Page 28 of The Deceptions

That they will. They'll meet the maniac bubbling beneath my flesh, aching to take his frustrations out on unsuspecting faces.

“How about a welcome back event?” I hum, following him to our vehicle.

Wilder nods. “You want everyone to be invited? Even…Them?” His nose wrinkles at the thought of Franco's special sons. His brother, Mack, included. Who knew two brothers with half of the same blood rolling through their veins could hate each other so much?

“Especially them,” I chuckle, slamming the door shut.

Visions of slamming my fist into their faces and watching as they bleed come to mind. Hate isn't a strong enough word for what I feel for the bastards in line to rule this town.

Huxley. JJ. Mack.

They can all burn with this place once I'm done with it.

They may be playing pretend at Greenwood U until they are needed to continue the family business. But what they don't know won't hurt them.

They know we're here. They know the gang we represent. They know us by name. But the game we're playing?

They don't have a fucking clue.

It's time to knock some crowns off three princes’ inflated heads.

“There's fucking nothing there,” Wilder says, slamming his laptop shut and tucking it under his arms. He flings the memory stick across the room, slamming it into the wall.

Indeed. There wasn't a stitch of a clue there on the surveillance footage. Just Meredith walking out of the bar with no one at her side. Or behind her. Or in front of her. She was alone. Happy. Smiling, the entire time while she drank at the bar. Nick, our overly friendly bartender, paid special attention to her. But nothing suspicious. Or out of the ordinary.

It's fucking frustrating.

Meredith went to the bar to meet some friends. They left ten minutes before her, and then, she ceased to exist. If only we had footage from the outside of the building from the casinos across the street.

Easier said than done, but we’re working on it. Gathering more information and waiting for them to send us the intel we paid for on the down low. Patience is a virtue. But not in my case.

My fingers curl into fists. A heat works up my neck, spiking rage through my veins and pumping hard.

Meredith is out there somewhere. Alone. Possibly hurting. Dead. Kidnapped. Anything is possible.

My eyes screw shut. Feelings bubble inside me, almost pushing through the numbness and fog of my mind. Why can't we find her? What's the point of being in our position if she slipped between our fingers like sand?

We're fucking useless to her. Unless we get ahead of the game.

Wilder paces, shaking his head. “Every fucking clue is a dead end. She can't have just disappeared!” he shouts, throwing his fist into my bedroom door.

Well, that will leave a mark. On him. On my door.

For several seconds, he stands with his back to me. Heaving breath after breath until he walks out with a grunt.

He'll be back.

Heavy footsteps pound down the hall until Wilder's bedroom door opens and slams shut. Shuffling happens between the walls. No doubt, setting his laptop down and collecting the cigarettes he refuses to smoke.

I sigh. My mind immediately wanders to Meredith, wondering where she is and who took her from me. She is innocent. She has no association with me or the company I decided to keep. All for the sake of survival.

Guilt eats away at every molecule inside me.

“We'll fucking find her,” Wilder grunts, leaning in the doorway of my room with an unlit cigarette resting between his lips. Always unlit now. “I’m still waiting on Bobby to get back to me with more surveillance footage from the casino across the street. If he doesn’t text me back soon, I’ll track him down at the fucking horse races.”

See? I knew he'd come back.

“I got the word out about the fight,” he rumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “And I know just the assholes to call out.” He smirks when his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out, typing something quickly.