Oleander: One of Us Series Page 7

  I stood on the edge of a precipice, a cavern so vast I felt the rolling emptiness like a storm that wouldn’t break.

  An ache rippled from my chest to slip into the void, like the mournful call of a wolf into the dark…searching…needing.

  Only I didn’t know who I was searching for.

  It howled, and howled.

  And when I finally opened my eyes I lay there listening to that desperation—that gnawing need to belong…somewhere.

  Raised voices slipped in from somewhere outside. I stared into the darkness and tried to narrow in on the sound. An accent, thick and Irish…followed with a desperate plea from Pappa Joe. “She’s just a kid, you’ve no right.”

  Their words wrenched me awake like a flashlight beaming through the dark. The heavy thud in my chest echoed strong and loud, speeding with the sound. I lifted my head from the pillow and dragged my arm underneath.

  They were arguing about someone…someone the Irish guy wanted.

  Someone Pappa Joe wasn’t giving up without a fight.

  “You can’t keep her here. She’s special. I know she is.”

  “Not special for you. You stay away from her, Maddox. She’s a good kid.”

  “Not gonna make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. Now you can either step aside, and let nature take its course, or…I’m gonna make you.”

  I dragged my feet from under the covers. The cot moaned and twanged with the movement. Goosebumps raced along my arms as my feet hit the floor. My eyes went to my pack…the only thing that mattered.

  Something hovered on the edge of my memory…just out of reach.

  You want the light on or off? “On.” I glanced to the light switch.

  I wanted the light on…and it was on when I fell asleep.

  But it wasn’t on now.

  I shoved forward, threadbare socks slipping on the polished floor. My pack…my stuff…I shoved my hand inside, tearing clothes aside to dig through underneath. But it wasn’t underneath…not where it always was…and the spine was facing forward. I never faced the spine forward.

  I eased the book free, fingers skimming the rough covering. Tears blurred my sight. This was all I had…all I ever had.

  I smashed the book to my chest and closed my eyes. The only thing to replace the void of my past. I wrenched opened my eyes and fumbled for my boots. I had to get out of here, make sure everything was still intact.

  All my searches, all the lies.

  Things people didn’t know about.

  Things that could get me killed.

  I shoved my feet into my boots, not bothering with the laces and grasped my pack. Voices were fainter now. I eased the door open and scanned the rows of cots before I slipped out.

  Nowhere was safe, not the shelter, not Jackson’s. Time to move on. The words echoed in my head. Boots thudded, casting the sound wide as I hugged the wall and made for the green light on the emergency exit.

  The wires were cut around the door. No sirens for others to come running to. I gripped the handle and gave a shove, slipping out into the alley behind the building.

  Rats scurried from overflowing trashcans. I stilled at the dumpster and tied my laces. Needed a coffee, and a bathroom—some place I could check my stuff.

  I made for the Whitewash Cafe. A dive of a place, three blocks away. I’d resume the search where I left off, looking for information on two things; my mother, and the number on my wrist.

  I thought I was good at hunting. Tracked my father for over six years before I found his new address, and his new family.

  But so far, after years of searching for anything about my Mom I’d turned up nothing.

  Your father turned into a fucking loon, talking shit about how the Government was responsible. Shot your mother in the head, point blank range…

  Carrie’s words haunted me. There was no death I could find. Hell, I couldn’t even find evidence my Mom had been alive; no birth certificate, no drivers license, no social security number…nothing but the creased images thrown at me in in a fit of rage.

  She had lived. I knew she did.

  But I didn’t know anything else.

  “Hey, how much?” Someone tugged my sleeve.

  “Get the fuck off me,” I snarled and yanked from hip.

  Goddamn John’s with their slimy words and filthy needs. He pushed up hard against me. Hot breath in my ear, words slick in my skin. “I just need a minute.”

  Whackwhackwhack. Fist punched against my thigh. I looked down to his hand buried in the front of his pants. “What the fuck. Get off me!”

