Ransom (Dead Man's Ink Series Book 3) (10 page)

People always say that Jamie’s eyes are startling because of their stark color. This guy’s eyes are disturbing too, but they’re so dark they’re almost black. They’re full of rage and violence, as if he’s quietly simmering, fury flooding his veins, and any second he’s about to explode. There’s no doubt about it; this man, whoever he is, is a dark, dangerous individual, and I’d be happy if I lived a long, healthy life and never had cause to run into him.
 

The third picture underneath the close up is a mug shot. The guy’s holding up a black board with a string of numbers on it, and underneath it says,
MAYFAIR, ZETH
. The name rings a bell, but I can’t think where I’ve heard it before. The way he stares down the lens of the camera in this picture, his expression flat and lifeless, is even more worrying than the image previous. He looks like he’s hollow, dead inside. I find myself wondering what he did to end up with his mug shot being taken. Probably murdered someone, cut their head off and wore it like a goddamn hat or something.
 

I don’t know why I carry on flicking through the file, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m intrigued by the kind of information Jamie gathers about people, and to what end? What does he want with this guy? Admittedly there isn’t much to the file. Just a few printed out sheets of paper with very few details on them—the name
Charlie Holsan
. A Seattle address that makes my head thump. I know exactly where the address is, on the other side of the city from the hospital. An up and coming area where an apartment in a decent building will set you back a couple of million dollars. Is that where this guy lives? It doesn’t seem like his style.
 

More photographs at the back of the file. One of him talking to a tall, handsome black guy in a sleek, obviously expensive suit. Another of him sitting behind the wheel of the black Camaro again. The third and final picture makes my throat constrict. It’s a picture of the same guy, this Zeth Mayfair, and he’s dressed in bright orange overalls—the kind you’re issued in prison, which is clearly where he is given the chain link fence and the scary looking tattooed people in the background of the picture. He’s not alone. My throat has tightened, making it difficult to breathe, because he’s talking to someone in the picture, someone I recognize, and I’m finding it hard to believe what I’m seeing right now. It’s Cade.
 

He’s talking to Cade.
 

“
What the…
?” Cade was in prison? He’s wearing the same orange overalls, after all. He looks skinnier, less muscle, and his head is shaved, but it’s definitely him. I’ve spent the past six months living at close quarters with the guy; I’d know him anywhere. The two men appear to be deep in conversation in the picture. Not a tense, heated conversation. It’s as if they’re just chatting. Cade is actually smiling, and this Zeth guy looks a little less intense than he does in all of the other shots. He may not be smiling, but I get the feeling that the clear looseness in his body and the ease with which he’s leaning against the brick wall beside him means a lot. I don’t think his body language would be the same if he didn’t feel like he was talking to a friend. A good friend.
 

I gather all of the photographs and the papers back together and slide them inside the file, flipping it shut. I feel like I just invaded Cade’s privacy somehow. This is a part of his past, and I went snooping. Unintentionally, but still. I don’t know why I should really care. Cade’s loyalty has always been and always will be to his friend. If Jamie asked him to shoot his own mother in the face, I’m pretty sure he’d damn well do it. They’re closer than brothers. But he and I are friends now, too, I’d say. We’ve been left alone together too much, spent hours in cars and days holed up inside the same buildings to not know each other and to not care. At least that’s how I feel. He might feel very differently.

Either way, I try to place the file back in the spot where I found it, hoping he’ll never know that I saw it. It’s just easier that way.
 

It’s not really a surprise that Cade’s been locked away. As the months have passed by, I’ve been allowed to see more and more of the illegal activity the club is involved in. The Widowers don’t sell drugs, but they do move them from time to time. Weed, mostly. Large quantities of it that get picked up in one location, usually a couple of days’ drive away, and then dropped off somewhere else, far, far away from Freemantle and the permanent location of the club.
 

There are guns, too. The gun runs are a little more intense. They’re closer to home and happen quickly, and I can usually tell one’s about to happen by the nervous energy that lingers in the compound. Assault rifles. Hand guns. Large and small, all kinds of weaponry is trafficked not only by Cade, Carnie and the others, but by Jamie, too.
 

