Stitches (Insatiable Series Book 5)

by Patrick Logan

  That would have been perfectly all right to Jared. But he had meddled in the world, and the world had struck back with the anthropomorphic vengeance that only it could.

  And Corina had become collateral damage.

  He knew that he should be out looking for her, doing whatever he could to bring her back. But he also knew that he couldn’t do it alone, which is why, at the time, Father Carter’s offer had seemed so enticing.

  I promise I will get Corina back.

  A priest wouldn’t—couldn’t—lie, could he?

  But now, after several days of just lying in wait, it seemed the only thing that Father Carter was intent on doing was establishing a rapport with the Sheriff’s Department, the same damn institution that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. To make things worse, Father Carter appeared to be delegated to taking care of their goddamn administrative bullshit.

  So while he sat in the dilapidated church on the outskirts of Askergan with the mental midget that was Robert Cormath and the two dozen or so devoted lemmings, the probability of Corina’s head ending up in a bag like the poor newswoman edged toward certainty.

  And it would be all his fault.

  There was a thud from the massive wooden doors, and Jared’s eyes whipped up, his heart racing.

  It’s her head, it’s Corina’s pretty head in a plastic—

  But the door opened and a woman in her forties, eyes downcast, a long white dress swirling about her like cotton candy stepped inside—there was no decapitated head.

  “I have to get out of here,” Jared whispered. His comment was meant to be an internal monologue, so when a reply came he looked up, his dark eyebrows knitting in confusion.

  “Can’t go out—Father Carter says we shouldn’t go out.”

  Jared stared at Robert Cormath’s wide face. The man’s hair was cut straight across his forehead, and the sideburns cut so hight that it looked as if they were terrified of his ears.

  The Crab is out there sawing at Corina’s throat and I’m here with him.

  Jared sighed and looked around before answering, scowling at the stained-glass windows, the archaic pews, the worn bibles tucked in the wooden shelves.

  He hated the fucking church, which made it even more unlikely that he would find himself sidling up with a priest—if he actually was a priest, something that Jared, having observed Carter’s actions closely over the past few days, wasn’t completely clear.

  Jared shook his head.

  The simpleton Robert was right: he couldn’t leave. If he left, then he was destined to sit on the sidelines, ironically praying that Corina would be returned to him, or he would have to go and retrieve her on his own.

  But this wasn’t shooting mindless parasites in the street. This was going up against a drug empire, a horde of bikers, the fucking Mexican cartels.

  And that said nothing of the psychotic junkie who rumor told was able to control what was left of the crackers.

  No, as disillusioned as he was, Jared still thought that he was taking the best course of action.

  “No go,” Robert repeated, and this time Jared nodded.

  “You’re right, you’re right,” he muttered.

  He was about to hang his head again, when his phone buzzed in his pocket and he jumped. Several of the parishioners, who were deep in prayer, looked up at him, their faces the epitome of scorn.

  Jared stared back, daring them to say something. Ever since he had arrived, he felt their gaze, their desperate eyes looking at him for some sort of divine insight.

  If they only knew…

  Jared took a deep breath, then looked away and teased the cell phone from his jeans’ pocket.

  The number was unlisted, and Jared, not wanting to draw more ire, didn’t answer right away. Instead, he hopped off the stage and hurried through the crowd of people, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him.

  On the fourth ring he made it to the wooden entrance, and just as he elbowed the left door open, he clicked accept and brought the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?” he croaked as he squinted and stepped into the hot sun. “Father Carter?”

  “Jared?”

  It was a female voice, one that he recognized, but hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

  The door clanged closed behind him, just barely missing his fingers that he managed to slip out of the way at the last second.

  “Marley? Marley, what…what do you…” want, he was about to say, but stopped himself.

  “Jared? What’s going on in Askergan?”

  Jared glanced around nervously as he moved away from the church. There were several parishioners standing around the entrance, their dry lips split with hand-rolled cigarettes, and he quickly moved toward the dirt parking lot and out of earshot.

  “What—what do you mean?”

  “Don’t patronize me, Jared. I’ve seen the news, they are showing…they showed some pictures of these crab-like things? And about gang violence? Shit, people are tweeting about some woman being decapitated? Is this true? Are you and Corina okay? I’ve tried to reach her, but her phone’s dead.”

  Jared swallowed hard, and he felt his heart start to thud away in his chest.

  Marley had never fully recovered from what had happened during the storm—none of them had, not really, but the losses they had experienced damaged her most of all. She had survived because of her daughters, Jared knew. And while Marley’s relationship with Corina had deteriorated over time, she still loved her daughter.

  And she still had Henrietta.

  Jared cleared his throat.

  “Yeah, it’s a little crazy here right now. The media has blown it out of proportion a bit, but there is a terrible drug problem in Askergan, that’s for sure. Ever since—” he caught himself before he said the storm, “ever since the new Sheriff came into power. Anyway, everything’s fine. As for a beheading? Gimme a break, Marley. This is Askergan—Askergan County for Christ’s sake, not Guantanamo.”

