All is Lost (All Series, Book 2) (18 page)

“
Criminals are known for doing
stupid shit, Breesan.” Rhys smirks and for the first time tonight,
he appears kind of charming. “It's a gamble, but one of them might
panic now that JV is dead and the police department is
investigating his death. If they think they can work out some sort
of deal with the feds then one may roll on the other. Best case
would be they both roll on the source, but that part of my epic
plan is highly unlikely. Hell, I bet these guys don’t even know who
paid for the hit.” Staring at his mouth, I watch his adorable smirk
shift to a serious expression. “Breesan, the truth is we don't work
in the missing person’s division.”

“
Okay,” I whisper understanding
that this team can’t help me rescue my friends.

“
Marcus wants to help you find the
girls, but we have a job to do that doesn't have anything to do
with this shit…we think.” He shrugs. “He's convinced that it all
involves your stepmother, but without proof or a guarantee we will
not get approval from our division to join in on the search.” I
knew before he said it, but still gasp at his barefaced attitude.
“Shit, sorry” Rhys mumbles. “Understand this, even if your
stepmother paid for the hit our department won't authorize four
drug task force members to drop a twenty year old case on Dr. A to
search for your friends.” He looks at me sympathetically. “It’s
bullshit, I get it, but that’s just the way our government works.
Now I’m not saying we won’t help, but it will be a little
unorthodox. So, if you're willing to give my eccentric idea a go
I'll keep you here on my secure residence, under our unofficial
protection and wait for one of them to slip up. When they do, all
we can do at that point is hope that they lead us to the girls.
Better yet we hope it leads to Dr. A so that we can take him down
for all of this bullshit. I
really
need to uncover that
bastard’s identity.”

“
So,” I start, taking a deep breath
and wrapping my mind around his idea. “I stay here indefinitely,
and you guys will tell the media that I was abducted. We will hope
that a failed plan or lie about me getting away from the kidnappers
will make someone nervous and that they will lead you to this Dr.
A.” Rhys nods. “Wait a minute. If the government has been working
on this case for so long, how do you not know who he
is?”

“
Oh yes,” Rhys chuckles. “That is
the billion dollar question. Well it’s simple. Dr. A is a very
wealthy man. He's made millions in his international drug
operations. Rumor has it that it all started with petty marijuana
sales and then he worked his way through experimental drugs like
Ryske. The truth is we caught a break when an agent stumbled across
him while undercover last year.” Shaking his head and smirking,
Rhys sits down on the barstool across from me, glancing toward the
backdoor and lowering his voice slightly.

“
Dr. A has been aloof for so many
years it had actually become a running joke that he was a fictional
character or ghost made up by some ruthless drug cartel members,
hoping to pressure their pushers. The funny thing is it was one of
their own who turned nark and squealed.” Rhys’ eyes, normally a
beautiful sapphire blue darken with an obvious bitterness from the
memory. I wonder if he has personal knowledge of the situation and
if rehashing it is painful for him. “Some really bad shit went down
that day. The fucking prick, proudly boasting about his future
endeavors mistakenly revealed to the agent that an old ghost was
going to change everything just by taking a risk. Then he said
something that didn’t make since until much later. Moments before
the piece of shit took a bullet in the head he rolled over and gave
up the name of Dr. A’s yacht. Of course the damn thing wasn’t
registered to him, but it was more information than we’d ever
netted before. One thing led to another and before we knew it we
had followed his trail which led straight to your
stepmother.”

Eyes downcast, Rhys smiles wistfully, before
his head snaps up and the melancholy look is quickly replaced with
a flash of fear in his striking features. “Ah hell,” He scrubs a
hand across the back of his neck. “Breesan, I really shouldn't be
telling you all this shit.” He stands quickly, piercing me with a
significantly different look than I have ever seen on his face.
“Forget it. And I do mean forget what I just said. Information like
this can get you killed.” He sighs and his stiff shoulders drop in
defeat. “Oh dammit, I just don't know when to shut up.” He glares
at his empty beer bottle regretfully, “Fucking booze.”

