Wildcard: Volume Two (Wilcard, #2) (7 page)

Ryder.

I get a response almost immediately; at the same time, a text from Scarlett comes through. I reach for my phone, a wave of guilt heating me as I read.

Scar: I miss you too xx

Four little words that make me feel like shit.

What the fuck am I doing?
I have no right to be digging around in her life. She asked me to keep out of it, and that’s what I should be doing. So why can't I leave this alone? I tell myself it's about wanting to make sure both she and Jake are safe, but I'm not being completely honest.

This is also about me needing to be able to trust her again. I hate that part of me feels this way. But the reality is, she’s lied to me once—how can I be sure she won’t do it again? Why is she so hell-bent on not accepting help? She is adamant the police can’t do anything. The only reason I can come up with is that he has something on her. Something big.

I sigh and rub my eyes. I
do
trust her. I do . . .
don’t I?

My email beeps again and I click on it. I’d forgotton about Anna’s waiting reply.

Ryder

I have to say, I'm a little shocked to hear from you.

In a good way, of course. I’d be happy to help you out, but you know us reporters rarely do anything without getting something in return, so here is the deal: I'll get you the info to me on your guy and in return you get me an exclusive interview. I’m not talking a pissy little one-page spread either. I want scoop. I want you on the front page of the mail, baring you soul. Deal?

By the way, how's your arse? ;)

Anna

I chuckle. I should have known that there would be strings attached. I weigh up my options. Matt will kill me if I gave an exclusive interview to her without talking to him first, especially considering there would be no questions that are off limits.

But my curiosity about Tony and what he has over Scar is something I don't think I can ignore.

Anna,

You have yourself a deal. All I know is this guy’s name. Tony Larezzi. Hell, I’m not even sure if it's his real name. If it helps, he has a son who is seven, named Jake Calera.

I'll be back in London in two weeks. We can either do the interview then, or over the phone. Let me know.

Ryder

Again, the reply is instant.

Ryder,

Okay, I'll see what I can come up with. No promises though. Not unless you can get more information on this guy, like a social security number or a license? As for the interview, when you get back is fine.

A good excuse to see you again in person ;)

Anna.

I'm sure she's flirting with me but I choose to ignore it. I hope she's not expecting repeat of last time. God, what if sex becomes one of her
“conditions?”
I groan and stand up, trying to ignore the pit in my stomach.

Why do I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well?

***

I
'm sitting outside the surgery room, waiting for my appointment. Next to me are two sets of x-rays: one I just had done, and the other from right after the accident. I'm actually able to sit normally in a chair now, and the pain is only constant when I do too much. I can't decide whether this is a good or bad thing. The faster my injury heals, the more pressure I am under to make a decision about my future.

I look up as I hear my name called. A woman in her late thirties is smiling at me. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, but loose curls still fall in her friendly green eyes. I smile back and stand up, following her through the waiting room and into her office.

“Ryder, take a seat.”

“Thanks for seeing me,” I say, sitting in one of the oversize mahogany and leather chairs that face her desk. I set the films down and glance around the room. The décor is tired and it’s in need of a paint, but photos that I assume are of her family hang on the walls, giving it a homely feel. Which reminds me: I need to call my mum.

“Of course.” She sits down and examines the films. “How is the pain?”

“It's much better. I get a dull ache if I exert myself. If I sit in the same position for too long it gets quite painful, but apart from that, it feels fine.”

The anonymity of the situation makes me feel like I can be completely honest. If I were seeing Matt’s doctor, I’d probably be playing up the amount of pain I was in.

“Good, good,” she mumbles, focusing heavily on the films. “The break it is completely healed. Over here you can see where the muscles were torn, but even those are showing great improvement over your older ones.”

“So what's the go?” I say nervously. I swallow as I wait for her to answer.

“I think when you get back to the UK you should make an appointment to see your regular surgeon. In my opinion, there would be no reason for you to not commence some basic training now if you feel up to it.” She looks me straight in the eye. “You could be back on the court in time for the US Open if everything goes to plan.”

Her words penetrate me and I feel sick.

If everything goes according to whose plan?

Because I have no idea what my plan is anymore.

This is not how I should be feeling hearing this news. If anything this gives me more insight into what I want for my future, it’s that, but I’m no closer to feeling like I know what I want. I stand up and stick my hand out. She takes it, clasping it firmly in hers.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stevens. I hope you're back on the court soon.”

“Thanks, and I appreciate you squeezing me in.”

***

I
press ignore on my phone and toss it on the floor. I’m sprawled out on the couch in the hotel, trying to process the news that I might be fit enough to play again soon. My phone rings again, so this time I reach over and turn it off. Seven missed calls from Matt. What could be that important?

I resume my position on the couch and turn on the TV. My laptop sits on the coffee table in front of me. I lean forward and grab it, curious as to whether I have any emails.

There is one waiting from Anna.

Ryder,

You don’t want to piss this guy off. Tony Larezzi, born 03/08/1987. He was just released from a stint in prison for drug offences. He has a record that is way too long for me to list and some pretty strong links to some really bad guys. To put it mildly, this guy is bad news. As in, it’s only a matter of time before he’s away for life.

Is this chick really worth all this trouble? I mean, you can fuck me without all the drama anytime ;)

Anna

I reply, ignoring her advance. The last thing I need is another woman in my life. I’m having enough trouble managing one.

Can you get me details on this guy? Address? Phone number? That kind of thing?

While I wait for her reply, I Google him and his criminal history.

Bingo. Images and news stories fill the screen. He looks a lot rougher in these photos than when I saw him on her doorstep, but it’s definitely the same guy. My email icon pops up. I click on it and read Anna’s response.

