Savage Page 4

  My cell is sitting on the coffee table and I swear if it had a mouth it’d be speaking right now. I almost expect Siri to suddenly squawk, ‘Text him! Text him!’

  And then I’m reaching for it, pulling up his name, my fingers pressing at the screen.

  Thank U, I text, unsure what else to say, for everything.

  And then I’m hitting send, my heart going with it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DEX

  I pull the truck over to the lookout. Taking in the entire valley, it’s a sight I never get sick of, especially when Tamanass itself can seem so suffocating at times.

  I breathe it in, fill my lungs with that cold pull of the mountains.

  There’s a telescope to my left. I know you can see the Den from up here, but no one’s there today and I’ve received no text from Dean that he’s looking to use the ‘facilities.’

  My cell buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and quickly scan the screen.

  It’s a message from Lexi, a thank you of sorts.

  My thumb hovers over the reply box, but I’m conflicted. I could respond, sure, but what the hell would I say?

  I have to admit I feel some measure of guilt for assuming she’s harboring this dramatic, dark secret. In a way, I almost feel an affinity with her because she grew up without parents, like me. Sure, Dean and Deric are there when I need them, and that’s a sort of family, but none of them know, not really, what it’s like to be unwanted by your own parents. Having your own flesh and blood ditch you, kicked to the curb like you’re no better than the weekly garbage. It hurts. It really fucking hurts, and no amount of rafting, fucking, or chugging your way through a six-pack is going to do anything about it.

  I lift my thumb away and slide my cell back into my pocket. In this situation it’s better to say nothing at all.

  I have a funny feeling if I were to respond it would only lead to misfortune. I’m used to danger. I deal with it on a daily basis, but something tells me hooking up with Lexi is twenty kinds of trouble.

  *

  It’s clear my grandparent’s house has seen better days when I pull into the drive.

  I lean over the steering wheel taking it in. The gutters are clogged with leaves, the lawn a sickly shade of yellow. The structure itself looks like it needs crutches.

  I step out and approach the front door with trepidation. My chest is tight and I’m conscious of a beating in my head that’s not looking to dissipate any time soon. A cocktail of emotions hits me—anger, disappointment, loneliness…

  You good-for-nothing shit. Do you know how worthless you are?

  The words of my grandfather still ring clear.

  I reach up to the top of my arm, the place he used to grip me by, dragging me from room to room as I screamed and kicked. My grandmother would keep knitting, slowly shaking her head, her lips pursed tightly together. To this day I still can’t stand the smell of lavender.

  Mom would show up, strung out and barely coherent. She never once came to my defense or aid, simply hunting around for her next fix.

  Fuck that. Fuck them and fuck this place. I’m tempted to burn it all to the ground.

  I take out the key the lawyer provided and insert it into the lock, pushing the door wide. It’s a dustbowl inside, that same florally smell I remember from my childhood nothing short of toxic.

  I cough and move from room to room in a daze.

  At least it’s quiet.

  I stand in the hallway with my hands on my hips and exhale.

  Get in, get it done, and get out, I remind myself.

  I start in the living room and pull across the first box the movers have packed up. All I have to do is go through it and decide where things will go.

  By the fourth box it’s clear most of this can be donated, which will be kind of ironic considering my grandparents didn’t do a damn thing to help anyone else their entire lives.

  I open the next box. It’s full of yearbooks. I’ve never seen them before. I take one out and examine it.

  My mother’s name is on the first page. I skip through the pages until I find a picture of her. She’s a completely different person to the woman I remember. She actually looks healthy, looks… normal.

  I keep skipping and find another picture of her standing with a group of friends by a fountain. She doesn’t just look healthy, she looks beautiful, full of life and possibility. She’s wearing a buttoned-up tweed cardigan and matching headband, the sort of fashion sense you’d call preppy these days. It’s a stark, almost painful contrast to my own memories of her.

