Lucas lifted up the shirt and gasped. There was no saving the man in his arms. No, he couldn’t let his best friend die. This shit was not happening.
“Who did this?”
“I thought I could handle it. The money was good. Fuck!” Trevor was wheezing, and there was a pause after each word.
The tears in Lucas’s eyes fell thick and fast. “Don’t die. Let me take you to the hospital.”
“I’m a dead man, Lucas. I worked for Alan, Alan Lynch. He’s … he’s a man I never want Prue to meet. He makes your biker gang look like kids’ play.” Trevor coughed. “He’s a type of mafia man. Drugs, guns, girls, money, he does everything. I worked for him. I took some drugs to a rival. Fuck, I was stitched up, Lucas. I was stitched up bad.”
He listened to his friend knowing it was only a matter of minutes before Trevor died.
“He takes out all the loved ones. I need you to promise me you’ll keep Prue safe. She doesn’t know anything about this. I kept it from her because I’m a fucking idiot.” Trevor cried out. “Promise me.”
“I promise. I’ll do everything to keep her safe.”
Trevor smiled, and his whole body started to shake. “End this, man. I can’t handle it, please. With Prue take care of, I don’t need this shit. I fucked up.”
Lucas watched as Trevor reached into his pocket. “Take this. Read it when you get the chance.”
Taking the letter off his friend, Lucas couldn’t stop the tears falling thick and fast. His best friend had asked him to end his life. Why hadn’t he checked in sooner with Trevor? He should have known something had gone wrong. Closing his eyes, Lucas covered Trevor’s mouth, stopping the air. Though his friend fought, within minutes he was dead in his arms, the fight gone completely out of him.
Pocketing the letter, Lucas stared at the man in his arms. His best friend was dead, and the man responsible was Alan Lynch. He’d never heard of the man before. Wiping the tears from his face with the hand not covered in blood, he looked around him. Fuck, he didn’t know if there were any witnesses.
“Prue.”
Dumping the body in the hotel room, he climbed on his bike and rode for Prue. He knew some guys who’d keep her protected. Trevor wouldn’t lie about her protection. She would need to disappear. Tears fell down his face, but he ignored them. There was no time to cry or think about his dead friend. Fuck, Trevor was dead.
The time passed quickly as he made his way toward Prue and Trevor’s house. When he saw the light on in her bedroom, he parked the bike. What was he supposed to do? Protect Prue, and then deal with everything else. A dead body left in a hotel room was going to get way too much attention.
You can do this.
Getting to the porch he found the key hidden in the plant pot. Many years he’d known the two and they still hid a spare key in the plant pot. Letting himself inside, he called out Prue’s name. Should he get The Skulls involved? They’d know what to do. The moment the thought occurred, he rejected it. He was a prospect, and he didn’t want to bring this kind of shit to them. Within minutes she appeared at the top of the stairs looking ruffled.
“Lucas, what the fuck?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes. She wasn’t wearing her glasses and was clearly struggling to see. Prue had been wearing glasses for as long as he could remember. “What are you doing here?”
“You’ve got to get dressed and pack your shit up. We need to move. I don’t know how long we’ve got before they come,” he said, going into the kitchen. Trevor hadn’t been particularly clear on how long he had to get her safe. Lucas didn’t want to waste unnecessary time.
“Leave, Lucas, what the fuck?” She repeated her words making her way down to him.
“Trevor is dead,” he said, forcing the words out between gritted teeth. “He’s in serious trouble. You didn’t fucking tell me he was in serious trouble.”
“He said he was fine. Shit. I knew I should have asked him more. He was always so quiet, and he wouldn’t bring anyone back to the house.” Prue ran fingers through her hair. She was nineteen years old. Their parents had died in a fatal shooting when she was fifteen. None of them lived near Fort Wills at the time, and it was only a year ago when Trevor had got this house for her to live in, finally moving them out of their parents’ old place. Trevor had taken responsibility for her, and Zero helped bring her up since she was fifteen. Neither of them would let her go into care.
“You need to leave,” he said.
“Who was he working for? He wouldn’t tell me, but I know he’d tell you.”