Sure. Address is 505 Seventh St, Parkenson. Phone number is 555 404 3433. Do you want his social security too? Yeah, I’m that good ;)

Don’t do anything stupid. This guy doesn’t fool around. As I said, he’s only been out of jail a few weeks. Give me a call when you’re back in London. I’m really looking forward to seeing you again.

Anna xx

I stare at his address for a long time. I’m torn between honoring her wishes and stepping in. Plugging his address into maps, I see he’s less than twenty minutes away. For God’s sake, someone has to do something. This guy needs to learn.

Fuck this. I’ll take matters into my own hands.

S
carlett

Under Penny’s advice, I buy a disposable phone so it can’t be traced back to me. I’m more than a little concerned at just how much she knows about all this, but I’m too desperate to question it. If this works, and he leaves me alone for good, then that is all that matters. How little I know about my friend is the least of my worries at the moment.

I’m sitting in my car outside my house when I make the call. I’ve been sitting here for the last twenty minutes trying to summon up the courage. Who knows what this guy will be like? He threatens people for a living—and God knows what else. Has he killed people before? Is that what he is . . . a
hitman
?

I take a deep breath and plug in the numbers. He answers on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I say.

My heart is pounding and I stifle a giggle, something I do when I’m nervous. Right now, I’m shitting myself, because I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to this kind of thing. I don’t even know what to say. How do I start this conversation? It isn’t like I’m ordering a pizza.
‘Hey, I need you to scare the shit out of my ex so he stays the fuck away from me’?

“I got your number from a friend who said you might be able to help me.”

My voice is high pitched, a reflection of just how nervous I am. My hands are shaking so much I’m in danger of dropping the phone. I prop my arm up on the window for extra support.

“Uh-huh.”

I pause, expecting him to say more. He doesn’t.

“Um, I-I need something taken care of.”

“Something or someone?”

“Someone,” I say. I breathe out. My eyes are closed as I run my fingers through my hair.
What am I doing? I can’t do this.
But I don’t feel I have a choice. I focus on the steering wheel, cutting off my emotions.

“What exactly are you after?”

There’s a menu for this kind of thing?
My mind goes blank. I rub my forehead and try to think. I don’t know what I want. I’m annoyed at Penny for not warning me that I needed to place a fucking
order
.

“My ex-boyfriend is blackmailing me. He’s the father of my boy and he wants money. But I know if I give it to him, he’ll be back. I-I think I want to scare him off. I don’t want to hurt him, just threaten him?” My voice squeaks.

“You think you want to threaten him?” His voice rumbles as he laughs. “Lady, there’s no thinking in this business. There’s do and don’t.”

“I want him out of my life.” This time I speak with conviction. I have no idea where this strength has come from, but it’s there. Silence greets me.

“You know the truck stop leading out of Menzies Creek?”

“Yes,” I say. I don’t, but I’m sure I can look it up.

“Meet me there in an hour. I’ll need his details, a recent photo of him, and ten grand in cash.”

He hangs up before I can respond. I drop the phone and focus on my breathing.

Holy shit, did I just do that?
What if they hurt him? God, what if they kill him? How the hell can I live with that?

I’m already regretting this, and it hasn’t even begun.

S
carlett

I feel like I’m in a B-grade movie.

My hands are shaking as I hold my bag close to me. Inside it sits the ten grand that will expel Tony from my life forever. I look around, though I’m not exactly sure who it is I should be looking for. My hands are trembling like crazy. I can’t think at the moment, or I know I will talk myself out of this.

I tell myself that this is all for Jake, but I know a big part of this is for me. I can’t cope with the control he has over me anymore. I can’t handle him hanging it over my head.

I jump as the phone rings. Lifting it to my ear, I hear the soft drawl of his voice.

“The booth up the back. Order a coffee, drink it, leave the cash and his information in the envelope that’s sitting under the seat.” He hangs up before I can respond, and I can only assume I’m being watched.

I walk over to the booth and sit down. My legs are weak and I’m tired. I want to laugh, because this can’t be real. What the hell would Ryder think if he knew what I was doing? I don’t even need to answer that. He’d think I’m
insane
. I
am
insane.

A pretty young waitress takes my order and brings over my coffee. I thank her and gulp it down. I just want to leave and forget about this whole thing. I just want to forget
him
. As soon as my cup is empty I throw a bill on the table and unzip my bag.

Glancing around, I shove the yellow envelope full of cash under the seat, and then I stand up and practically run out of the diner. Outside, I turn the corner and head for my car, stopping only at the dumpster, where I smash the disposable phone under my foot and toss it inside.

I want to erase every trace of him from my life.

***

M
y heart is still pounding when I pull up outside Penny’s half an hour later. I force myself to relax, because I can’t let Jake catch on that anything is wrong. I don’t want to even think about what I’ve just done, because thinking leads to regret and regret leads to guilt. I jump as my phone starts to ring. I reach over and answer it, seeing it’s Penny.

“Hi. I’m just outside.”

“Scar, I’m at Northside Children’s.”

I feel sick. The tone of her voice is scaring me. She sounds upset.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Every worst case scenario is circling around my brain. I’ve been through this dozens of times, but it never gets any easier. Nobody wants to see their baby sick.

“I don’t know. He was struggling to breathe when I picked them up from school. A doctor is with him now. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but my first priority was getting him help.”

“I’ll see you there soon.” I hang up and start the car. I feel like I’m driving in slow motion and every single person in Chicago is there to get in my way. I run a red light and slam my foot down on the accelerator. I swallow the lump in my throat as tears force their way down my cheeks.

Thank fucking God the hospital is only ten minutes away.

Please let him be okay. God, if anything happens to my baby... 

R
yder

I open the door. My stomach tightens. Just the sight of this sick bastard makes me sick. He smirks and swaggers past me. He knows exactly what I think of him, and he doesn’t give a shit.