Conor Thames 2

by R. J. Lewis

  “Well, guess what, Thames, it’s kind of like that in this world too. That’s why most of us don’t have anyone. The second our number is stamped on our wrist, we make sure we don’t meddle with love and kids. The whole point of losing everything after we’ve been destroyed is never getting close again. I thought you would have accepted that. You lost your soul, endured what most don’t, and then you turn around and come crawling back to your old life? Come on, Thames, you know that shit is bound to get messy.”

  Thames didn’t budge. His face remained clean, but he said very calmly, “If you’re threatening to hurt the people close to me, Holden, then I really will find a way to kill you.”

  Holden acted as if he hadn’t heard him. He went on, without wavering. “You hid your friend in prison, too. The big guy. I knew about him, you know. I actually protected him once upon a time too, but…well, things change in prison. You kinda can’t be fucked looking after cunts who don’t appreciate it. Well, anyway, as you know, we still got people in there. People who can really put that guy down, if you catch my drift.”

  Holden was doing a lot of talking to get his point across. Thames was getting bored fast. He felt pissed, sure, but this wasn’t unexpected. He figured this fuck would come back. Maybe part of him knew this would happen. Through the grapevine, he might have learned Thames was going to leave the house. Which meant they wanted him alone.

  “What do you want, Holden?” Thames asked, shrugging now because this was just getting ridiculous. “So, you asked a small town about me and got answers. That’s cute. Good job, buddy. You also learned I’m close to my girlfriend and I got a kid. Again, that’s cool, but it doesn’t take much digging, so I’m not really all that impressed. If you want to give me a fucking job to do because clearly that’s where you’re getting at, then cut the bullshit and just do it. I’d like to go back to enjoying my night as soon as fucking possible.”

  “Weren’t you just threatening me a minute ago?”

  “I was threatening you because you were threatening me first, fuckface. You kept talking in circles about my fucking family, trying to be ominous about it, and frankly, if you touched them, I would have no problem feeding you your eyeballs. Prison taught me that, too, remember?” Thames flared his nose, dropping his voice a few decibels as he added, “I learned to kill people quickly and silently, and I think you’re scared of that. You wonder how I did it, and you’re worried it’ll happen to you. And the only reason I know that you’re worried it’ll happen to you is because you’ve been fisting that blade in your hand this whole time and didn’t think I noticed.”

  Holden’s arms had been in a position that seemed awkward for sitting at a bar. One arm was out, his hand gripping the beer, and the other was crossed, his fist buried in his armpit. It was sort of ridiculous to feel threatened by Thames in public. But Thames couldn’t help feeling smug Holden was worried he’d do something totally unpredictable.

  A look of defeat spread across Holden’s expression. He knew how pathetic it all was. He removed his fist from his pit and slammed the blade down on the bar. Looking almost dejected, he spun it around, his eyes buried in thought.

  “Holden,” Thames pressed, watching him. “What do you want?”

  “I did what you wanted me to do. I got Number One. He’s in the corner of the bar with a couple of the guys. He’s in the suit.”

  Thames glanced around the bar, catching three men seated at a table, staring back at him. He recognized two from the house party. The man in the middle, middle-aged and suited, appeared refined. He stared back at Thames with ease.

  So, Holden had done it then.

  He’d brought Number One over.

  “Why isn’t he here talking to me?” he demanded, looking back at Holden.

  “He wants to talk, but someplace quiet first.”

  “I was right. You followed me here, didn’t you?” Anger replaced his wariness now. “You were going to come to my house.”

  Holden didn’t respond straightaway. He chugged his beer some more. As he drank, Thames flicked a glance in Jem’s direction. Jem, too, was paying attention. Thames glanced at the empty chair next to Jem, searching for Charlotte. Jem shook his head at him, tilting his head to the entrance. She’d left, thank fuck. That was one less thing to worry about.

  They continued to stare at one another across the room for a moment longer. They’d talked about this in the garage while they’d worked on the car. Leafed through scenarios if the crew showed up suddenly. One of those scenarios involved the bar. They were thinking of that conversation now. When Jem raised his brows, a question in his face, Thames nodded slowly. Jem stood up and disappeared in the backroom.

  “Alright,” Thames murmured, redirecting his focus on Holden. “I’ll talk to Number One, but it’ll be here.”

  “Not with all these people around,” Holden argued.

  As Jem emerged, Thames nodded. “I agree. Not with everyone around.”

  Jem whistled for attention, his voice booming. “Alright, folks, gotta close the bar as soon as possible. Consider it an emergency. I need everyone out.”

  Protests erupted from customers.

  “Apologies,” he went on in that suave way. “I will make it up to you all. Don’t bother paying. It’s on the house. I’m sorry. I really am. Come on!”

  As he ushered people out, playing nice, Holden chuckled, appearing impressed. “Well done, Thames.”

  Thames didn’t smile back.

  The patrons left slowly, taking their time, guzzling what they could of their drinks. They meandered out, unhappy, throwing glares in Jem’s way.

