Resisting Ryann(16)

I’d walked out the front door, sick of listening to them argue. She’d begged and pleaded that I not go, though the pleading was with my father. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was the last time I’d see her alive.

They’d hauled us off in separate vehicles—him to prison, me to juvie. I’d thought leading them to the drugs would lighten the guilt I’d felt for leaving her. The judge let me off easy. My father didn’t get the same leniency. They’d tacked on a bunch of extra charges for child abuse and neglect, which only lengthened his sentence.

The fire was ruled an accident, and they never reopened the case. Lauren and I were placed into the foster system where we continued to have our ups and downs, but for the most part things were better.

I glance at my furry companion who’s taking up residency in my bed. “Glad you’re comfy.” He snores beside me. He’s been here all of forty-eight hours and clearly made himself at home. We took a liking to each other right off the bat. Maybe he sensed he could trust me—that he needed me as much as I needed him. They say dogs are good at those things. The chances of finding him were slim to none, but we did. I glance at his sable-colored coat and scratch him on the neck. “Chance.”

His ears twitch, and he watches me, with eyes that are almost human. Maybe that’s why I talk to him like he is. Either that or I’m crazy.

“You like that name?”

He raises his head then tilts it.

I’ll take that as a yes. “Chance it is,” I murmur, turning over. “Do me a favor and scoot over. You’re hogging the bed.”

My cell phone chirps with a text while he pants beside me. I glance at the clock. “Looks like you’re alone tonight, buddy.” A minute later it’s ringing. There are only a handful of people who would call—none who I want to talk to, but I place the phone against my ear anyway. “What do you want?” I grumble.

“We found Samuel,” Warren replies from the other end.

I rake my hand through my hair, staring at the bare wall across from me. I’ve only had an hour of sleep.

“Meet us at the shop. Hurry.”

I know this won’t end well for him, regardless if he took the money or not. “Be there in twenty,” I mumble back. Warren hesitates like there’s something more to say, but the line clicks, and he’s gone. I drop the phone on the bed and look at Chance who’s watching me with disapproval.

“What?” I ask. He gets up on all fours then jumps off the bed and makes his way to the back door. I walk over and let him out, fill up his food, then put in a call to Andrew.



The Smoke Shop is a business my father uses as a cover right outside of Tucson. Marcus and Warren stand outside looking like they haven’t slept any more than I have.

Warren flicks his cigarette to the ground before immediately lighting another. “Gage has got him in the back,” he says, his head tipping toward the entrance. The door swings open, and my father walks out with Rachelle close behind him. She’s dressed like a two-dollar hooker.

“Glad you could finally make it,” he grumbles, disappointed I’m the last one here.

“Anything for you, Dad,” I bite back.

“Luuuke,” Rachelle sighs, wrapping her arms around me. “It’s so good to see you.” She presses her entire body against me. My father seems to enjoy the interaction, which only confuses me. I break away without a word, clearing my throat. The guys snicker beside me.

“We were just leaving,” my father says, unlocking his car. “Gage knows what to do.”

“Of course he does,” I tell him, rocking back on my heels.

“Goodbye, son.” They both climb inside his Range Rover, and we watch them drive away.

“She wants you,” Warren says, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “And your dad don’t seem to mind either.”

My mouth tips at the corners. “Not my type,” I murmur back. Marcus and Warren both chuckle, as I push past them and step inside the shop. I follow a trail of blood that leads me directly to a tied up Samuel. Gage holds a knife in his hand and hovers over him. He’s got that strung out look in his eyes. My gaze falls to the ground where I spot a couple of sawed off fingers and a lot of blood.

“Tell me,” Gage growls, then grabs him by the collar. “Where is the money?” Samuel tries to speak, but he’s gagged. I can’t make out a word he’s saying. Gage takes the knife to another finger.

Samuel’s face pales, and his eyes widen as he screams. He’s already lost a couple pints of blood.

“You’re going to kill him before he has a chance,” I spit. “Take out the gag.”