  But his other hand gripped tight. Eyes desperate, seeking. “Just need a second…just a second.”

  “Hey! Get the fuck off her!” The banger blurred into view and moved in close. He lifted the front of his shirt, exposing rock hard abs and the gleaming semi-automatic. “Gonna tell you once more freak, and then I’m shooting you in the dick.”

  The sicko stumbled, dragged his hand from his pants and ran with his fly down.

  “You okay?” My protector took a step. “Hey, you good, Purple?”

  I nodded, stunned into silence until I forced a sound. “Yeah…thank you.”

  No one looked out for me. No one protected me. He lifted the sleeve of his shirt exposing the gang tatt BB, and gave a nod.

  I stared at the markings until he turned. But the questions burned in my throat. “Why?”

  He never stopped, never answered, just kept on striding back to his corner.

  I lunged forward, sprinting along the pavement to grasp his arm. “Hey! I said why?”

  He snatched his arm away, and with a sneer spat. “Looks like you’re protected, Purple. Word on the street is no one’s to touch you.”

  No one’s to touch me? “Who’s word…”

  His snark turned into a smirk, as he gave a shrug. Smug piece of shit.

  “Who’s fucking word?”

  “You gotta problem, best take it up with Maddox.”

  Maddox…Maddox. My heart thundered, filling my ears. I glanced over my shoulder, to the streets far behind. That name…Irish. That was him.

  And a face reared in my mind. Blue eyes and a weathered face. It was him…I knew it. The sonovabitch put the word out on the street that I was protected…I wanted to know why? “Where?”

  The banger turned away, nodded to his buddies and gave a snigger.

  “I said fucking where?”

  The answer was tossed over his shoulder like yesterday’s news—or last night’s shooting. “An Irishman who likes to eat Italian, go figure.”

  And with that he was gone, fist-bumping his homies and sauntering away.

  I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t want it either.

  No one owed me.

  And I owed no one.

  The information didn’t sit right, welling in my gut all the way to the cafe. I slid open the filthy glass door and nodded at the clerk behind the counter. Three dollars a week was all they charged me, for as much internet time as I wanted.

  I swung my bag off my shoulder and slid into the filthy plastic seat. My book was first. My book was everything. I scanned through the images, touched the photos of Mom, before I opened the taped printouts.

  What started as a lonely plea of desperation had turned into a consuming and fatal disease. I had no memory of her—I had nothing. Just a void of darkness. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t remember.

  Not what she looked like, or how she smelled.

  Not the sound of her voice.

  Or the feel of her hand.

  And yet the photos showed me with her as a baby, and then as a young child. I stared at the towering Christmas tree…I guessed I was five at the time. My father stood at the back, wearing his brand new Harry Potter shirt, grinning ear to ear.

  But there were no smiles on the stranger in the middle of the shot, or the little girl she held. There was fear. Fear in her eyes.

  And out of that emptiness a thought slipped free, like an autumn leaf snatched by the wind
.

  What if there was no government and no conspiracy?

  What if this entire thing was a lie?

  What if I killed her?

  I stared into the child’s eyes. What if I was already a monster at five?

  “You good, Ol?”

  I flinched from the memory and jerked my head toward the sound. Harvey peeked over the top of the monitor and gave a nod.

  “Yeah.” I fumbled with the rest of the book, checked the pages and the printouts and closed the cover. “Just a little off is all.”

  He gave a nod and went back to his business, fingers smashing his keyboard. He was just a kid. A lonely, damn kid—I stared through the gaps of the monitors to the splattering of dark hairs on his chin—a kid who couldn’t grow a damn beard.

  He lifted his hand, chubby fingers reached through the gaps of the monitors to hand me a bar. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  A smile twisted the corners of my mouth as I grasped it. “Chocolate makes everything better, right?”

  And those sparse hairs glistened as the kid grinned. “Sure does, except for the ones with nuts. I can’t stand them.”

  “They’re my favorite,” I mumbled.

  “Then I’ll make sure to keep one here, just for you,” he said with a wink.

