Page 36 of Vargan

Helen stops me with a hand on my wrist before she nods to Willie. "Go," she whispers. She's right. I'm reeling from what just happened, but Willie's hurt worse. The look in his eyes when Vargan admitted to killing someone... I can't let him process that alone.

I nod gratefully, grabbing my bag and keys. "Willie, come on."

Outside, the sun is sinking toward the horizon. My eyes automatically go to the farmhouse, to the motorcycle parked in the yard—Vargan's bike, packed and ready to go. Ready for an escape he’ll never claim.

Guilt slams into me. If I hadn't asked him to stay last night... if I hadn't been so selfish, wanting one more night with him... he would be miles away by now, safe. Instead, he's in a jail cell because of me.

Because I couldn't let him go when I should have.

Anger and fear and regret all ball up inside me until I don’t have a choice but to let them all out the only way I know how. I walk over to Vargan’s bike, and I kick the son of a bitch as hard as I can.

“Savvy?” Willie screams while running toward me. “Don’t…”

He’s too late. The scream ripping from my chest overpowers his words as I sink to my knees. None of what I’ve been fighting for feels worth losing him. I pound my fist into the ground over and over until Willie’s at my side and holding my wrists.

He’s being strong for me. “Savvy, stop. Please, Savvy, stop.”

His pleading voice breaks through, and I still. I can’t fall apart. Willie needs me. I straighten and pull Willie down to kneel beside me, hugging him as hard as possible. When I do, something buzzes nearby. It’s faint but real, and it sounds like a phone. I glance around until the glint of metal in the grass next to Vargan’s bike catches my eye. I reach for it and realize what it is: Vargan's phone.

"He left his phone," I say, picking it up. The screen is locked, but as I hold it, it buzzes again with an incoming call. The display reads simply: "HAMMER."

My heart lurches in my chest. This could be our only lifeline.

"That's his club president," Willie says, eyes widening. "He talked about him."

The phone continues to vibrate in my palm, insistent. I stare at it, frozen.

"Answer it!" Willie urges.

My thumb swipes across the screen, but a passcode prompt appears. "It's locked," I say, frustration mounting. "We need his code."

Willie takes the phone from me, studying it. "Maybe it's..." He types something, then shakes his head when access is denied. "Not his birthday. He never told us anyway."

The call ends, the screen going dark.

"We need to think," I say, pacing in front of the motorcycle. "What would Vargan use as a passcode?"

Willie's eyes narrow in concentration, then suddenly widen. "Wait," he says, rolling up his sleeve. He punches in a number, then another, then another. None of them work. Willie closes his eyes tight and bounces back and forth like he's trying to jog a memory.

"What is it, Willie?"

"I can't remember the right numbers," he says, his eyes still shut. "Eight, four, seven..."

The phone buzzes again—Hammer calling back. I look at Willie. "Give me the phone, Willie."

He shakes his head, expression falling. "No, wait..." His eyes light up. "Eight, four, seven, two, nine, one. It's the marking on his wrist from the camp."

I grab the phone, typing in the numbers with shaking fingers.

The screen unlocks.

I answer just as the call is about to go to voicemail. "Hello?"

A moment of silence, then a deep, graveled voice: "Who the hell is this, and where's Vargan?"

"My name is Savvy Greene," I say quickly. "Vargan's been arrested."

More silence, then a muffled curse. "Arrested for what?"

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