Riding the motorcycle, I still feel close to him, keeping the memories of us working on it together alive. It’s the only piece of him I have left.
Releasing a harsh exhale, I dump the spark plugs I stole on the workbench in the corner and head upstairs to the studio apartment. I peel out of my leather jacket and toss the keys to the bike on the counter of the industrial kitchenette. I lose my t-shirt next using it to swipe at the sweat beading my tattooed chest. It’s always sweltering near the summer without air conditioning.
There isn’t much inside, just enough to keep me comfortable along with the odds and ends I’ve built myself—the reclaimed wood and steel I used to craft a coffee table and the palette platform the bed in the corner sits on. I’ve always been good with my hands and the tinkering empties my mind when I can’t sleep.
It’s an old habit I couldn’t kick after so many years of growing accustomed to not having a lot in the foster system. The DuPonts indulged me, allowing me to build things from the materials I found. They’d called it art, but half the time I picked up scraps of steel at the junkyard.
I pass the leather couch in the middle of the room and brace an arm against the large window panes. The shipping district is practically a wasteland compared to the bustling heart of Ridgeview. It’s far from the residential areas of town.
This place is perfect, appearing shady as hell from the outside. It allows me to come and go without worrying about neighbors to watch me. Plus, it’s a welcome reprieve from the whispers that follow me everywhere in town. A muscle in my jaw jumps as I lock it.
The Wilder name has become a curse. I’m the resident black shadow this town fears. Whispers about. Everyone remembers that a Wilder means bad news.
When someone sees me—the spitting image of my parents—the same lies as the ones told about my dad in the days following the accident spill free. People called Dad a troubled, reckless, suicidal drunk who was a danger to himself and others. But it’s not true. None of it. My parents were murdered and powerful people in this town covered it up.
Secrets, lies, betrayal, revenge…this town is stained in blood.
But who I am now is not the same broken, naïve kid that left this town. I have teeth now and I bite hard enough to make my enemies bleed.
The Landrys as good as pulled the trigger and I’m going to prove it. Then I’ll make them pay.
Too tense to focus on anything, I change out of my jeans and head for the workout area I’ve pieced together at the other end of the apartment. Pushing my body until it’s ready to break from punching the bag is the only other way I can shut my brain off before the constantly simmering rage boils over.
I lose track of time, only aware of the aching protest in my muscles, the sweat dripping from my body, and the rhythm of my breath as my fists strike the punching bag.
It’s only when an incoming call cuts off the playlist of angry music for the third time that I finally stop, inked chest heaving when I catch the bag on the backswing to steady it. Swiping damp hair out of my face, I pick my phone up and shake my head, accepting the call.
“Colt. I’m busy.”
“That’s not how I taught you to talk to your big brother.” Amusement laces his tone. Always the jokester. “You’ve turned into such a little shit since you left Thorne Point.”
“I’ve always been this way.” I mop the sweat from my face with a towel, slinging it around my neck as I cross to the kitchen to grab a water. “But you already knew that.”
He hums in agreement. “Not for lack of trying on my part to get you to lighten up. I swear, you and Levi are related somehow. You’re both cut from the same cloth of angst-ridden edgelord.”
I scoff. Colt’s friend is one of the few people who scares the shit out of me. He has no morals, no limits, and a serious obsession with knives.
“I’ve got a new lead for you,” Colt says, turning serious.
Ice spreads across my nerve endings. I’m already moving to the laptop and files spread out on the coffee table, holding the phone between my face and shoulder. My voice is rough when I answer. “Yeah?”
“Are you by your computer? You’ll get a push notification with an encrypted download package.”
“On it.” I drop the phone to the table, switching it to speaker phone. The file he mentioned pops up on the screen. Once it opens, I suck in a breath, reading quickly. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. When yo
u sent the copied hard drive I was able to dig this up. It was actually hard for me to seduce it into telling me its secrets, and that’s saying something. Whoever encrypted this didn’t ever want this to see the light of day. I’ll send over whatever else I find.”
I scan the information again. There was already someone lined up for the police chief position, preparing to transition only a week before Richard Landry was named the new chief. I suspected it—how else could I explain how Richard and Jacqueline ended up in positions of power, living in one of the most upscale neighborhoods in town without a fishy reward for their involvement—and yet seeing it in black and white makes my skin crawl. This is the biggest break I’ve had in my efforts to bring my parents justice.
It made it easier for them to cover up what was done to my family.
My heart pounds. Going to that party was worth it then, and not only because I found out what makes Maisy moan. She was just my cover so no one caught me sneaking around the home office.
“Thanks, Colt. I owe you.”
“Pay me back later. Preferably with a sexy new waifu to beat it to.” He laughs at the disgusted sound I make. I don’t know how he gets off on hentai because the fake cartoon boobs do nothing for me. “Kidding, I get the good shit on my own.”