TORTURE ME_ The Bandits MC(29)

Fiona had a sneaking suspicion that the apology from before, in the kitchen, wasn’t really genuine. Something just felt…off about it. Gage was never really one to apologize. He’d admit when he was wrong, but he never expected to be forgiven. He never begged for her approval. But now, he seemed like he was desperate for her to believe him, repeating the same apology over and over again. It just came off as false. Fiona knew that she should have been offended, absolutely incensed that he wasn’t even sorry for barging in on her while she was showering. But she wasn’t. It’s at least 50% my fault, she thought. I should have screamed at him to leave the second he walked in. But I didn’t. I’m just as bad. She couldn’t exactly justify hating Gage for it when she had been complicit in the incident.



In the back of her mind, there was a gnawing sensation that grew and grew as they got closer to their destination. Nagging thoughts emerged out of the ether of her brain, telling her, You should leave. You should get out of here. You should run back to the countryside where you’re actually a good woman, where you have morals. Here the truth comes out. Here it becomes clear that you’re made of the same dirty, filthy muck as the rest of this godforsaken city.



But she couldn’t. She didn’t have a choice, not really. As long as Tori was still out there, most likely being held captive by a man who was steadily carving into her, Fiona couldn’t rest. She had to keep going, no matter what the price was. Tori and the other girls, the ones The Knife had killed already, depended on her. Fiona didn’t take that responsibility lightly, to say the least.



“Here we are,” Gage said as the train rolled to their stop, the one close to both the Bandits’ clubhouse and the mall that Tori frequented with her friends.



They had to walk a few blocks before they hit the shopping center, and then it took them a good fifteen or twenty minutes longer to find a sunglasses store, right next to an upscale boutique that marketed itself towards teenagers. This must be the right place, Fiona thought, inhaling deeply to calm down and ready herself to interview suspect number one.



There was a young guy with long, greasy hair and speckles of patchy facial hair all over his chin. Fiona cringed a little as she observed him pick his nose. This was the type of guy that Tori was into? Why did teenage girls always have the worst taste in men?



Gage walked ahead of her, approaching the guy first. “Hello, we’re with the police department,” Gage lied, sounding as convincing as ever. Fiona had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of the kid’s face going sickly pale; he was obviously terrified at the prospect of a potential interrogation. “We just need to ask you a few short questions, no big deal,” Gage said a minute later, probably worried that the kid was going to bolt before they could get any information out of him.



“Um, sure, I’ll try to help you out,” the greasy young man said, chewing anxiously at his upper lip with his bottom teeth.



“Do you know this girl?” Fiona asked, pulling out the picture of Tori from her purse.



The kid squinted at the picture for a long minute. “No, I don’t think…oh, yeah, yes! I remember her!” he said.



“When did you see her last?” Gage asked.



“Oh, probably a couple weeks ago,” the guy said casually, shrugging. “She never used to talk to me much. My coworker, Josh, might know more. He used to…he used to, like, flirt with her and stuff.”



“I see,” Fiona said, stuffing the picture of Tori back into her purse. “Is he working today?”



“No, actually, he quit,” the greasy guy said, turning back to the cash register to check out a young woman who was buying a couple pairs of sunglasses.



“Do you know where we can talk to him?” Gage asked. “We just want to ask him a few questions, see where he last saw that girl, that’s all.” Fiona wondered when Gage got so good at lying. It was hard to keep a smile off her face, just watching him work. She never got tired of seeing this side of him, watching him read people and then tell them exactly what they needed to hear.



“I can give you his number if you want,” the kid said, reaching for his pocket to get out his phone.



“Maybe his address would work better,” Fiona cut in. “We’re kind of in a hurry here. Missing person’s case, you understand.”



The kid hesitated for a second, but then he reached below his counter to get a piece of paper and a pen, scrawling out an address in abominably bad handwriting.



Gage accepted the piece of paper before handing it over to Fiona. The address was out of the city, on the outskirts, deep in the woods. She used to go there, in that general area, when she needed fresh air.