Page 125 of Torn In Two

Hayley Jade was the last thing I signed, praying he would go to help Hawk, as the locks gave way and a mob full of men hunting me down stormed through the doors.

37

GRAYSON

My burner phone buzzed incessantly from my briefcase, sitting on the passenger seat. I fumbled one handed with the locks while I drove, cursing beneath my breath when I couldn’t get them open in time to answer the call.

Like it always was, the number was blocked and I had no way of knowing who’d been the one to call an emergency meeting. Only that calling twice meant something big was going down, and I was sure I wasn’t going to like what.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I half expected the four of them to be sitting in the hallway outside my door, but it was empty of any and all psychopaths, unless I included myself.

Which I did not, despite one doctor’s ill-thought-out diagnosis in my early twenties.

The guy was a quack and had no idea what he was talking about.

I got to work, giving my apartment a quick tidy up, though it was pretty clean to begin with. I pushed the couch to one side and pulled the dining room chairs from beneath the table, setting them up in a circle.

I didn’t expect to have time to worry about food. I’d taken too long to get out of the hospital, and the first call had come in at least an hour ago now. Though nobody had shown up yet, so clearly I wasn’t the only one who’d been in the middle of something.

They’d all come eventually, they always did. We were a family more than ever after Trigger’s disappearance. We showed up when one of us needed the others.

Despite the fact I didn’t kill the way they did, I still included myself in the family we’d built here.

It was the only one I’d had after my wife had died.

I listened for the door while I rummaged through the refrigerator, searching for anything to feed four fully grown men. There were some cold cuts and cheese. I always had a loaf of bread in the freezer for toast, since these meetings were generally held in the early hours of the morning.

It was odd for one to be called at this time of day, which only made me more nervous about whatever was going on.

As did the fact nobody had turned up yet.

I sat, eating a ham and cheese sandwich like the sad kid at school, who invited the whole class to their birthday party only to have no one show up. The clock ticked, but nobody came to the door. I didn’t understand. I hadn’t imagined those calls. I’d checked the log on the phone twice to be sure.

I’d been gone from the hospital maybe an hour when I decided I couldn’t wait any longer.

And that something was very wrong.

They never didn’t show. If they weren’t here now, there had to be a reason.

I called the numbers I had saved for each of them, not bothering to check my caller ID was turned off because this wasn’t me calling a meeting. There was no need to respect our anonymity code when I was calling to make sure they were all alive.

If they were all breathing, I wanted those return phone calls.

But something churned in my gut, a deep-set knowledge I wasn’t going to receive them.

“Fuck it,” I said to the empty apartment, picking up the keys and shoving them into my pocket. I dragged the door shut behind me and ran down the stairs, making my way into the garage where I’d left my car.

Preoccupied with worry, I slid behind the wheel and drove deep into Saint View.

Whip’s house was at the rounded top of a dead-end road. The street in the worst part of Saint View only had a dozen houses still standing, the rest in various states of demolition, either by an actual wrecking crew or by bored street thugs with nothing better to do than be destructive in an area where everyone turned a blind eye.

Whip’s place was probably the nicest on the street, but that didn’t make it nice. It was a shithole by anyone’s standards. The porch steps creaked beneath my weight as I pushed myself up them to the front door that didn’t quite close properly. Moisture had swollen the wood until it no longer fit.

It left gaps big enough for bugs to crawl through.

And for a muffled scream to filter out.

“Well, that’s not fucking great.” I slammed my fist against the door. “Whip! Stop whatever the fuck you’re doing in there and open up.”

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