4. Khadri “Moros” Weston

4

KHADRI "MOROS" WESTON

It was unbelievable the things Boss had found on Ryanne Larwick—almost nothing.

She was born and after a few weeks in the hospital, she was released into the system. Her parents died in an accident on their way back to the hospital to get her and it didn't seem as if she had any family left to peak of.

The father, Morrisey Larwick had no record and from all we could find, he was a good man. He worked hard at a local factory that made lightbulbs and it seemed he took that job when he married his wife. Before that he was some kind of science mind, working at a university hospital trying to find the cure for cancer.

That was a red flag.

The history we were reading felt concocted. There was an aspect of forgery about it that sat on my head, heavy and weighing me down.

Maybe it was because I was used to stories and fake identities for work that I immediately saw something wrong with this past—the holes were glaring.

But just because I was trained to see monsters, didn't mean they were monsters there.

I cleared my throat.

Her mother, Anne Larwick was different.

There was very little information on her. The biggest red flag was that her social security number only began popping four years before her marriage to Morrisey. I didn't tell that bit to Ryanne. There were a few reasons why there were no signs of it before then.

Most of them bad.

Everything was under Morrisey's name—deed for their small house, the car, the bank account—was Morrisey Larwick an abusive husband? Why was nothing in his wife's name?

There wasn't anything to show why Ryanne was in danger. But during the search, Boswell and developed more questions than answers.

We couldn't find any other family members for her—her grandparents, the father's parents, had moved to England before she was born. And according to one of my friends at INTERPOL, they passed away around the same time about fifteen years later.

"I could have told you I had no family." Ryanne offered me a shrug while biting into her burger. "I've been in the system my entire life. It would suck to think I had family, and they didn't come get me—let me live through all that shit."

"I had to look." I replied.

"I know. So, what now?"

"I'm not sure." I replied. "It doesn't seem weird to you that there is no one? I mean, I get why I can't find siblings for your mother or your father—they might be an only child. But an uncle, or a distant aunt?"

"Moros is right." Boswell spoke up. "There's always a distant aunt's cousin's brother twice removed. But in your case, it's like everyone in your family was an only child and now the bloodline is just gone."

She sighed as she chewed thoughtfully.

"I stopped thinking about that years ago." Ryanne replied. "If I'd dwell on it, I wouldn't have made it."

"What about friends?" Boswell wanted to know. "Even our ray of sunshine here has friends."

Ryanne smiled. "Well, the kids at the group homes didn't want to associate with the bad luck girl. At school, I don't think they knew I was a foster kid, they just knew I was poor and figured it was something to be shunned. As an adult, I just—it feels better sometimes being by myself."

I said nothing as the two of them continued speaking.

While we hadn't found any glaring red flags, something in my gut told me to keep looking.

I borrowed Boswell's truck to take her home and as we left, I noticed she was looking over her shoulder toward the bar.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"The bar is usually open by now." She spoke, turning in her seat and adjusting her seatbelt that fell between her prefect breasts. "Did Boss close it down just to do this for me?"

"Um—don't worry about it."

"But—"

I pressed my lips into a thin line and gritted my jawline.

"So, I guess since you didn't really find anything, this is it." She sounded sad.

Maybe that was just in my head, or because I wanted her to be sad at the thought of never seeing me again.

The rest of the short drive was made in silence and after I dropped her off, I found a parking spot further down her street to stop and make a call.

" Sawatdii khaa, Phi Moros! " Pasha Thitiwattan answered the phone around some static."

"Hey, Pasha." I replied. "Are you in town?"

"Yeah—at the gym. What's up, Phi?"

I smiled.

"I don't know if there is anything to worry about," I said. "But I need your help with someone."

"Are you kidding, Phi? Name it."

"Come through." I told her. "I'll be at Musk until late."

"Let me run home and take a shower."

"Okay, I'll be waiting, Nong. "

She giggled and was gone.

I didn't speak fluent Thai, but I knew enough to not disrespect or offend anyone. The problem was, whenever I tried rolling out the little I knew, Pasha always giggled.

I had a slight Jamaican accent—that speaking the tonal Thai language was hilarious to her.

Shaking my head, I swung by Ryanne's place again. This time I walked up to the building and stood at the front just taking in the area.

There wasn't much there—it felt like a place time forgot.

It seemed most of the city avoided the neighbourhood—it should be a shortcut through to another wealthy community to the east.

But the street was pretty much dead.

Some shortcuts weren't worth taking.

The building across the road was covered in graffiti with a couple of men sitting on the sidewalk with a radio, smoking and talking.

Just to the side of that was a parking structure that seemed as if it hadn't been used in a long time—the asphalt was cracked, and it was cordoned off by a chain across the entrance that had long since started getting rusty.

On the same side of the street as Ryanne's building was an old Suzuki that had a number of parking tickets tucked in the wipers and on one of the front tires was a big, metal boot.

I didn't know why they thought if the car had that many tickets, a boot would do anything.

It was obvious to anyone watching that the vehicle was abandoned.

The air smelled like burnt rubber and weed.

