Page 92 of Fracture

I don’t wait for a response. I turn and storm through the forest, back to the edge of the property where my bike waits. My whole body is lit up with rage, the injustice of everything that happened to Stella shifting further and further into focus. Everyone let her down, not one person was there for her.

And that includes me.

While I was sitting in prison, raging over Stella’s letters that meant nothing, not for one second thinking what she was going through, she was out hurting herself. I hate that the thought of another man getting her pregnant has me seeing red. As the engine of the bike roars underneath me, as the growing night whips past me and I weave my way through evening traffic to head back to her house, I loathe the insane part of me that cannot get that thought out of my head - another man came insidemy girl. Another man got her pregnant.

This shouldn’t matter, not after what I now know. Not after what Molly just admitted to me. But I’m an animal. I’m completely crazed by the time my phone pings, the tracker showing Iverson’s location.

I pull off to the side of the road, getting a handle on my possessive rage, and send Levi a text.

Iverson’s family is gone, he’s on his way home.

The little dots circle as Levi types out his reply.

Stella just left to meet Zee. I’ll see you soon.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, focusing on the task ahead. I know Stella had a life after me, I know she had one since me, the years in between that didn’t belong to me. But the thought of her lying in a hospital bed, crying and alone whilegoing through something like that… Even if she wanted the abortion, even if that was entirely her choice, I wasn’tfucking there for her.

Not now.

I tip my head back, gazing up at the darkening sky and the rising moon. I need to be ready for this.

I rev the engine of my bike, heading along the winding street, past the huge sprawling estates in the rich part of Bellford Heights. It’s a Friday night, the houses all dark as their occupants escape to one of their weekend getaways, up in the mountains or out at the beach.

An alarm beeps, letting me know Iverson is only a mile from his house. I rev my engine, tearing down the road at a speed that is definitely not legal, until I spot Levi’s blue Alfa parked by some trees.

I pull up beside him, and he gets out of his car, tucking the handgun Eric obtained for us into the waistband of his jeans.

“Fucker is almost home,” I tell him.

“Good.” He hands me a black mask, and rolls one down over his own face. “Let’s go take our friend Stanley for a little trip out into the woods.”

CHAPTER 21

LEVI

Stanley Iverson looksas pathetic tied up naked in a barn as I thought he would. His bald head shines in the harsh fluorescent light, white hair scattered around the periphery of his scalp. His body is slack and worn, a round gut protruding over his thighs, and several liver spots adorning his arms and hands. Hair coils from his ears, and his fingernails are almost purple.

“He looks like shit,” Dylan mutters, his voice muffled behind the mask covering his face.

“I’m surprised he survived the taser.”

Dylan laughs cruelly, scooping water out of the trough beside us and dousing the inert man tied to the chair with it. Iverson startles, sputtering and writhing against his bonds.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dylan drawls, brandishing the knife and flipping it in his hands. “We were just saying we’re surprised you made it. That taser must have hurt like shit.”

“Help!” Iverson throws the plea over his shoulder. “Help me!”

“Save it, old man.” I flex my fists, itching to beat the shit out of this guy right now. “No one can hear you out here.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Iverson’s eyes are wild, flashing from me back to Dylan, taking in our features, memorizing our tattoos, as though he has a hope of telling the cops anything about the two masked men who attacked him in his driveway. “Who are you?” He demands again.

Dylan leans on his knees. “You look nervous, Stan. Do you have a reason to be nervous?”

“Who the fuck are you?” He strains and writhes, the rope biting into his withered, pale flesh. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

I cross my arms over my chest and laugh out loud. “We know exactly who you are, Stan.”

“Then you know exactly how much shit you punks are getting yourselves into.” He spits at our feet, eyes blazing with fury. “I’m going to have you both locked up in a pit so deep, not even the devil is going to be able to find you.”

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