Page 67 of Love Bleeds Red
Only one light illuminates the front door as I park along the street. The rest of the house is dark, but I know Mum’s probably lying awake, waiting to hear me come in. She always worried when I stayed out late as a teenager, and a few years away hasn’t changed that.
I open the door slowly, trying to avoid noise from the hinges that need oiling, and make my way up the stairs. As expected,the moment my boot touches the first stair, Mum’s groggy voice drifts down.
“Leon?”
I take the stairs two at a time and peek my head in her room, inhaling her comforting scent. Some space from her has helped me clear my head. “You didn’t have to wait up.”
“I know,” she says, shifting under the worn patchwork quilt that belonged to Nana. “Turn off the porch light before you go to bed.”
“Alright. Love you.”
She murmurs something back in reply, but I’m already heading downstairs, my hand trailing down the worn wooden banister. As I reach for the porch light switch movement from outside catches my eye. I move the lace curtain aside and press my face closer to the window to get a better look. There’s a black car idling near the curb. Headlights off, only the dim glow from the dashboard showing any hint of light.
I yank the door open, my pulse racing, and sprint outside. My boots crunch against the path with loud thuds. But I’m too late. The engine comes alive and in a matter of seconds I’m left staring after red tail lights as it speeds down the dark, narrow street.
I catch my breath, waiting to see if they turn around and come back. My hand reaches for the zipper of my backpack, still slung over my shoulders, and I pull out the gun I loaded before riding home.
The hair on the back of my neck’s standing on end, there’s no way that wasn’t someone waiting and watching. But who? And what reason? Did they follow me here from Knapp’s? Or was it someone to do with my father?
I wait a few more minutes, my fingers curled around the grip, safety off, before the adrenaline finally starts to ebb. The street stays empty. No engine sounds cutting through the quiet.No headlights flaring in the dark. Just the sound of my shallow breathing, and the light of the moon.
Slowly, I back toward the front door, keeping my eyes on the street until I’m inside with the deadbolt twisted tight and the porch light off. Somehow, I felt safer outside, on high alert. This house feels fragile now, its familiar comfort tainted from the knowledge that someone’s watching it… watchingme. The walls feel less solid, like they’re made of paper that could tear with the smallest effort, letting anyone or anything inside.
I lean against the door, weapon still in hand, letting my heart rate decrease slowly. Logically, I have a strong idea of who that was. The timing can’t be coincidence. It had to be Knapp’s guys. But why? I did as he asked… paid him more than enough. Does he need collateral on me? If I put Mum in danger, I swear to God.
Unless?
James had warned me to watch my back. Something about our father.
Once I’m fairly certain whoever it was isn’t returning, I head upstairs and secure my backpack under my bed. I shower and brush my teeth as quietly as possible and by the time I come back, there’s a new email notification on my phone.
My stomach drops.
From: Alfred Colter
Subject: Dinner
Leon,
I trust this message finds you well. Our dinner reservation at The Savoy remains for Saturday evening at 8 PM sharp. Punctuality has always been important in our family, as I’m sure you recall from your childhood.
We have much to discuss regarding your future and new opportunities. Some that I’m eager to share.
Do dress appropriately. Let Ms. Harrington know if you need money for a new suit.
—Father
I read it twice, my jaw clenching harder each time.Our family.You mean the one you weren’t a part of?My childhood. Again, where were you in that time? It takes everything in me not to hit reply and tell him exactly how I feel. But I can’t… not when he could have information I need.
The black car outside makes more sense now. I’d bet money it wasn’t Knapp watching me. It’s my father, or more likely someone working for him. But why?
I climb under my sheets and lie on my back, staring at the discoloration of old paint on my ceiling. Only a few more days until I find out for certain what he’s up to. But there’s no reason to wait around until then. Tomorrow, I’m following up on the charity, and any other property my father’s involved in. If Alfred thinks he can play games with me, he’s about to learn that I’ve picked up a few new skills.
I manage maybetwo hours of sleep. My mind keeps cycling between the black car, the email, and the warning from James. Add in the aches, pains, and the split lip I can’t stop biting, and I’m a miserable son of a bitch. Jumpy too. Every creak of the old house has me reaching for the gun under my bed.
By six, I give up on sleep entirely, make some tea and toast, and position myself by the front window, watching the street through a gap in Mum’s lace curtains. The morning is gray and drizzly, typical London weather that doesn’t help my shit mood.I hope the rain holds out before I have to check out the addresses I pulled on my father.
I’m about to get up to make another cup of tea when I hear car doors slamming outside… then a familiar raucous voice.
