Page 33 of Lust

He slaps it into my palm. “Ro, no one else,” he orders, stepping away from me and pulling cupboards and drawers open while rattling off Roman’s number to me.

It starts ringing as Blake pulls out a couple of tea towels, runs them under the cold water tap in the small sink. “Put it on speaker,” Blake says as he comes back over.

I do as he says, but the call rings off, going to voicemail.

“Ro, where the fuck are you? We’ve got a big problem,” Blake says as I begin to cough. He ends the call, tucks my phone back into my bag, then proceeds to wrap the wet tea towel around my head, covering my mouth and nose.

I stand and watch as Blake does the same to himself with the other tea towel. It feels like I stepped into an episode ofStation 19, and I wonder what’s coming next. The roof caving in? An explosion maybe.

What has become of my quiet life?

My pa is in the hospital fighting for his life while I’m the victim of an arson attack and Blake gets shot, at least I’m guessing that’s what it was. Not that the thought makes any of this better. Because who shoots someone?

This can’t be real. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. This is all a dream.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ROMAN

Ineed to hit something. I’m so fucking mad. That son of a bitch knows who I am. He knows I’m no fucking reverend, and he knows why I’m here.

When I read the message outside the hospital, I had every intention of going in there to throttle the bastard and finish the job. But once I go in there, he made damn sure I wouldn’t hurt him.

No, instead he put Sydney’s safety all on me. Let’s not forget the little sweetener of him knowing the person responsible for his attack and, apparently, the murder of my sister. So, if I want to find them, I’d need to make sure he and Sydney both stayed alive.

I shouldn’t give a fuck about Sydney or him taking their next breath, but a part of me—one I’m not happy with right now—is keeping me from saying fuck it and doing what we came here for.

And here I am, sitting outside the hospital and fighting myself with doing just that. Amos gave me a name, but as I stare at the Google search results for John Smith, I can’t help but laugh. It’s not his real name, which Kincaid refused to give to me, and before I could force the matter, the nurse came in when his machine started beeping and threw me out.

The fact Kincaid knows this person has me wondering if they are working together. Or were at some point. There has to be another way to find this fucker, a connection between Kincaid and the victims we can follow.

My phone rings, flashing Sydney’s name across the screen. I let it go to voicemail. I can’t talk to her right now. Not after the way I fucking badgered her earlier. I let my emotions get the better of me, but between Kincaid’s attack, not finding anything in his house, then his revelations, I was ready to blow at anyone.

When a voicemail message pops up on my phone, I hit play.

“Ro, where the fuck are you? We’ve got a big problem.”Blake’s panicked voice fills the car, then before the call ends, I hear Sydney coughing in the background.

“Fucking hell! What the fuck is going on now?” I mutter, starting the engine and driving away from the hospital. I hit redial and try to call Sydney back, but no one answers, and I put my foot down. Thankfully her house isn’t too far from the hospital.

Pulling up to the house, I see the burnt orange colour of flames licking up the front door and the glass is broken. Smoke billows out from inside the house, and there’s no way for me to get inside from the front.

Jesus fucking Christ!

Jumping from the car, I duck down the narrow alley at the side of Syd’s house, which leads to the back gardens of the houses either side, and as I draw closer, I can hear the blaring of her fire alarm. At the end of the alley, it splits to the left and right. Bending, I pull a small blade from a sheath beneath my trouser leg, then use the fence for cover as I peer round the corner in the direction of Sydney’s back gate. It’s pitch black, and the single streetlamp down this part of the alley is out, making it impossible to see even my hand in front of my face.

With no other option, I edge along the fence until I find the back gate, only it’s already open. Pushing on it gently, the old, rickety wooden frame creaks as it swings inward, revealing the empty back garden.

I’ve no idea if they are still inside. Sirens echo in the distance, growing louder as they draw closer. Slipping through the gap, I walk the edges of the garden, using the shadows to hide me. If nothings else, it makes it clear how unprotected Sydney is in this place.

Her back door is accessed via the utility room to the side of the house. As I sidestep along the wall, keeping tight to the house, light fills the space, spilling from the back door, which is obviously open. Maybe they got out. But where the fuck did they go?

My patience at an all-time low, I move again. But I’m halted a second later when the brick beside my head splinters, dust and grit fly around me, getting in my eyes and blurring my vision. Stepping back, from what I assume is the line of sight of whoever the cunt is taking pot shots at me, I rub my eyes, swiping my face down the sleeve of my coat.

“Blake! Sydney! You there?” I call out, needing to know they are safe.

“Find the fucker, Ro. The fucking house is going up in flames,” Blake yells back, although the sound is dulled slightly.

With no weapon, other than a piddly fucking blade, which ain’t going to do shit long range, and not enough time to go back round the front and find this guy, I take a few steps back towards the garden and hope like hell this is going to work.

---