  He paused, anxiously awaiting her response. He felt ashamed for lying to her, and even more ashamed at how easily the lie had come.

  “And Corina?” she said at last. “Is she okay? She isn’t answering her phone.”

  Jared closed his eyes.

  “She’s fine,” he lied again. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll head by the ACPD station later today and speak to her, get her to give you a shout. How does that sound?”

  There was another pause, and Jared silently scolded himself for making such a ridiculous promise.

  Uh, okay, I’ll just head over to some psychopath murderer’s home base, break in, hold a phone to Corina’s ear so she can chat with ya, how’s that, mom?

  “Okay,” Marley said, her voice seeming to soften. “You’d tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you, Jared? I mean after all we’ve been through…”

  Jared nodded and opened his eyes.

  “Yes, of course I would.”

  “Good. You be safe, Jared.”

  “You too,” he replied and then hung up.

  It was nearly two in the afternoon, and the sun was blazing high above like a giant, unblinking and jaundiced eye. Jared turned his gaze skyward and stared into the glowing orb until dark spots filled his field of vision.

  This is it; I need to speak to Father Carter. I need to get things moving.

  “Jared?”

  Jared looked away from the sun and whipped his head around. His eyes were watering, and he blinked rapidly, trying to focus.

  “Who’s there?”

  The man continued to approach, and Jared felt his heart-rate double.

  “Who’s there?”

  A dozen blinks later, and Jared managed to make out the familiar outline of a bow-tie.

  It was Pike.

  The man made Jared incredibly uncomfortable, a feeling that went deeper than just the ruthlessness he had shown in the church when Corina had been kidnapped.

  There was something off about this man with the monosyllabic monicker.


  “Jared? Father Carter has a job for us.”

  Jared, still not able to clearly make out his face, felt his brow furrow.

  Us?

  “What—”

  “Please, come with me. We have to hurry.”

  Jared swallowed hard.

  It felt like his prayers had been answered after all—at long last they were going to do something about Corina.

  Pike turned on his heels, and Jared followed.

  Chapter 8

  “Mayor? What are you talking about mayor?” Sheriff White couldn’t believe what Father Carter was asking him.

  To Paul’s surprise, he had managed to get a few hours of shut-eye after his conversation with Coggins. And once again he was accosted by the dream, of being in the closet, of the beast in the hallway below. Only this time, the story played out as it had in real life, only instead of Coggins, it was him in the closet. Jared Lawrence was pressing down on his back, instead of his mother, Nancy, or any of the others that had come to him in their ethereal state. He had no idea how this dream had transposed itself into his head, but what he did know was that he could not simply dismiss the similarities as coincidence.

  There was something wrong in Askergan—something that ran deep.

  When the Sheriff had awoken, he was surprised to find Father Carter waiting for him at the front of the station.

  And now this: the man asking in his polite tone to become Mayor of Askergan County.

  The problem was, Askergan County hadn’t had a mayor since even before Sheriff Drew’s time. It was simply understood that most decisions ran through the Sheriff’s office. When they required outside council, he deferred to a handful of delegates that met every quarter, spending most of their time gossiping before denying an eager developer’s request to turn some forested area into a parking lot or shopping mall or strip club.

  Sheriff White shook his head, but this response was insufficient for Father Carter.

  “Paul, I’m going to be honest with you. I am trying here, as a—” he flicked his white collar —”a priest, but there is a limit to what I can do.”

  Sheriff White’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated the man’s choice of words.

  Trying as a priest.

  “I can help you rid Askergan of the cartels and the Crab, but I need something from you in return. I want to be Mayor.”

  Paul continued to stare. He had so much on his plate now, Nancy’s death notwithstanding, that the man’s gall had taken him completely by surprise.

  He sighed.

  “Mayor?”

  “Yeah, that’s right: mayor. Look, Sheriff, I know things have been tough, and I am very sorry for your loss—we all are. But we need to make sure that the rest of the County remains safe.”

  Paul felt his blood pressure rise, and when he spoke next, the words came out more strongly than he had intended.

  “Okay, Father, let’s say that I accept your offer… how is it, exactly, that you plan on taking out both the cartels and the Crab? With what? An army of religious devotees?” he shook his head dismissively. “Sorry, but while they might be helpful for dismissing a couple of bikers, they aren’t going to be able to take out an entire crew, let alone two. Besides, I’m uncomfortable getting any more civilians involved.”

  Father Carter smiled, his perfectly white teeth gleaming. It was more than just his words, Paul realized, that made him question the man’s genuineness.

  It was the way he smiled, as he was now, and the way that he seemed to predict the Sheriff and his deputy’s reactions even before they were realized.

  “I can deliver, I assure you. The details aren’t important.”

  Paul scoffed.

  “The details don’t matter?”

  “No, they don’t. But rest assured that I’ll get it done. Thing is, though, if you want my help, I’m going to need your word that you will make me mayor of Askergan.”

  Paul detested the man’s obstinate nature, his unwavering confidence.

  Mayer… fucking mayor. How long has it been since Askergan has had a mayor? Two decades? Three?

