Page 66 of Six
“Nothing!” Why didn’t Ollie accept my help? How many times do I have to tell him that he’s mine?“I have to go get him.” And spank him till he can’t sit anymore.
“Need backup?” His tapping away on his phone.
I appreciate Rami’s offer, even though he’s an exasperating fucker. We brothers are always available for one another, and in case one is unreachable, there’re five more to take his place. Still, I want to do this myself.
“No. You got the stake out, that has to be your priority.”
“My family is my priority.” When he uses this no nonsense tone, I know he’s serious, which is quite rare for him. “Call me if you need anything. And take the Jeep. Serena inserted the address into your navigation already,” he adds before leaving.
I make my way to the garage. The keys for my Jeep Wrangler are on the hook on the wall. I grab them and swear to fucking God that I’ll never let Ollie leave me again.
When I arrive at my destination in record time, my pickup is parked a couple of blocks away. Did Ollie go into another house? No, Rami would have let me know.
I get out of the Jeep, placing my feet down on the cracked asphalt. I leave my jacket inside the car and glance at the ramshackle house in front of me. It looks as if the owner had simply given up on trying to make repairs two decades ago. The morning light shines over the dirty windows and small, littered front yard, intensifying the squalor enveloping the place. The whole area, actually.
The front door is ajar, but I don’t hear voices coming from inside.
“Hey!” Someone whisper-yells. “Ralph!” A short guy with big curls, emerald-green shorts, black tights, high boots, and a tight fleece jacket is coming my way. He’s holding a baseball bat against his chest.
I frown at him.
“It starts with an R, that I’m sure of. Roger? Ringo?” He stops in front of me, and I have to lower my head further down to look at him. “Sorry, I forgot your name.”
I recognize him. “You followed me home that day with Ollie.”
“Yes, we stalked you,” he corrects me, not looking ashamed in the least. His light brown eyes seem intrigued by me. “I’m Lori, Ollie’s bestie…and you’re…Rudolf?”
“Rague.”
“Right. Rague. Sorry, but that’s a weird fucking name.” And I thought Ollie had no filter. “Did Sully text you?”
“No. I’m looking for Ollie.”
“Is he here too? I tried calling him, but the wanker isn’t picking up. And I need some backup in case Micro Dick has company,” he says, looking me over. When I raise an amused brow at him he explains, “Sully, Ollie’s brother, texted me to come here ASAP. Don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not good.”
“Stay here. I’ll get them out.” I turn toward the house and start walking.
“No fucking way.” I’ve lost enough time chatting, so if Lori wants to come, I’m not going to stop him. Need to get to Ollie.
“Stay behind me,” I instruct him.
“Won’t be difficult, you’re ginormous, mate.” The way he talks is…odd.
We draw closer to the front door, and the sound of laughter and muted music drift from inside.
“Do you have a gun? A knife? Micro Dick’s friends are packing sometimes, watch out.” Lori whispers, as I slowly push the door open. My carving knife is strapped to my calf.
An old sofa and an ancient armchair are the first things I see entering the house. The plastic table is filled with cans and empty bottles. The carpeted floor under my feet is filthy, stained in many places, the small kitchen on the left littered with takeout containers and dirty dishes.
Is this the hellhole where Ollie has been living? His overt cleanness and tidiness, is it because of the grime and neglect he was raised in? The anger tastes bitter as it rises quickly inside my throat. It demands an outlet, and I hope I’ll find one in the house soon. The low, shitty music coming from the small corridor on my right seems like a good lead to follow.
I leave Lori on the threshold and walk into the empty room. When I round the sofa, I realize there’s someone sitting on the floor. A boy. His back is to the sofa, he’s sniffling softly, rubbing the blood under his nose. His clothes are ill-fitting. Big glasses perch on his upturned nose, brown duct tape wrapped around the bridge. He’s barely in his teens, and when his fearful eyes—one light brown, one very familiar light green—lift to me, I know without a doubt this is Sully.
Eyeing his bruised neck and bleeding nose, I understand why Ollie came here in such a rush. Protectiveness is beating against my sternum, and I know that Sully will be under my care from now on.
“Rague?” Lori whispers my name.
Sully’s eyes widen with surprise. “You’re Rague?” His voice is hesitant and high, he reminds me of a little mouse.