“
Thank you Rhys.” I say, knowing
that somewhere deep down behind his blasé attitude and steely
personality, Rhys really does care.

“
Anyway, we need to get a couple of
things straight before we include you in my epic plan to take down
hired killers and a drug lord.” He winks.

Chapter
Thirteen

Morgan

Existing on fast food and gas station crap,
they try to pass off as food, Candy and I drive straight for over a
day, swapping out shifts from Las Vegas to a small town in north
Georgia. Apparently, she has family living here that can hide her
out from whomever she is involved with that is trying to kill her,
and now me.

Since we left Vegas I've refused to speak. The
silent treatment works best for me when I'm pissed and right now I
am madder than a mother fucker about some bastards shooting at my
ass. Candy tried to speak once, but after cutting her the stink
eye, she clamped her mouth shut. Finally, about three hours ago she
stopped glimpsing over in my direction altogether.

What has happened to my world? Not one damn
thing is familiar since I left Willow. I don't know Candy or the
secrets that threatens both of our lives. All I know is just a few
days ago I was living in a world of comfort and facing a future of
endless gratification, in every aspect. Out of desperation I've all
but thrown that life in the damn trash. After the shit in Vegas
I've admitted to myself that I'm suffering from a broken heart.
Waverly is everything I've ever wanted in a woman. She's filled my
bed, my free time and the brokenness in my soul. Losing her to an
old lover, I feel like I'm split down the middle severing love and
all compassion from my heart.

But is it love, like real love? I don't know
shit about love. Maybe I'm just missing the attention Waverly
showered on me. Attention is what I've grown accustomed to and get
from everyone, especially women. I'll admit that my self-serving
attitude has spoiled me into becoming a real son of a
bitch.

Taking a long breath as we pull into the dirt
driveway, I size up the small shotgun house located on a large
property outlined by woods. Scanning the area I notice there are no
lights on inside and no vehicles in the driveway. Uneasiness begins
to crush me for thinking I should trust a total stranger. She has
dragged me to the middle of god knows where. What the hell is her
real reason for getting me isolated?

Cracking open the door to the small house,
Candy confidently slips inside. Deciding it may be safer inside
with a total stranger than left out here as a snack for whatever
wild beast resides in the thick woods dominating the property, I
reluctantly follow her. Standing in a small kitchen, she
scrutinizes the inside of the refrigerator before pulling out an
assortment of lunch meat packages and then searches out bread in
the pantry.

Wordlessly, Candy piles the quick made
sandwich on a paper plate and shoves it toward me. Snatching it up
without a thank you, I straddle the barstool and dig in. She
finishes making her sandwich and takes the seat next to me. The
nausea that has dominated my stomach for the past twelve hours
while I internally debated on taking my chances and leaving her
slowly ebbs after eating. Finished devouring the small snack, I
chuck the empty plate into the small trash and finish my soda. With
my back leaning against the counter, arms and legs crossed, I let
out a loud huff drawing her attention away from her crumb covered
plate. I don't want to be here and I don't want to play the part of
friend with her. However apprehensive I am about this whole fucked
up situation, if I'm going to be here with her I need to chill a
little.

“
I don't know what kind of fucked
up shit you've dragged me into, but I'm not staying here for two
damn weeks. And whatever we shared in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Happy
that I could squeeze in that cliché, while using my best douche-bag
tone, I stare at her awaiting her usual smart-ass
response.

Blinking several times while analyzing me she
averts her gaze back to her plate. “I'm sorry. I know you hate me
and I accept that, but I honestly didn't mean to drag you into my
problems. You're not a prisoner here, and you can leave whenever
you want. But you need to understand that these people don't screw
around. How we managed to get away alive is beyond me. I think that
it's best for us to stay here at least until they’re fed up with
looking.” Sighing heavily, she adds, “Morgan, I hope you'll forgive
me. When all of this is over I hope that we can be
friends.”