I feel sick to my stomach when I think about
him
getting busted and locked away for gun running. Cade must have been sentenced for a lesser crime. I don’t know everything there is to know about the judicial system, but I sure as hell know enough to realize that Cade would definitely still be serving time if he’d been caught with assault rifles. The ATF usually tend to frown upon the possession of unregistered, unlicensed weapons like that.
 

I spend another few seconds waiting around in the secret room behind the bar, waiting defiantly for Jamie to come back and find me here, but then I change my mind. I want to tear him a new one for what he did, but I also want to know he’s okay, and I want to know what he’s discovered about my father. Is he safe now? Is he okay? Is he even alive? Anything could have happened while I was sleeping. Jamie could have gotten himself shot. He could have gone to Ramirez’s place and discovered my father dead. Alternatively, my father could well be free now and he’s so angry with me over what I’ve done that he simply refuses to come and see me. I wouldn’t blame him for that. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret not telling my family I am safe. But as each of those days flew by, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, the concept of reaching out to them and telling them I was alive became harder and harder, until it almost seemed impossible.
 

I’m sure most people would think I’m a terrible human being, but turning back never seemed like an option. I’d love to say I wanted to stay because I wanted to help bring Hector to justice, but the truth of the matter is that I was scared. I was scared because Raphael was still lurking in the shadows, and I know without a doubt he would have followed through on his promise. He would have discovered who I was eventually, the same way Hector has now, except he wouldn’t have kidnapped my dad, or my mom, or my sister. He would have killed them where they stood. He would have raped Sloane, and probably Mom too, and it would have been on me.
 

After Raphael died and he was no longer a threat, it was too late. I was already in too deep. I’d killed a man. And besides, I may have pretended for a while, but there was no way I could fool myself. I was in love. I couldn’t have left Jamie if I’d tried. No one has ever made me feel so safe. So protected. It’s ironic. I’m in the most perilous, dangerous situation of my life here in New Mexico, and yet I’ve never felt safer. That’s because of him.
 

And even though he fucked up today (which he will pay for in spades), it’s because he refuses to let me get hurt. It’s infuriating, and it’s frustrating, especially since I’m meant to be prospecting for the club, but at the end of the day, his actions are because he loves me just as fiercely as I love him.
 

I leave his office. Pulling the weighty door closed behind me, I make my way back out into the bar and I know something is up as soon as I see the look on Fatty’s face. His expression is a wary one, his eyebrows half way to his hairline, his lips pressed together to form a tight line. His eyes flicker to his left, and I see the cause of his discomfort: Jamie and Cade sitting at the bar, each with a shot of whiskey in their hands. Jamie doesn’t say a word.

“Did you find him? Did you find my dad?” My heart is thrumming in my chest like a small, trapped bird.
 

Jamie and Cade exchange a tense look. Jamie says, “Yes, he
is
with Hector. We didn’t see him, though,” and the blood drains from my face.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Seems like such a stupid thing to ask, but I have to. I need to know. I need to look them both in the eye and see whether they think my father is alive and well, or if they think maybe it’s possible that he might already be beyond saving.

“Hector hasn’t done anything to him,” Cade says. His voice doesn’t waiver. I see no doubt in him. “He would have inferred that he had otherwise. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself.”

I look to Jamie—I need to hear him say the same thing, or my mind will be racing. He gives me a curt nod, pulling in a deep breath. “It’s true. He’s a smug motherfucker. He wouldn’t have been able to keep that to himself. As far as we know, Alan’s unharmed.”

As far as we know.
That’s hardly a reassuring statement, but it will have to do.
 

“I see you were checking out the office,” Jamie says. His eyes lock onto me as he raises his rocks glass to his mouth and takes a large swig. He remains fixed on me as he swallows.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. “You have absolutely no right.”

He pouts a little. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t need to.” Cade manfully tries to hide the smile I can see hovering at the corners of his mouth, but he fails miserably. I press my palms down on the countertop, leaning toward them both. “And
you
can quit that, too. I know you played a part in what he did.”

