Page 71 of Dirty Daria
I sit up. “Reed?”
Silence.
I grab my robe and tiptoe out to the living room, tying it around me as I go. “Reed?”
Nothing.
He’s not in the kitchen or the bathroom. And when I peek through the front window, I see that his car isn’t here either. I race back into my room to see if there’s a note. Not on either nightstand and nothing that fell under the bed.
Back to the kitchen. Not on the counters or floor and nothing on the table, or in the living room.
Maybe he went out to get coffee?
Should I call him and see?
No. I’ll give it a few more minutes. He’ll be back. Last night was too incredible for him not to be.
I’ll brush my hair and my teeth, maybe throw on some mascara and lip gloss, then jump back in bed and pretend I’m asleep. That way when he comes back, I can act surprised.
32
Daria
I was surprised Mack just blew out of the bar last night without telling me goodbye in person. I figured it was work related, which his text confirmed, but I didn’t know what happened until I found out later from Alyssa that Tremblay had been killed. How she finds this stuff out so quickly amazes me. I’ll admit, I’m a little bummed that Mack didn’t tell me about it himself, but I’m sure he was working and couldn’t exactly take a break to fill me in.
With David out of the picture, I don’t know where to go for more information. This puts me at a total loss in Katya’s case. I know Tremblay was involved; I just don’t know to what extent. I have a feeling Andrei Turgenev is too, and by way of Andrei, Ronan Sinclair as well. Again, I can’t prove it. There’s nothing that frustrates me more than feeling helpless and uninformed.
What’s a girl to do when she feels out of control? Take it back.
I dress in a pair of sleek black jeans that stretch and move with my body, long-sleeved black T-shirt, leather jacket, and black ass-kicking boots. I feel best when dressed all in black. Like I can handle anything, nothing will take me down. Two shoulder holsters locked and loaded, a knife at my ankle, plus a trick kit in my car.
My trick kits contain extra rounds, smoke bombs, small grenades, fire accelerants, a few more knives, plastic sheeting, duct tape, zip ties, rope, and matches. Everything I need for a good time.
Stocking the kits is my favorite thing to shop for since I frequently try out new and unique items, but more often than not return to my standards. Because some things technology can’t improve upon, like duct tape.
* * *
My first stop: Andrei Turgenev’s. I can’t explain why I think he’s behind some of this, but I do. Call it a hunch. My grandmother was very adamant about trusting gut feelings, they are never wrong. It’s not always easy to find a place from which to perch and spy on a guy like Andrei. But with the right kind of binoculars, anything is possible.
He’s getting ready for something, his crew is bustling about on the grounds, everything has been landscaped and cleaned, fresh flowers planted, and concrete walkways hosed down.
Which is why, when a convoy of SUVs leave the property, I rush back to my car and follow them. Back through town and past the outskirts to an abandoned warehouse. Or at least one I thought was abandoned, it doesn’t look that way anymore.
I leave my jacket in the car and find a tree to hang out in. They are my favorite for surveilling just about anything. People never look up. I can stay balanced on my stomach on a decent sized branch for hours before tiring. I sling a rifle over one shoulder and my binoculars over the other and climb up.
When the men start to file out of the cars, I realize Andrei is not with them and I wonder if it was a mistake on my part to leave his house or not. The men stand around, smoking cigarettes, checking their watches and cell phones periodically. We stay like this for close to an hour: them, standing around doing nothing; me, watching them do it.
I’m about ready to give in and go back to watching Andrei’s house when the vans come into view. Two long, white, windowless vans—the creepy kind that everyone says to be afraid of. And from my vantage point, I can see why. They look ominous as they creep along the perimeter of the warehouse before entering the lot and stopping.
Phones are put away, cigarettes stomped out on the ground, and the men stand at attention. Someone pulls the back doors of the first van open and begins to pull women out. Crying and bedraggled women who are obviously scared and don’t want to be there. Some dressed in casual everyday wear, others in club clothes or more dressed up like for a night out, but all clinging to one another in fear.
Fuck.
I should have brought one of my girls with me. As far as I can tell there are nine guys. I know I can take out two before they start to notice and shoot back. If I wait for Roxie, or another girl, we could maybe hit four, but it will take a while for her to get here and would still leave five against two. Not good odds.
My phone buzzes with a call.
Alyssa.