Her words hang in the air as I stare in
disbelief. She actually thinks I'd want to be friends with her
after putting my life in danger. She's out of her damn mind. Not
wanting her to have false hope, I shrug noncommittally and push off
the counter. Making my way through the remainder of the house, I
check out the sleeping quarters.

“
I'm taking this room.” I say,
slamming the door behind me.

Lying face down on top of the quilt covering
the bed, I kick off my shoes, twist the pillow under my head and
stare mindlessly at the moonless sky outside the window. Sleep
quickly drags me into oblivion until I hear an ominous woman's
scream outside, jolting me out of bed. Pressing my back against the
bedroom door, my heart hammers loudly against my chest then
ratchets up more from the banging on the other side of the door.
Snatching it open, I find Candy standing there wringing her hands
apprehensively.

“
Sorry,” She sighs. “There is a
black panther on the back porch.”

Standing the full span of the narrow hallway
away from me in a ragged Yankees tee-shirt, long tan legs exposed
all the way up to the top of her thighs, Candy looks longingly at
me and I wonder what the hell she wants me to do about
it.

“
I just wanted to make sure you
were awake before I shoot off a warning shot. I hope to scare it
away without you thinking those guys found us.” With an innocent
smile, she nods satisfied with her explanation, turns then
disappears down the unlit hallway.

Stripping out of my clothes this time I crawl
into the bed and await the sound of her handgun. Two rounds,
followed by the sound of nails scratching on wood floors lets me
know that she effectively scared the beast away. Finding sleep this
time is impossibly grueling, I stare into the dark room picturing
the faces of those I ran from. Not the thugs hoping to kill us, but
the familiar faces of friends and family. Why in the hell did I
think I could just drop everything, run away to a life of sin, and
come out completely unscathed? With my luck recently I should have
known some crazy shit would happen to me, but sometimes I just
don't fucking think things through enough.

Shit
. Groaning loudly at my dumb-ass
mistakes, I vow to somehow find a way out of this mess and away
from Candy as soon as possible. If there is one thing I've learned
since leaving Willow, I'm not cut-out to run from shit…it only gets
shittier for me when I do. First thing in the morning I'm getting
the hell out of Podunk Georgia.

Waking just as the sunlight hits the top edge
of the tree line, I slide off the bed and dress hastily. Creaking
open the bedroom door, I lurk down the hallway listening for any
sounds of Candy while passing the closed bedroom doors. Peeping
into the small kitchen as I proceed toward the front door, I slam
into a softness I wasn't expecting. With a loud grunt I stare
deeply into the face I was once again trying to flee.

“
Good morning.” Candy says
hoarsely, probably from lack of sleep. I heard her walking through
the house early this morning. Aware of the fact that I was quite
literally sneaking out, she sizes me up with a high arched eyebrow
before walking around me toward the kitchen.

Telling myself I'm not going to let her
distract me or talk me out of leaving, I walk out the front door.
Once outside I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders, not a
burden of responsibility, but an impending doom. Breathing in
deeply I close my eyes and begin a slow process of telling myself
that leaving now is not selfish, she doesn't need me. I need to
return home, to my family and responsibilities.

Even though I’m ready to concede defeat on my
idea of running off, I'm not ready for the level of responsibility
that my parents expect from me right now. I need time, time to
figure out what the hell I do want. That still sounds so damn
condescending of me, but before I can do a damn thing for anyone
else I've got to get my shit together.

Searching the area I notice there are no
houses near us. A suspicious sensation tweaks my brain again, but I
quickly dismiss it.
If Candy was going to do something to me it
would have happened last night when she had her gun out, scaring
away the panther.

“
Where in the hell am I?” I
mumble.

Spotting a large bed-size swing on the far
side of the front porch, I angrily stalk over and plop down,
dropping my face in my hands. Torn between needing to leave and not
wanting to abandon her yet, I scrub the heels of my hands roughly
into my eyes. Pulling them down slowly I cover my mouth and murmur
my disdain with this whole fucked up situation and her.
How the
hell can she expect me to be fine with someone shooting at me
without any explanations
?