Page 58 of Tear Me Down
“They do when they’re in the warehouses, but they’ve been popping up less and less, using other means to manufacture, and this looks targeted. Dust tends to pray on women walking down the street or out bar hopping. This was at your house. Which, to me, is very odd. It’s a large escalation for them. You got anything else I can go off of?” Damien leans forward and takes a picture of the man’s tattoo with his phone, and I watch his screen as he immediately sends it to Carter.
“Yeah, Matches managed to follow him, see if he would take him to Maria. Technically, he did, but it’s way out of our reach and too many guards for us to handle without putting her in the crossfire.”
“How big is the building?” Damien asks, not bothering to look up as he types a message out.
“It’s a two-story home.”
Damien snaps his head up to that response, clearly taken off guard, and that might be the most concerning look I’ve seen on his face this entire encounter. He has every reason to be shocked—just from the little I know, they’ve never done that before.
“That’s new.”
“We thought so, too,” Grease agrees.
“Location?”
“Out past Gunther’s Farm, down an unmarked dirt road. Goes back into the forest about three miles.”
“That’s also an odd location. That’s nowhere near downtown, or civilization for that matter. There’s no way they would be able to transport the shit they need being that far out.” Damien continues to try and reason with him, though, I’m not sure that’s possible for the VP, who is practically buzzing with hostile energy.
“That’s what we thought, too.”
“This may not be Dust—not completely, anyway. If they’re delving into deeper shit, we’ll handle it,” Damien reassures him.
“The bottom line is you need to help us get my wife!” The man next to Grease yells out as he lunges, but he’s stopped in place by Grease as he holds a hand out and plants his palm to the VP’s heaving chest.
“We’re politely asking, of course, regardless of Viking’s anger. You know I respect the fuck out of you, D, but if this is Dust, I'm kicking your ass.”
“If it’s Dust, I'll let you.” Damien contemplates for a moment, clenching his jaw and thinking through the evidence. “Alright. We’ll go grab some equipment while I drop her off, and as soon as I'm back, we’ll head out.”
“Nah,youcan. She stays as collateral,” the man, Viking, says while nudging his head to me, and in an instant, the entire mood takes a deep dive—plummeting to a dark place as Viking’s words sink in. Damien immediately stands, holding me tight to his body, and draws his pistol, pointing it at Viking without hesitation. We hear several more clicks as everyone but Grease points their guns back at us.
“You've lost your fucking mind!” Damien roars so loudly that I can feel his chest reverberate.
“Everyone stand the fuck down,” Grease says, clearly aggravated. I can hear the men behind us lower their weapons, but Damien and Viking don’t. Instead, they stare at each other with pure hatred, like at any wrong movement, they would shoot each other without blinking. Grease turns to him and places a strong grip on his shoulder, showing authority and concern at the same time. “Stand the fuck down, Vike. Keep your head straight. We don’t want this problem with him. You want your old lady? Knock it off.” He turns back to us, clearly trying to keep his own anger at bay. “How about this? Call one of your guys to bring your supplies. He can hang here with her while we go and scope. She’ll be fine here, D—we don’t hurt women, and it’s insurance that you won’t bail.”
“It seems one of you might hurt her,” Damien seethes, and Grease holds a hand up gently, trying to calm him down.
“He’s obviously upset, but he wouldn’t hurt her. She has nothing to do with this,” Grease argues, and glances back at Viking, nodding once andushering him to cautiously lower his gun, but Damien keeps his pointed, contemplating on whether to kill him anyway just for the threat. I turn in his hold to face him and delicately place my hand on his chest, rubbing his heaving muscles tenderly to get his attention.
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper to him, but that doesn’t help. He still points the gun, breathing heavily, like if he doesn’t pull the trigger it’ll ruin him. “What if it was me?” I add, knowing that will make him think. He looks down at me with that anger for only a split moment, but his face softens, and I can feel the muscles in his torso relax. He looks back to Viking, clearly torn and at war between his thoughts and his emotions, but he ends up lowering his gun.
“He doesn’t go. If he’s this unhinged, we don’t need him getting himself killed,” Damien demands.
“Done.”
“No fucking way!” Viking screams back, and Grease shoves his hand into his chest.
“Shut the fuck up and sit down! He’s right. You arenotin the right spot.Ahora es el momento de que escuches.” Viking snarls and then sits in the corner of the room like a child in time out before Grease turns back to us. “Call your guy,” he demands through gritted teeth, clearly getting more aggravated by the second.
Damien turns us and walks out of the office, leading me back outside with a firm grip around my waist. As soon as we walk off to the side, he releases me and pulls out his phone, not wasting a second to put it to his ear angrily.
“Carter, meet me at the MC. Bring the new surveillance and infiltration gear in the Charger, and pack yourself a fucking gun… Now, I need you herenow… You'll be staying here with Ashia… Alright.” He hangs up and runs his hand through his hair, grabbing the base of it in anger. I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his torso, pressing myself against him so he can feel that I’m here.
“I’ll be fine, baby. You heard Grease talking; he doesn’t want to get on your bad side,” I try to reassure him.
“Oh, he’s already fucking there.”
“I know, but if you guys already have some kind of truce then maybe we should comply.” He grabs the back of my head with one of his hands and nudges our foreheads together, taking a shaky breath in as he tries to contain himself. “What kind of truce is it?” I ask, trying to focus his mind on something he can hang on to.