  I tore the packaging and sank my teeth in deep. “What do you know about a guy called Maddox?”

  Harvey stiffened, eyes widened as he found my gaze. “I know you’ll want to stay away from him, Ol. He’s bad news.”

  “You pay him though, right? Protection money?”

  “We don’t pay shit, Ol, barely make enough to keep the lights on. But I give him information when he asks for it. Search for stuff he doesn’t know how to find.”

  A chill crept along my spine. “What kind of stuff, Harvey?”

  “Information. I can hack into most things now, Facebook, firewalls and encryptions. I get what he needs and just pass it on.”

  I leaned back against the seat and stared. Just pass it on…

  “What? You know how hard it is to survive out here alone?”

  I knew. I knew too fucking well, and that ache inside crept a little closer to the surface—it was all I ever wanted, wasn’t it? Just to belong, to be not so goddamn cold—to not be a ghost.

  And that mournful echo slipped from my mind. A howl in the bitter wind. A call, but not to arms—to family—to someone else just like me.

  And what if there was no one else?

  What if the freak DNA stopped with me?

  And that echo slipped away into silence. Then, I really was alone. No matter who I turned to.

  I’ll always be here…the monster inside whispered, and that shudder rattled my bones.

  “Whatever,” Harvey muttered and tore his gaze away.

  The gunfire echo of frantic fingers filled the room. I wasn’t angry he sold information for safety. I wasn’t disappointed or offended. Whatever you had to do to survive, right?

  “Where do I find him?”

  The clackclackclack stopped. “Why? Whadda ya gonna do?”

  “Just talk to him.”

  “You cause problems for me, Ol...”

  I rolled my eyes. “I won’t…I promise.”

  “Lugio’s on Sixth,” he muttered and stared at the bar in my hand. “You’re gonna be trouble, I can just feel it. Give me back my chocolate, you’re not worthy.”

  I lifted the remnants, the sweetness softening under my fingers, and with one swoop shoved the rest of the bar into my mouth.

  “You’re really gross, you know that?” he snarled, but there was a hint of a smile—a truce of the chocolate-eating kind.

  “Mmmmm.” I licked my fingers and then stared at the monitor.

  I typed Maddox, Brother Bear gang into the search bar and hit enter. Pages loaded, hit after hit—and most of them bad.

  He came from Irish stock alright, Fannin the family name, and a sense of aching familiarity welled deep.

  I’d traced my mother’s maiden name to Sullivan, an Irish Gaelic name, it was all I had of her past—I glanced to my book—faded pictures and one last name.

  Lugio’s was a flashy place, but by my standards everything that wasn’t soup kitchen was flashy. I knew about it—had seen the sparkling lights and crowded bar from a distance. But that was as much as I knew.

  I lifted my head to the screen and looked at the weblinks on the page. Most of them were headlines taken from the news Local Crime Gang Cleans Up Our Streets - Where are our Police?

  I clicked on the link, and there he was. Mr. Brother Bear himself with a cocky smirk that just reeked of vigilante justice. He was a little younger here, still early thirties, a decade or so older than me. But there was a hardness, one I knew well. The kind of look came from pain…and suffering—and the echo of my past rang loud.

  He’d put the word out on the street I was to be protected, and now I wanted answers.

  Why?

  Chapter Six

  Oleander

  Tick…tick…tick…tick.

  I tried to smother the sound in my head, bury it deep under this fragile moment. He was in there. I knew it. The energy around this place was different...exciting, humming.

  My gaze flitted from the glass front to the door as it swung inwards. Orange and red glowed from inside the brightly lit restaurant. I held my breath, straining to listen through the raucous roar of laughter as a young guy tugged his hoodie low and stepped out.

  It didn't look like an Italian Restaurant. I skimmed the tiny building and then the street. The place looked like it'd been an after-thought, just shoved in between an expansive fashion boutique and an upmarket barber to take up the space. But the more I stared at the restaurant, the more I realized it wasn't in the building...it was the building.

