Page 6 of Of Sinners & Salvation
“I’ll go,” Mad Dog says, not looking up from his burger. After a second, his father nods in agreement.
Mad Dog is the oldest of all the North kids, and one day, I bet he’ll lead the entire Skull and Crossbones organization. Our parents never got to, since Freddy’s been around so long, and he’s far too well guarded now for anyone to take him out. He’ll hold on until his skeletal old fingers give out when he’s eightyor some shit. By then, Mad Dog will be old enough to take over but young enough to lead for a while longer. He’s always been a bit harder, a bit more serious than the rest of us. Even though we all grew up with gang shit around, our parents protected us from the worst of it, put a shield up between us and the gnarliest aspects.
They figured out that they needed to shelter us because they didn’t shelter him. He was the prototype, the test baby, the one that taught them all the things they didn’t want to do with the rest of us.
“How are my boys doing?” Mom asks, arriving at the end of our booth.
“Just fine,” Dad says, wrapping a possessive arm around her middle and pulling her down onto his knee.
My chest caves in at the sight of them being all cute. That’s what I want. That’s what I dreamed about, what I thought I’d never find, and then, what I thought I’d found. I have to get her back.
A while later, we’re leaving the diner when a call comes through from Saint. I pick it up as I push the door open and step outside into the cool, murky spring night.
“What’s up?” I ask, knowing he wouldn’t call unless it was important.
“I got the footage back from the cameras,” he says. “We don’t have one placed where they found Heath, but I have one that caught three guys approaching Mercy outside our dorm. They walk out of the feed together, and she never shows up in the one in front of her dorm. She must have left campus with them.”
“Did she fight them?” I ask, my heart beating so hard I think it’ll explode.
“No,” he says. “I have Nate running it now, seeing if he can find anything on them.”
“You don’t know them?” I ask.
Adrenaline speeds through me. This is our first good lead.
“No,” he says. “They don’t go here. They look older.”
“Send me a screenshot.”
I hang up and turn to my cousins, who are close by my side, while our parents went their own way.
“¿Qué pasa?”Maverick asks, nodding toward my phone.
“They got video of the guys who took M,” I say, gripping my phone as I wait, wanting to roar with impatience. It’s already been three days since they took her. Every second she’s gone is too long.
I fumble my phone and almost drop it when it finally buzzes with a text. I swipe it open and squint down at the grainy photo, a still from the video. One guy is turning his head, his face a blur. One has his head down, so I can’t see much more than dark hair and a hooked nose. I growl in frustration, but three more pics come through in rapid succession.
“Is that…?” Maverick asks, leaning over my phone.
The three of us stare at the screen as I enlarge each photo, zooming in one a short, stocky guy.
“It is,” I say, pocketing my phone. “Looks like we’ll be paying someone a little visit.”
A few minutes later, we’re turning onto Mill Street in Maverick’s El Camino. My pulse pounds in my temples, and I’m out of the car before he even throws it in park.
A rusted out old Chevelle SS sits on the street, and a blond guy is bent over the engine, a flashlight held between his teeth. When Mav pulls up to the curb, he straightens, shaking his hair out of his eyes, and I see it’s not the Hertz we’re looking for.
“Chris home?” I ask, but I’m already halfway up the cracked walkway, and I don’t know if he answers. Standing on the small, rotting porch, I bang my fists against the front door.
Mad Dog heads around the back without a word, and Maverick joins me at the front.
A minute later, one of the slats in the blinds lifts.
“Chris,” I bellow. “Get your ass out here.”
The slat drops, and Mav nods at the window, his gun already drawn. “Think he’s getting his piece?”
After popping out the scream, I slam my elbow into the window, and glass rains down inside. Tangling my fingers in the cheap blinds, I rip them down, tossing them to the floor. Maverick covers me while I climb in, then follows. An older guy is passed out on the couch, his shirt pushed up to reveal a round, tight beer gut, but he doesn’t even stir when we pass him. The room smells like cheap alcohol, old cigarettes, and fresh piss. I hurry past, down the dark hallway, where I hear quiet cursing. We find Chris in a bedroom, trying to squeeze through the small window. He must have checked the back door already.