  My chest tightens further. Why couldn’t the woman pictured be my mother?

  I go to put the yearbook back when a letter flutters out onto the floor.

  I place the book down and pick it up. It’s postmarked two years before I was born.

  The letter itself is in tight, clean handwriting. I read it twice, at first unable to comprehend what it’s saying, but there’s no mistaking it.

  My mother, my once beautiful mother, had a baby before I was born.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LEXI

  A week since the accident and I’m slowly starting to heal. The cotton wool that was filling up my head is gone. Even the pain in my ribs has subsided significantly to the point where I can walk around and do most things myself, much to Geena’s displeasure.

  I’m standing on the balcony admiring the small parking lot below my apartment complex and adjacent pool that looks like it hasn’t been filled in forever. It’s the local skate bowl these days, a teen favorite.

  My phone starts to ring. Immediately, I tense knowing this could be Dex, a response to my text and the beginning of what will no doubt be The Hottest Sexual Encounter in Human History.

  But it’s not. It’s Ian.

  I’d almost forgotten about him.

  I answer cordially. “Ian, hi.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” he replies, guns blazing.

  Hello to you too.

  I step back from the railing. Ian’s usually pretty short with me, but this tone suggests I’ve done something wrong. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Dex for fuck’s sake. I received a call this morning informing me he’s requested copies of all his birth records, was even calling around people who might have known our mother. I mean, you see the issue here, don’t you?”

  I’m off the job for a few days and now all hell decides to break loose.

  What has Dex been up to? What did I say? I wonder.

  Whatever it is, I can’t have this good thing I’ve got going with Ian breaking apart, not now, plus I have my business reputation to think of. I pride myself on my professionalism. A bad word from a big hitter like Ian and I’d be blacklisted from here to Timbuktu.

  “I’ll get right on it,” I assure him. “I was in a car accident and—”

  He’s irate. “I don’t care if you fell from fucking space! Don’t give me excuses. Give me answers.”

  “Ian, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Fix it or we’re done.”

  He hangs up.

  I hold the phone tightly, doing my best to squeeze something out of it, anything that might make sense of this, but it’s as useless as the concrete parking lot below. One thing is clear. I need to get back to work before this whole thing gets out of hand.

  *

  I called ahead, but Jasper is still surprised when I walk into the office. He offers to help me, but I put up my hand. “I’m an invalid no longer, Jasper, but thanks.”

  I sit down at my desk, another ranger wishing me well as he passes.

  Jasper slides something in front of my keyboard, crouching. “Your signature mocha and raspberry white-choc muffin. Thought it might help you get into the swing of things. You sure you’re up for this?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What I do isn’t exactly manual labor, you know. I’m perfectly capable.”

  Jasper stands. “Well, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask. Everyone’s happy you’re back, and happy
to help.”

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  He places a stack of papers on my desk beside the muffin and coffee. “Consider it a welcome back present.”

  I select the first paper from the pile. “Yes, sir.”

  It’s actually nice being back here. The work isn’t taxing. I find it therapeutic in a way, this wholesome normality. It’s paperwork, yes, but it’s pleasant enough. I consider what it would be like to have a normal life like this for real, not having to worry about guys like Ian constantly up my ass.

  My thoughts turn to the assignment. I’m starting to think it was a mistake. No, it is a mistake and worse, it’s starting to mess with my head. I want to move on and bury any emotional attachment to this place.

  You want to insulate yourself again, don’t you?

  I do, and I don’t feel guilty admitting it to myself.

  At least, I don’t think I do.

  *

  I arrive home and immediately get to work—the real work.

  I pull out the Macbook Pro I keep stashed under the bed, along with the GPS tracking system I’ve been using to keep tabs on Dex. Technology’s come a long way in the last few years, especially in this game. Tools that were once solely the property of the CIA can now be had on eBay for the price of a Happy Meal. Of course, it’s one thing to have the tools; it’s quite another to know how to use them.