Cade holds up his hands. “I fucking didn’t. That’s all on him.”

Jamie’s mouth drops open. “
Traitor
.”
 

“You knew he was going to do it, so you were complicit. That’s exactly the same as participating, so you’re both in the dog house.”
 

“Very unfair. I would have let you come with us,” Cade says. Jamie makes a face, demonstrating exactly what he thinks of that statement.
 

“You’re so full of fucking shit. Would you have let Laura come?
No. Fucking. Way
.”

As always when someone mentions Cade’s sister, the atmosphere instantly shifts. Jamie tenses, knowing he’s brought up a touchy subject, and Cade attempts to appear unaffected. He is affected, though. For all the money the club has, for all the time and all of the resources they’ve invested looking, they haven’t even come close to finding Laura. It’s been years now. So much time has passed that I doubt either one of these men believes they’re going to find her again, and yet they refuse to stop looking.
 

My stomach twists at the thought. Just like Laura,
I
am someone’s sister. Is Sloane looking for me, the same way Cade is looking for Laura? Does she shut down every time someone mentions my name? God. I feel like my insides are being ripped out. I don’t want to think about this now. I can’t. I have to deal with my Jamie situation. I duck underneath the bar hatch so I can walk up behind my boyfriend and whisper in his ear. Jamie bows his head as he listens. I try not to let the smell of him distract me from what I want to say—a really difficult feat to accomplish, since he smells divine.

“If you ever drug me again, if you ever lock me away again…if you ever try and prevent me from doing something I want or need to do by force…”

“You’ll cut my balls off?” he whispers.
 

“No. I won’t cut your balls off, Jamie. I’ll
leave
. You’ll wake up one morning, and my things will be here. My toothbrush will be sitting next to yours. My clothes will still be in the closet. My pillow will still smell of me. There will be a thousand things here to remind you of me, but
I
will be gone. And I
won’t
be coming back. Do you believe me?”

Jamie turns his head to look at me. Our noses are almost touching. I am so in love with this this man that it kills me to say that I’ll leave him, because it would be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I mean it, though. I can’t live this way. There are some things I can tolerate if I absolutely must. I can handle feeling restricted and trapped here in the compound a lot of the time. I can deal with Shay and her stinking attitude. Even knowing that we have a homicidal Colombian woman still living in the basement under the barn is something I can live with, so long as I know she’s not getting out any time soon. But this? Feeling like I have no free will? Feeling like I can’t trust him? That just won’t fly.
 

Jamie’s eyes are shining brightly. His facial muscles are relaxed, but I can tell just by looking into his eyes that he doesn’t like the words that are coming out of my mouth. He huffs down his nose, his tongue poking out ever so slightly so he can rub it along his bottom lip, wetting it. “Okay,” he says softly. “Yes. I believe you.”

“So you won’t do it again? I need to hear you tell me that you won’t.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Cade’s no longer sitting beside him, I notice. He must have slowly gotten up and crept away during the last few minutes, leaving us to our muted conversation. Eventually, Jamie blinks, his eyes narrowing a little. “I won’t say it. I can’t, Sophia.”

I stand upright, reeling away from him. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I was expecting him to be contrite. To swear that he’ll respect my wishes and take them—
me
—seriously. Instead, he’s…he’s
refusing
? It makes no sense. “Should I just pack my bags and go now, then? Maybe that would be easier for the both of us.” I sound angry. Hurt creeps in at the edge of my voice—an annoying tell that I could burst into tears at any moment if I don’t wrangle my emotions into check and fast.
 

Jamie closes his eyes. “I’m not saying that because I don’t give a shit if you come or go, sugar. I’m saying it because I love you. If I have to lose you to keep you safe, then I won’t think twice. I’ll risk having to let you go if it means that you don’t end up raped and dead in a ditch with your limbs chopped off. I’d be miserable, and my heart would feel like it was never going to beat again for as long as I lived if you were gone, but I’d be happy at the same time, because I’d know you were far, far away from here and you were alive. Wouldn’t you do the same if it was me?”