  It was everything, every fraction of life...every snatch of laughter. Lugio's on Sixth was alive.

  The door opened again, this time a banger took a step out, scanned right, left and then cut across the street.

  It was time. Time to move. Time to do what I’d come here to do.

  And I was a chicken, a fucking weakass, chicken. “He's not gonna hurt me. It'd make no sense. Why put out the word to protect someone, and then kill them yourself?”

  No matter how many times I made the same argument, I still found myself waiting to find the courage to walk over there and demand an answer...why.

  A shudder raced along my spine. I clenched my fist and shivered with the cold. It was that ache that gripped me, that lonely pain that came from deep inside—in the darkness…where the monster waited.

  You know how hard it is to survive out here alone? Harvey’s words echoed deep. I knew how hard it was to survive anywhere alone. I could do it. I could still wake up in the morning—still survive the day. But that’s all it was really…wasn’t it? Just surviving.

  And some part of me ached for more.

  I shoved up from the ground and took a step, leaving the fancy hedging. And even though my damn knees shuddered, I forced myself to move.

  Cars seemed to blur into nothing as I cut across the lanes and stepped up onto the curb. The music and laughter were louder now, almost comical in a way as though somewhere a decree had been set that all Italian Restaurants should be bursting at the seams with thick tagliatelle and laughter.

  If it seemed too good…I winced with the words and stepped closer. Through the front window a woman huddled over her plate, while her companion leaned back and sipped red wine watching her eat with an almost euphoric expression on his face.

  I stepped up to the doorway, scanned the tables and reached for the door. Maddox was in here—somewhere.

  A tiny bell gave a ding above my head, and everyone turned. Heat flared, lashing my cheeks as I waited for the screams. But there was no outcry from behind the thin lattice wall, no screams of get out!

  The male sipping wine gave me the once over, lingering on my hair for a second before he leaned forward, snatched the napkin from the table to dab his gi
rlfriend’s chin.

  And like that all the bravado and the urgency died away. I shouldn’t be here…I shouldn’t be anywhere near here. I should be on the road, with the city lights at my back—leaving Demand far behind.

  “Welcome…come…come, you want a table?”

  The waiter stepped out of nowhere to waive me forward. I shook my head, glanced at the others and then stilled.

  Maddox lifted his head at the intrusion, dark eyes glinted. He sat on his own with a glass of red wine in his hand, and not a gun in sight.

  But he was far from vulnerable.

  Four other tables were crowded nearby. Forks scraped against plates, some drank, downing amber filled glasses—while Maddox just…stared.

  “You want to eat?” The waiter urged.

  There was no backing out now—no room for chickenshit Oleander here. I took a few steps towards Maddox. His men stopped eating. Heads snapped up and then turned as I neared. One beefy looking dude started to rise, a beast of a man outweighing me by at least a hundred pounds, but one careful nod from Maddox and he stilled, and then sank back down.

  I had it all planned in my head, every word…every action, and yet standing here…I couldn’t remember a damn thing. “I’m Oleander.”

  The glint seemed to sparkle a little brighter in the leader’s eyes as he answered. “I know who you are, Purple.”

  I cast a glance around the others and stepped closer. “You put out the word about me. I want to know why?”

  He glanced at his glass. There was a second where I didn’t think he’d answer. A second where all I saw was one more thing left unfinished as I turned tail and left this city far behind, until the thick Irish accent filled the space. “Took some balls what you did last night. I was just repaying the favor.”

  Didn’t do it for you. The words lingered on the tip of my tongue, but that’s where they stayed.

  He lifted his hand, motioned to the chair across from him. “You hungry? Wanna eat?”

  There was a wave of his hand, and a flurry of motion as the waiter stepped close. “Mr. Maddox.”

  “Get Purple here something special.”

  Hungry…that’s how he sounded when he spoke about me. Hungry and dangerous. Out of the dark depths another shudder broke free. Careful here. Don’t know him…don’t know anything about him.