  It felt like forever. Minutes dragged by, people argued, and Jem ultimately had to stand by the door and force them out, all while smiling tightly. The second the last person left, he shut the door and turned his attention to the men in the corner.

  Silence filled the air.

  Holden eventually turned to look at the suited man in the corner, nodding once at him.

  Number One stood up and strode over to the other side of Thames.

  “You wanted to see me, and now I’m here,” he spoke, sitting down on the stool.

  Thames didn’t like that he had a man on either side of him.

  “No,” he found himself saying, turning to look at the suited man, the man he’d often wondered about. “I said to Holden that if you wanted me to do something, to have the courtesy to tell me yourself.”

  The man nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Anything I needed said would have come from him, and in response, you threw him out of your home. You disrespected Holden, thus you disrespected me. I don’t take kindly to that, Thames.”

  Thames studied the man, frowning at what he saw. The suit, the too groomed beard, the calm eyes; something felt off. He didn’t know what it was, but he did know this man should have frightened the hell out of him, but he didn’t. Not at all. He just…looked like a man in a fucking suit.

  He felt almost disappointed.

  “So what’re you going to do?” he found himself asking.

  “With what?”

  “With me.” Thames shrugged. “You just said you don’t take kindly to disrespecting Holden, thus disrespecting you. What’re you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to make a deal,” he said simply. “One that involves you…and your cousin. He’s been kicking around nearby.”

  Thames had noticed Reid had come through the door, and then he’d taken off, chasing after Ember – a development Thames didn’t have the time to wonder about. But it made sense seeing the bastard here at the same time they were.

  “This is the chop shop shit, isn’t it?” he asked resignedly. “Jesus, all this nonsense just to get to my cousin, and all for what? Some fucking cars? I thought the crew was bigger than this –”

  “That contact list can open up doors.”

  Thames shook his head, confused. “Doors you should have already had open for you.”

  He truly didn’t understand what was going on.
Chop shopping was petty crime compared to what the crew had delved in. This was off the reservoir and it didn’t make sense.

  “Hey,” Jem suddenly barked out in alarm.

  Thames turned, noticing the two men in the corner had gotten up and were advancing in Thames’ direction.

  “What I want done with that shop is none of your fucking business,” Number One seethed, his face twisting now with anger. “You will fucking do as I say and that’s the end of it, or else you’ll never find a way out of the crew, Thames.”

  The men stopped feet from where he sat. Jem edged away from the exit, warily watching their move as he settled behind the bar, his arms dropped.

  Holden was relaxed, chuckling to himself as he relaxed his back against the bar, arms out. Jem edged nearer, coming to a stop directly behind Holden.

  “Watch yourself,” Number one curtly said to him, catching it.

  Jem shook his head calmly. “Relax. I serve drinks. Let me get you guys something and bring the tension down a bit, hey?”

  Before an answer was given, the door of the bar swung open and Reid stormed through.

  “What the fuck is this about?” he demanded, stopping just before he got to the bar.

  Everyone was on guard. The two men turned halfway in Reid’s direction, Holden grabbed at the knife he’d settled on the counter, and Reid immediately put a hand in the back of his jeans, no doubt gripping a firearm.

  It suddenly occurred to Thames as he watched the scene unfold, this night was not going to end calmly.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Charlotte

  Penny had spent the night at Megan’s the day Locke came pounding on the door. It was two in the morning. When I opened the door, I found him hunched over, clutching his side, wheezing, “I texted you, I called you, Charlotte.”

  Panicked, I wrapped my arms around him, helping him into the house. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry, Locke, I didn’t know! I fell asleep.”

  “I waited.”

  “You waited there?” I didn’t want to say where. I felt sick thinking I’d left him alone in that place. “Please, please, are you okay?”

  He stepped inside, his suit top coated in blood. He smelled like copper, his face looked gaunt and sweaty.

  “What am I supposed to do?” I frantically asked, shaking. “Locke, you’re bleeding everywhere!”

  “Take me to the bedroom, run me a bath. I have a card in my pocket. You have to dial it, tell the man my name and give him the address. He’ll be here to fix me up…”

  Which meant…

  Which meant I was too late.

  Panicked, I helped him up the stairs and to the bathroom in my bedroom. He stripped as I ran him a bath. He refused the shower stall; it was the tub, only the tub.

  “Hot or cold?” I asked.

  “Cold,” he answered.

  He was punishing himself.

  I ran him a cold bath, sucking in breaths as my heart raced in my chest. I heard his suit plopping to the ground, heard him approach the tub. My eyes flashed to his body, wincing at the bruises and open cuts.

  It was the first time he’d come to my house. It was not protocol. Which meant he was desperate and hurting.

  I backed away as he stepped into the tub, naked. Instantly, his body broke out in shakes as he sat down, submerging his lower half in ice cold water. His face was pale, his eyes so dark, they looked black. The water changed colour, turning red around him.

  As he sat frozen, I shakily dialled the number on the card he left in his suit pocket.