  There’s no moon tonight, the only light in the room coming from the screen of my laptop—the one I’ve named ‘Fred’ in honor of Fred Flintstone and his can-do attitude. One of the foster homes I grew up in played that cartoon all hours of the day. I loved it. My stomach grumbles, but it will have to wait.

  I quickly find the backdoor into Dex’s phone and hack in. I skim through his texts, but it’s the usual slurry of sexts and naked women all too eager to show off their wares. Why the hell do these girls even think sending this stuff is a good idea? Are they that clueless, so cocknotized by Dex the Great and All-Powerful they drop their brain completely?

  And this is just one week’s worth.

  The more I continue, the more bile starts to rise at the back of my throat, and his replies…

  My god. Who does he think he is? Barney Stinson?

  I swallow the sick down and press on through the trenches, but nothing of substance is going to come from this. There’s nothing of value here to the assignment, nothing to shed light on why he’s sniffing around for information on his asshole secret brother.

  I push the laptop away in frustration. I’m annoyed I’m not getting anywhere, I’m annoyed my life revolves around Mr. Libido and his endless hunt for ass, but most of all, I’m annoyed he’s got me so worked up.

  I bring up the tracking software, speaking quietly to no one in particular. “Let’s see where you are tonight, shall we?”

  The tracking software is surprisingly accurate, military grade. A blinking red dot shows where he’s at: Gracie’s, probably with the next bimbo looking for a good time, the one sexting him a shot of her freakishly tanned derriere.

  I tap my fingers on the table as I’m want to do when I’m indecisive. I work best from a distance, safe in the shadows, but maybe it’s time to switch things up. No reward without risk, right?

  I keep tapping, mulling it over before I finally stand, slapping the lid of my laptop closed.

  “You’re doing this,” I tell myself.

  It’s time to stop poking around in the dark like a ham-fisted teenager and take actual initiative.

  It’s time to make my move.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DEX

  I haven’t been to Gracie’s in a while, surprised at how quiet it is tonight. Once upon a time I’d order a beer and zone out to sports, content to live the mountain man cliché for a few hours. Tonight, however, my eyes are on the screen at the back of the bar, but my thoughts are elsewhere. The possibility I have a sibling out there is blocking out everything else.

  My mother’s letter was illuminating to say the least. She talked about meeting my father, an ambitious businessman who was on his way up in the world. She used a fake ID so they could marry in Vegas when she was seventeen, lived with him for a few wild, alcohol-fueled years before giving birth to my sibling, a boy, and, not long after, myself.

  She talks about how her husband became as cold and demanding as he was in the business world, how he started to move in increasingly rarified circles. He became more power and status hungry, and abusive with my mother. She turned to alcohol, and later drugs, to numb herself, eventually trying to run off with both children but thwarted at the last moment. Rather than face him, she fled with infant me, leaving my brother with his emotionless, control-freak father.

  But there are no names, no concrete details for me to follow or pass on to the PI I hired a couple of towns over. I can only imagine the guilt she felt over abandoning my brother, perhaps in part what led to her downward spiral and eventual incarceration, but who knows? She lived on the streets with dealers and deadbeats for years, self-medicating rather than turning to the right place for help. All it did was exaggerate her struggle.

  In all, the whole thing read more like a confession than a letter.

  But I have a blood brother. At least I know that much.

  True family, I think. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?

  I try to paint a picture of them in my mind, to figure out where they are or what they might be doing. Hell, they might be a three-hundred-pound truck driver from Texas, a high-flyin’ lawyer… or they might be a typical nine-to-fivver doing their best to live their life and support their family. I don’t know who they are, but I do know I want to meet them.

  “What is this?” comes a familiar voice. “One Dex Franklin but not a loose-moralled female in sight.”

  I swivel around to find Dean and Ava standing there.

