Up in Smoke (King #8)

That does the trick. One look is all it takes for the fucker to slam on the gas pedal, his little roller skate screeching against the pavement as he takes off.

I return my gun to the console and lean over, popping open the glove box. I feel around until I find what I’m looking for. I sit up, open the bottle, and toss back two pills, swallowing them down with a swig of whiskey from my flask.

Adderall.

It’s needed, especially today. Watching this house for weeks isn’t good for a mind that tends to go searching in the past when it isn’t concentrating on the present. The Adderall helps me focus when I got too much time to think. Plus, it’s a better high than coke and lasts a fuck of a lot longer.

The only thing keeping me here, in this van on the side of a nameless road in Banyan Cay, besides the steady diet of whiskey and amphetamines, of course, is revenge.

Frank Helburn is going to die by my hand.

As soon as I can fucking find him.

I’ve never spent a year looking for someone. Finding people, tracking, is what I’m paid a shit-ton of money to do. I can usually trace someone in hours, days at most.

Never an entire fucking year.

I may not have found Frank, but I’ve found the next best thing.

His daughter.

Frances Helburn, named after her sorry fuck of a father, Frank, is now going by Sarah Jackson.

She has a miserable excuse for a life. Seriously, the bitch barely leaves the house. From what I can see she doesn’t have any friends, except of course for the curly haired motherfucker who barely looks old enough to shave. Although, Frances could be hiding a beard of her own for all I fucking know with that hair always in her face. I’m surprised she makes it to school every day without getting hit by a fucking car.

She spotted me across the street today. I felt her eyes on me. I pretended to be repairing something on my bike, when, in reality, I’d just ran from her house after breaking into the basement. I didn’t make it one foot inside the little window before I was clawed at by some fat feline who jumped past me in the dark, knocking a bunch of shit over.

Fuck that cat.

I didn’t have time to search for clues to where Frank could be hiding. Patience isn’t my strong suit. Finding Frank Helburn is testing my very limits. I was growing restless again. I remind myself of the goal and how sweet spilling his blood will be.

And, for a moment or two, I’m at ease.

Well, at ease as I can be.

I crack my knuckles and then my neck. I pull out my phone and click on the file Griff sent me a few weeks back. There are only two pictures in the file and one is of Frank and his daughter. The picture itself is several years old at best and blurry as all hell. Frances has no discernable deformities from what I can tell, but again, the picture is so distorted I can’t even make out if she’s smiling or not. Just dark hair and weird yellow-gold colored eyes, which must be another testament to the quality of the picture.

I may have never seen her face but when I was across the street from her I felt her eyes watching me with interest, and when I saw her shoulders drop from the corner of my eye I knew she’d removed me off her list of possible threats. I smile.

Wrong move, kid.

The other picture is a grainy security footage still showing Frank Helburn leaving the bloody scene at Morgan’s house and I feel the anger rising through my body settling in my throat where it’s been strangling me since that fucking night.

The phone rings, and I cringe at the name on my screen. I answer without a greeting, but Griff is Griff and doesn’t need one. He talks enough for the both of us.

“No sign of our boy Frank?” Griff asks, speaking fast as if someone pressed the fast forward button on his mouth. His voice is nasally. High pitched. Whiney. Every word he speaks sounds as if he’s complaining even if he isn’t. I look forward to when the job’s done so I don’t have to hear it on a daily fucking basis.

“None,” I confirm. “Just the girl and occasionally some little delivery boy twat.”

Griff makes a noise. Half sigh, half growl. “Well, Frank isn’t as good at covering his tracks as he thinks he is because last night my nephew Leo picked up a trace of him deep in the dark corners of the web only few know how to get to. He’s still hacking. Still doing jobs. Leo’s tracking him now. He may not be there with his daughter, but we’ll find him. Soon.”

“I’ll keep watching. If he comes here I’ll know it,” I tell Griff. It’s true. No one has ever slipped by me and they never will. “But I think it’s time to find out just how much Frank Helburn loves his daughter.”

“I think you might be right,” Griff agrees.

I look out the window at the dark townhouse. I press the speaker button.

“Take her.” Griff’s says. His voice deepens with the intensity of his words. His excitement is more controlled now. Darker. “Take Frank’s daughter. I want to flush this fucker out. He took Morgan and your child from you and he stole millions from me. He deserves everything he has coming to him.” He lets out a long breath directly into the phone causing static on the line. “He needs to pay.” Another long exhale. “And then he needs to PAY.”

I don’t say anything, but I agree. Griff knows I agree.

“You’re one tough man to get more than a word out of.” Griff says, changing his tone from bitter to amused in single chuckle. “I like that about you.”

I don’t like anything about you.

“I hear you’re back to a one-man team,” Griff says, suddenly changing the subject.

I grit my teeth. This fucker sure knows how to piss me off. “None of your fucking business, Griff,” I snap.

I look out the window for the millionth time. The townhouse is still dark.

“I’m just saying, you must have been mad as hell when Rage left your team.” Griff continues, ignoring my warning. His mention of Rage’s name makes me want to call the entire job off. “He must’ve not been as loyal as you thought.”

Griff said HE. My anger fades. Griff apparently doesn’t know who Rage is, never mind what SHE’S capable of.

I release my grip on the steering wheel. “We might have the same enemy, Griff, but make no mistake, that don’t make us friends.”

“Good, because I’ve seen first-hand what happens to your friends,” He drawls.

I hang up and toss the phone onto the passenger seat. I slam my closed fist on the steering wheel.

If Griff was in front of me I’d strangle the life out of him right here and now.

The fucker thinks he’s untouchable and to a certain extent he is. His organization has grown leaps and bounds over the last few years, but the guy is still a dick who likes to brag about his accomplishments, which gives his reign an expiration date. The best organization in the world can’t protect a leader who continually runs his mouth all over the place.

Loose lips sink ships, but in my world, they’ll also earn you a dirt nap.