  “Izzy,” the voice responded on the other end.

  “Max Locke,” I responded robotically before rattling away the address.

  “Give me thirty minutes.”

  The phone went dead. I turned around to look at Locke, feeling my throat close as my gaze swept over his chest, lingering on the tattoo, the size of my hand, that stretched from his chest (right above his heart) and to his shoulder. What did it mean? I wondered.

  “You need to take your watch off, Locke,” I told him, noticing it on his wrist.

  He never took it off, though.

  “Locke,” I pressed. “It’ll break otherwise.”

  “It never worked, Charlotte,” he simply responded.

  He washed himself in the cold water while I sat by his side, giving him company as he muttered things, horrible things he’d done. By the time the doctor arrived at the door, he was out and sitting on the edge of the tub. The doctor stitched his wounds shut, gave him painkillers and left like the professional he was, never saying more than he needed to.

  Locke collapsed into my bed shortly after. His entire body sagged into the mattress, loosening.

  Just before he fell asleep, he muttered, “I should have hidden under the slide.”

  That wasn’t the first time he’d said that. Every time felt less painful than the last. Like…like he was poking fun at himself.

  He slept for ten hours.

  I fell asleep on the bed next to him, listening to his fitful nightmares, feeling him stir, unable to shake the tormented sounds he made.

  “It’s okay,” I’d tell him. “It isn’t real. You’re having a nightmare, Locke.”

  He woke up at one point and turned to look at me in the dark. I was already awake having consoled him.

  I rubbed my eyes. “Are you okay?”

  Ignoring my question, he tiredly said, “I looked into Billy.”

  My heart jumped. Holding my breath, I pressed, “And?”

  “And like Jem said, he came to you alone.”

  I swallowed hard before stiffening a nod. “Okay.”

  He didn’t blink. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I want to believe you,” I softly responded.

  I did. So very badly.

  I turned to Billy, seated on the edge of the bed, staring sadly at me. He wanted me to believe him too.

  But I wasn’t ready to.

  Like the doctor had advised, I sat Locke up and dosed him up on some more painkillers. I settled the glass of water to his lips and made him wash it down. Then I checked under the bandages, making sure he hadn’t moved enough in his sleep to have re-opened them.

  Satisfied, I pushed him back down on the pillow and ran my hands through his hair, comforting him. It always left me sad when he shut his eyes to my touch, savouring it.

  Locke was deprived of love. He pushed it away like it was poison, but when he was vulnerable and weak, he needed it like air.

  Just before Locke fell back asleep, I whispered over him, “Please tell me Conor is okay.”

  “He’s okay,” he returned groggily.

  “He’s safe?”

  “He’s safe.”

  Please, please be safe.

  When mid-morning came, Megan was at my door, unloading about Penny’s sleepover when Locke came barrelling down the stairs, dressed in last night’s suit. His suit jacket was on, covering the blood on his shirt.

  Megan’s eyes went wide, her shock deep as she glared accusingly at me, at what she’d just walked in on.

  “It’s not what you think,” I sharply told her as Penny blazed past us, already filled with energy for the day.

  She studied my pale face before noticing how stiffly Locke moved. “What is he making you do?” she asked me, suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” I lied just as Locke reached the bottom.

  But it wasn’t nothing.

  It was Locke’s everything.

  His torment.

  His torture.

  His revenge.

  I stopped the car on the side of the road on the outskirts of town in front of an old abandoned home. I hurried out, running into the forest just beyond the yard. The yard itself looked the same every time: overgrown with weeds and tall grass; there was junk strewn everywhere, including a rusted car that was probably some animal’s home now. To make matters worse, I always had to pass this ancient slide, cracked and on its side.

  I should have hidden under the slide, he’d said.

/>   I shuddered.

  I hated being here.

  I hated it more in the dark.

  It was freaky. I couldn’t fathom how four boys wound up playing this far out of town. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that one of them disappeared not far from this very house.

  Not far at all.

  I didn’t have to search for the hidden door. I’d memorized it at this point. Hidden by bushes and tall grass (at one point camouflaged so you couldn’t even notice its existence), I found it poking out from the ground. It was like a storm shelter, only the doors were steel, and its purpose wasn’t to hide you from a storm. No, it was more sinister than that.

  I stopped before it, fighting for air in my lungs.

  The door was already open.

  I always took a moment before I waded in. Fear shot up my spine, and I closed my eyes to suppress it. I told myself he needed me. He needed me to stop him from doing something very bad. Or maybe he’d done it already and I was too late.

  Adrenaline replaced my fear and I ducked down, climbing the steep steps to the bottom of the small room. It was completely black inside. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and turned its flashlight on.

  “Locke,” I whispered, hesitating.

  I shined the light around the room as I stepped in. I nearly tripped over something hard under my feet. I looked down, my breaths growing shallow at the collection of old toys scattered throughout the dirt floor. From my understanding, these weren’t the original toys Max had played with when he’d been trapped in here. These were ones he’d replaced himself. Why he did that, I didn’t know.