Finding Kyle(2)

Which brings me back to Kizner’s visit to this apartment that I’ve been holed up in for almost three months now.

“Moving me?” I ask.

“We had to disclose you as a witness when we sought the wiretaps,” he returns. “You’re now officially a target.”

“Not going into WITSEC,” I tell him adamantly. No way am I giving up every last vestige of control to the U.S. Marshal’s and their witness protection program.

“Stupid fuck,” he mutters in return.

When the ATF took the club down back in October, I was still in deep. They were able to secure the compound and make their arrests without one Mission gang member knowing I was a rat. When they busted in with their flash-bangs and SWAT gear, I took off running as was the plan. I went out the back door, along with two other gang members, and we fled into the back woods, all three of us splitting up in various directions.

I stayed hidden until I was later extracted with such secrecy that only three people in the entire ATF knew of my whereabouts. It later went down in the official report that I’d been executed by Zeke’s right-hand man, a Mission gang member who had taken a bullet between the eyes during the raid and couldn’t say anything to the contrary.

So, on October twelfth, I was officially declared dead and whisked away to hide out in Chicago until the ATF could finish building their case against the senator and the law enforcement officials who were on the take as well.

“WITSEC is your safest option, Kyle,” Joe reminds me.

“It’s a wasted resource on me,” I counter. “I can take care of myself.”

“But you’d have added protection until this gets to trial.”

“You mean, I’ll have watch dogs that will curtail my freedom,” I tell him with a pointed stare. I’d been locked up here in this tiny apartment for almost three months, and I was going stir crazy. I wasn’t about to stay in this type of situation going forward.

“To help keep you alive until trial,” he again pushes at me. “And we need you for the trial. Every single fucking arrest hinges on your testimony.”

“Well, gee, Joe,” I say sarcastically. “I’m glad you’re worried about me personally and not just as a valuable asset.”

Joe sighs and rubs his hand along his balding head. “I’m not even going to address that. You know I’m worried about you personally.”

I sigh as well, raking my fingers through my long, blond hair. It’s taken on a few extra grays over the last few years with all the shit I’ve seen and done. “I know, and I appreciate it. If you’ll just get me a new identity and send me somewhere remote, I’ll handle myself. I can keep myself safe until the trial.”

“There’s more to it than just—”

“I know,” I cut him off. “So set up bank accounts under my new name, move my monies in there because God knows I’ve saved a fuck of a lot of money over the last three years the ATF was paying me, and I don’t know… get me a job or something, so I can stay busy.”

Joe stares at me a long moment before he says, “You know if you don’t go into WITSEC, you’re on your own. And you know he’ll send people after you.”

“He” being the senator, and I nod… because yes, I know this is a distinct possibility.

“Then make sure you send me somewhere he’ll never find me, and then cover my tracks,” I say simply. The government’s been hiding witnesses for decades, and they’re good at it.

Joe takes a long slug of his beer before setting the unfinished bottle down on the counter. “Alright. It will take a few days to get everything set up. I’ll be in touch. Until then—”

“Stay in the apartment,” I mutter.

It sucked donkey dick being dead and having to hide.





CHAPTER 1




Kyle


She’s had enough.

She sits on the cold concrete floor, slumped forward as far as she can because her arms are tied behind the four-by-four post and her legs are sprawled out in front of her. Her head hangs low, stretching her neck to its limits and causing her matted and blood-crusted hair to hang over her face, so I can’t see the misery in her eyes. Yeah… she’s had enough.

Kayla throws an icy bucket of water over the woman, but she doesn’t even flinch.

Not satisfied by that lack of reaction, Kayla draws her foot back and kicks the woman in the thigh.

No reaction.

Bending over, I grab a hank of her gnarled hair and pull her head up. She’s completely lax, eyes closed and mouth hanging slightly open, but she’s not feeling anything at this moment. I slide my gaze over to Kayla, who looks at me expectantly.

“She’s had enough today,” I tell her.

“Maybe another bucket of water will wake her up,” she suggests pointedly.

I shake my head and release my hold on her. Her head flops back down, and I ignore the roil of acid gurgling low in my belly. Shaking my head, I tell her, “Nah. Try again tomorrow. Maybe using a knife on her again will get her to loosen her tongue.”

Kayla gives a cackle of glee over my suggestion, and her eyes turn darkly clouded with wicked desire. Desire to continue her sick torture or desire for me, I can’t tell. She licks her lips as she looks at me, and I have to repress the shudder that wants to overtake my body.