to slide out, without showing anyone the body inside.

But the second I pulled it open, I found my brother, Slash, and Crow standing there waiting for me.

“Seemed like you enjoyed that,” Crow said, yanking the door wider to look inside at the damage.

“He gone?” Slash asked.

“Yeah,” I said as Raff leaned in the front passenger side to turn down the music.

“The other guy is too,” Slash told me. “We gotta haul him in there.”

I was nodding distractedly at him, but my gaze was scanning the back lot, trying to find a sign of Vienna anywhere.

“Coach took her into Jack’s office,” Raff explained. “She’s okay. Shaken up, but okay.”

“Gotta get her home,” Slash added.

“I need—“ I said, waving back toward the hideous maroon van. We always had to clean up our own messes.

“I got this,” Raff assured me.

“I got it too,” Crow agreed, nodding.

“I can’t ask—“

“You’re not asking,” Raff cut me off.

Slash turned to those two, “This isn’t all of them,” he said. “If you can find any information in the van or on the bodies about where the others are living or staying, that’s information we need. They need to go too.”

Likely for various reasons.

One, they stole from us. Two, they tried to kill us. Three, they hurt Vienna. And, four, they would know that their friends had come to Shady Valley and hadn’t come back.

All of them had to disappear.

“Why are you still standing here?” Slash asked, glancing over at me, then gesturing toward the motel.

I didn’t need to be asked again, I ran around the building, making a beeline for Jack’s office.

It was much like it had always been. Dark, cavernous, incredibly dated, lined in ancient filing cabinets that were piled with magazines, newspapers, and files.

Jack was sitting behind his dated faux wood desk that was fresh out of an old TV cop drama and covered in more paperwork, a radio, books, empty mugs of coffee, and an all-in-one computer that likely cost more than Jack’s car.

Jack himself looked like I remembered him. Ruggedly handsome with wavy brown hair that danced along the collar of his flannel. His beard was a little fuller than usual, and his typically bored-looking blue eyes were filled with concern as he looked at the two chairs across from his desk.

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