  Paul mulled over the man’s words, trying to figure an amicable way out of this predicament. In the end, he was just too tired, too wasted to argue.

  Besides, becoming mayor wouldn’t matter if there was no county left to reside over, which was a frighteningly real possibility at this point.

  All while under his watch.

  In the end, Paul simply shrugged.

  “You help me get rid of these fucking vermin, and I’ll think about the making you mayor.”

  The priest’s smile grew even larger.

  “That’s what I hoped you say. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.”

  Paul blinked long and slow, a headache beginning to form behind his eyes.

  “Get ready? For what?”

  “For a meeting.”

  Paul stood, adjusting his belt in the process.

  “Father, I don’t have time for these games. I’m meeting with the deputies in less than an hour, and we need to come up with a strategy to get at the Crab who’s holed up in Sabra’s estate.”

  Father Carter was veritably beaming now.

  “Oh, yes. You have your meeting, and I have mine.”

  Paul raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if the man was being deliberately obtuse, or if this was just the way he spoke. A fucking riddler. Either way, the man was putting a bad taste in his mouth. His agreement wasn’t a minute old, and yet he was already beginning to doubt his decision to acquiesce to the priest’s request.

  “Fine… I’ll bite. Who’s your meeting with, Father?”

  Now it was Father Carter’s turn to pause, although Paul had the sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t a result of the man being at a lack of words, but simply for effect.

  And his response confirmed the latter.

  “With the cartels, that’s who.”

  Chapter 9

  Pike’s instructions had been explicit: Jared Lawrence was to stay out of sight until called upon—if he was called upon. No matter what happened, he was to remain hidden.

  It all made Jared wonder what the hell he was doing there at all, and the prospect of once again just being a passive observer was enough to make his blood pressure rise.

  Pike had driven twenty minutes or so from the city, sequestering them to back roads of the like that lacked the familiar ride of packed asphalt. Teeth rattling in his skull, Jared felt his entire body start to tremble, and wasn’t sure if it was the road—or only the road—or the fact that he could simply feel that they were coming closer to the Crab.

  And to Corina.

  It was all he could do to avoid crying out, the thought of her held captive inside the massive estate that loomed just out of sight tugging on the loose yarn of his soul, threatening to unravel it entirely.

  The sight of bikers with machine guns slung over their shoulders stayed his tongue.

  She’s close. And she’s still alive, Jared thought with something akin to guilt and rage.

  Pike made a sharp right and pulled the car to a stop behind a large, grassy embankment. The hill, a steep, twelve or fifteen feet to an overgrown, burnt plateau was just large enough to block out the sound of revving motorcycles.

  The sharply dressed man in the driver’s seat, a man of few words and fewer emotions, it seemed, turned to him and indicated for him to exit the car.

  Jared swallowed hard, again wondering what role he had to play in whatever was about to come, but obliged. Pike did the same, and before he knew it, they were both sprinting, crouched low like the very crackers that had and continued to haunt Askergan, up the side of the hill.

  Jared’s worn runners barely crested the hell before Pike barked at him to get down, to lie flat. The man’s flat expression quashed any questions that were on Jared’s tongue.

  The grass beneath his chest was yellow and dead, and it crunched loudly and poked into his skin through his t-shirt as he lowered himself.

 
“Head down, ears open,” Pike whispered.

  Once again, Jared did as he was told. He closed his eyes, trying to make out anything that might be useful, that might help gain an understanding of what they were doing here.

  On the plateau, he could make out the sound of bikes revving in the distance, which carried up to him in the soft wind like a mechanical lullaby. The grass beneath him crunched when he shifted his body ever so slightly, but the one thing that he no longer heard was Pike.

  Like a shadow in the grasp of midnight, he was gone.

  For a brief moment, Jared felt a teenager again, picked on for being gay, for being empathetic at a time of testosterone fueled arrogance, duped into a hide-and-seek game where everyone simply went home when it was his turn to hide.

  His reverie vanished when he picked up the sound of a scuffle, followed by what sounded like muffled shouts. His heart, already racing in his narrow chest, decided to thump in spastic staccato.

  Stay in the fucking grass? Lie and listen? Lie and wait?

  Jared was done with waiting.

  Waiting meant death, and he wasn’t ready to die yet.

  He lifted his eyes, intending on moving just a few inches, but the grass was so high that he had to lift his entire chin.

  It was this fact that probably saved his life; with his neck cranked upward as it was, his throat was pinched, rendering his cry a gasping croak.

  Pike had his back to him, a thick arm snaked around a dark-skinned man’s throat, the muzzle of what looked like a silencer pressed against his shaved temple.

  There was another man with similar, copper-colored skin, his face and neck covered in tattooed graffiti, standing roughly twenty feet from the two of them. Clutched in his hands and aimed directly at Pike was an automatic rifle.

  The man with the rifle sneered at Pike and then said something in Spanish that Jared didn’t understand. Pike, however, seemed to comprehend, as he answered in English.

  “I don’t care, either. But put it this way, Rodriguez, it’s a business decision. Like last time we met, all those years ago in the gym. Back then it was a business decision, and it’s the same now.”