  Ava’s wearing jeans and a waffle-knitted hoodie, somehow making this simple collection of clothing look absolutely amazing. Dean fucking scored big with her, but they were always destined to be together, even if the road there was a bumpy one.

  I stand and kiss Ava on the cheek, her floral scent lingering. I take Dean’s hand and draw him in to my chest. “Where’s Talisa?”

  Ava takes a seat. “She’s with my mom. They’re probably deep into a coloring competition by now, serious subject matter like Disney princesses or LOL Dolls.”

  “Hey, hey,” Dean interjects, taking the stool beside Ava and snaking a hand around her waist, “what’s to say it isn’t Ninja Turtles or sick-ass dinosaurs?”

  “She is something of a tomboy,” Ava concedes to me. She nudges Dean. “Takes after her father in all things ‘wild.’”

  “I bet,” I laugh, taking a pull of my beer.

  Dean spots the letter from my grandparent’s place opened before me on the bar. I’ve been going over and over it, reading it until the ink became a blur.

  I pick it up. I’ve never hidden anything from Dean. We’re practically brothers. “It’s a letter I found cleaning out my grandparent’s house.”

  “Your long lost fortune then?” he asks conspiratorially.

  I flick the letter with my finger. “Not quite.” I pass it over. “Read for yourself.”

  Dean holds it in front of Ava so they can both read. I watch their expressions slowly firm.

  Ava’s the first to speak. “My god… Dex. Does this mean what I think it means?”

  I nod slowly. “Sure as hell does.”

  Dean finishes. “Maggie had another kid. What are you going to do?”

  The million-dollar question.

  I take the letter, looking down at it. “I haven’t got a fucking clue, but I have made some calls, even brought in a PI to try and see if they can find out what became of them.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing yet, but it’s early days.”

  Dean breathes out. “This is heavy, bro. You alright?”

  I shrug, playing it off. “It is what it is.”

  “No name?”

&n
bsp; “Nope.”

  “Even so,” adds Dean, “is it right to track them down now, possibly fuck up their reality?”

  I hadn’t even considered this. The idea they’d be better off not knowing about me adds yet another piece to what is becoming a very complex puzzle.

  “I don’t think there’s a clear answer to any of this,” says Ava, always the voice of reason. It’s incredible the wonders she’s worked on Dean, slowly turning him from a dick-wielding wildebeest into a considerate father and husband he is today. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s rolling his balls around in the front of her hoodie there.

  You’re just jealous.

  For some reason I immediately think of Lexi—another damn puzzle.

  Ava squirms out of Dean’s grip and fishes her cell free, squinting in the low light to make out a text message. “Cripes. Talisa’s got a fever.”

  “Can I get one for the road?” asks Dean.

  She turns and pats him on the chest. “You’ll survive. We’ve got to go.” She looks to me. “Sorry, Dex.”

  I put up my hands. “Hey, you got to do what you got to do. I hope she feels better.”

  Dean places his hand on my shoulder as he stands. “We’ll talk more about this at the Den, okay? You don’t have to do this shit alone.”

  “Thanks,” I nod. “I appreciate that.”

  “Hey,” shouts Dean, being lead out the door by Ava, “who knows? Maybe your brother’s a Devil in the making?”

  “It’s a good thing it’s a ‘he,’ not a ‘she’ given you two assholes,” I shout.

  Dean turns, patting his chest. “Deric and I are spoken for, brother. Nothing to worry about.”

  He leaves laughing.

  I fold the letter up and tuck it into my pocket, returning to my place at the bar.

  “You look like you could do with some company?”

  A blonde in her early twenties has materialized in the same stool Ava was just sitting in, her tits twice as big, her perfume twice as strong. I know her type. She’s a tourist trying to hunt down an authentic Tamanass experience for the night. Normally, I’d be all for getting my dick wet, but for whatever reason I’m not feeling it tonight. She’s hot, but my cock makes no attempt to stand to attention.