Ash heaves a sigh, one elbow propped on the table, and his free hand flipping a card over and over. “It was going fine until we ran into Julian at the fucking gas station.”
My eyebrows raise at that and the anger in Ash’s voice. He’s usually the more mellow of the four of us, taking most things in stride with a flippant joke, but it’s clear he’s pissed as fuck about whatever happened with Julian.
“Knox is with River. She said she wanted to be alone, but…” He trails off with a shrug, and I nod.
“I know.”
I’m aware of both the fact that Knox is with River and that sometimes being alone with the kind of pain she’s feeling right now is the last thing a person actually needs.
“What did you guys find out while you were out?” I ask him.
Ash scowls at the table. “Not as much as we hoped to. Seeing Julian just kind of... fucked everything up. He was being a bastard, talking about how he’s not going to have a funeral for Hannah since no one would mourn her, and River went to a rough place. We had to stop her from hauling off and smacking him right there in the gas station.”
I nod, understanding that completely. I had my revenge on the people who killed Jade, but if I’d come across any of them just out and about, I don’t know if I’d have been able to stop myself from hurting them.
“I could go out with you,” I offer. “Since Knox is busy and Gage isn’t here. To get the info we need.”
We’ve been trying to find out when Julian’s next big shipment of drugs will be coming in, so we can disrupt the shipment somehow.
“Sure,” Ash replies, nodding. “Let’s do it.”
The two of us head out and meet with a guy who used to be a drug runner. Like everyone in that particular industry, he still keeps his ears to the ground about what’s going on. It’s hard to actually get out, even if you don’t do the work anymore.
There’s usually a price for that kind of information, since money always talks. Luckily, we can easily pay it.
He looks at us suspiciously for a bit, until the money comes out, then he seems like he’s eager to talk.
“It’s yours if you tell us what you know,” I say.
“And we’ll know if you’re lying,” Ash adds.
“I got no reason to lie,” the runner tells us with a shrug. “Need the money more than I need to keep any secrets. I’ve seen stuff come in for Maduro before, and I know where he gets his shit from.”
“Can you tell us when his next shipment is coming in? And what route it will take?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, sure. It’s been about two weeks since he’s gotten any supply if my timing’s right. So it should be in the next two weeks or so. He’s a big dealer, so he goes through shit pretty fast. He doesn’t deal super locally, either. He’s got it good enough that he can have shit coming in from wherever he wants, pretty much. But he usually goes to the same source, and his runners take one of three paths. Usually switching it up every once in a while.”
“And you know what path the runner will be on this time?” Ash wants to know.
“Sure do. Been a minute since this one was used, and I’m cool with a friend of the guy who does the running.” He gestures for us to lean in closer, and he starts describing the route the driver will take, and we both commit it to memory as best we can.
It’s enough to go on for now, and it gives us a place to start.
With that information, we head home. Ash is in a better mood since we have something actionable to work on, something that will get us to the next stage of the plan.
I feel a little better too, but I keep thinking about what Ash said about running into Julian and how River was fucked up afterward.
I know, probably better than anyone, that we can’t erase her pain. We can’t bring her sister back or make it not hurt anymore that she’s gone. But I want to do something. Something that will help in this time where we’re still putting the pieces together for how to take out Julian.
I keep turning it over and over in my head. Julian’s a fucking prick for saying that no one would mourn Hannah, especially in front of the one person who’s mourning her the most. He might not want to do anything to celebrate Hannah’s life, but that doesn’t mean River doesn’t want that.
Thinking about it that way gives me an idea.
“Ash. I think... we should do a memorial for Hannah. We don’t need a church or a casket or a funeral to honor her passing properly. Julian won’t do it, so we will. For River. Maybe it will give her some closure or peace. I don’t know.”
Ash glances over at me and grins. “That’s a great idea.” He hesitates, then adds, “You know, you’ve changed.”
“How do you mean?”
“Since River came into our lives, you’ve been... I dunno. More alive. More present than you were before. I’m glad to see you coming to life again.”
I don’t really have anything to say to that, so I just nod. He’s right, in his way. Things really have changed since River came along. She’s changed me for the better. She’s so deep under my skin that I couldn’t get her out if I tried.
And I like it, although a part of me fears it too.
Because if something ever happened to her, it would wreck me beyond repair.
19
River
The shower water is hot as it beats down on my back and shoulders, soaking into my hair when I tip my head back.
Knox hung out with me a bit after I came down from coming, making sure I was really okay. I told him I was, and eventually he accepted that, leaving me to clean up and wash the day off me.
The water runs red a bit, and I hiss when it hits the cuts, sending trails of blood down my legs and swirling down the drain.
It felt incredible at the time, something I didn’t even know I needed until Knox gave it to me, but now it stings under the water until I get used to the spray.
I wash up quickly and then get out, looking at myself in the mirror. There are neat little lines from Knox, still pink and raised with their freshness. When I turn to look at my back, I can just make out the healing scars from where Knox marked me. I look at the stitches in my arm, which I never got looked at by a real doctor.
They’re a bit rough, and I’ll probably have more of a scar than I would have otherwise, but I don’t care. Honestly, I kind of like it. It’s Knox marking me in another way.
I stand there, looking at my tattoos and scars. With nothing on, everything stands out in sharp relief. Some of the scars are self-inflicted, and obviously I got the tattoos myself, but a lot of the marks on me are from other people. From fights I had to scrape and claw my way out of. From being abused and hurt in ways no one could ever deserve. It’s all left its mark on me, and I look so patched together at this point that I probably shouldn’t even be standing.
But I am.
I’m still on my fucking feet.
And as I go up against pure evil, I’m determined to be the last one still standing.
I brush one hand over the mirror, dragging my fingers through the condensation on it from the shower. In my head, I can hear that question from Gage. The one he asked the night I killed Ivan St. James, before he fucked me over this counter, and again in that dive bar bathroom.