Her building itself wasn't safe.

Anyone could open the door, walk across the lobby and gained access to the place. And I doubt the apartment doors were strong enough to stand up against a heavily booted foot.

While I didn't go inside, I knew I didn't want Ryanne at this place.

This wasn't the kind of place a queen should live.

I knew better than to say that to her.

Ryanne was the kind of woman who was used to working for anything she had—and should I bring my thoughts to her, she'd definitely light my shit on fire.

Irritated, I reluctantly left the neighbourhood and went back to my bar. The moment I handed Boswell his keys, he kissed the side of my head and headed for the door.

"Eh!" I called. "You're just gonna leave?"

"I need to get back to the station." Boswell waved over a shoulder. "Watch your six."

Grunting, I bid him farewell and set to work cleaning up after our lunch.

Ryanne had been right.

I'd closed the bar down to meet with her and Boswell.

Usually, it would have been opened for lunch and stayed that way until three in the morning—Wednesday through Saturday. The other days were closed to give my people some time to recuperate.

The weekends were hell on them.

By the time my first bartender wandered in, I was exhausted and sitting in my office on the phone with Dude.

"There has to be more," Dude said.

"That's what I was thinking." I replied. "There has to be some kind of bloodline, someone who could have taken her."

"You have to understand." Dude pointed out. "These searches aren't usually deep. They look for next of kin that's—well local. These systems don't have the reach we do. Why don't you talk to Tex—see what he can pull up. You still have a bad feeling, don't you?"

"And it gets worse every hour."

Dude sighed. "Alright, let me work. Call Tex. And let me know if you need anything."

"Let me ask you this—how well do you know Ryanne?"

"Not very." Dude replied. "We were on an off the books thing when she helped us out. She will tell you that we rescued her—that's not it. If she didn't distract a bunch of really bad people, I don't know what would have happened to us."

"Maybe they have something to do with this?"

"Naw." Dude answered. "Those people all wound up with toe-tags."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?" I pushed.

"Positive." Dude answered. "Trust me, this is something else."

The moment I was off the phone with Dude, I gave John Keegan a video call.

When he answered, he leaned forward with a quirked brown.

"As I live and breathe." Tex drawled. "The harbinger of doom himself. What's good, brother!"

I laughed.

His greetings never ceased to leave me with a full heart and a smile. But I knew, while Tex was friendly and loyal, he was never a man to be crossed.

"I need your help."

"Oh?" He shifted so he could sit on a chair behind him. "Talk to me."

When I explained it to him, he was all ears.

"Ryanne is in trouble?" He asked. "What do you need from me?"

"Information." I responded. "I don't know all the way one hunnit if she's really in trouble. But there are some things Boss found that doesn't sit well with me."

"Why don't you send me what Boss found, I can reconcile and go from there."

"Sounds like a plan." I told him. "Listen, if you ever come this side—I got you."

Tex smirked and leaned in to stare at him, his eyes dazzling with mischief.

"I know you got me, brother." He told me. "But this feels different. Has the God of doom seen something he likes?"

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"I've been told." Tex chortled. "But you have to admit, a very sexy ass."

"John Keegan, are you causing trouble again?" Melody's voice called lovingly from somewhere off the screen.

"No ma'am!" Tex laughed.

"Goodbye, John Keegan." I smiled.

The screen went black, and I closed my laptop and went back to bar stuff.

Pasha showed up a few hours later to find me wandering around the bar speaking with patrons. She walked through the door and every man in there stared.

She was a beautiful woman, about five four, curves in the right place, always put together.

Being a former muay thai fighter didn't take away her femininity and she wore that like a badge of honour. Even when she was fighting, she was always put together.

When she walked over me and wrapped an arm around my hips, the men groaned and returned to what they were doing.

I shook my head.

"The way they stare." I kissed her head. "It still surprises me."

Pasha shrugged. "Let them stare."

Laughing, I shook my head.

"I know you haven't eaten yet," I said. "Go order something in the back then meet me in my office?"

" Khaa. " She replied.

Taking a little while longer to check in with a few of my regulars, I made my way to my office, grabbed a can of soda from the small fridge and flopped into the sofa by the window. It didn't take long for Pasha to enter with one of the pasta items from the menu and took a seat.

"What's on your mind?" She asked.

"I need you to keep an eye on someone for me." I told her.

"Oh?"

From my desk, I picked up a picture of Ryanne and handed it to her.

"She's cute." Pasha lifted her lashes to look at me teasingly. "Who's she?"

"Not a potential lover." I replied.

"And why not? When was the last time someone touched your penis, other than you?"

I opened my mouth to refute that but clamped my lips shut.

"Can you just focus on something other than my penis for a second?"

"Why?" Pasha questioned. "Is there something more important than your penis?"

"Pash!"

She groaned. "Fine. What's the deal with her?"

"I'm not sure." I admitted. "She was attacked one night heading home from work. At first, we thought it was by people who wanted her purse. But there's something not right. Boss did some digging for me and what he found left me with more questions than answers. Until I can figure this out, I need you to be her shadow."

"Okay, I got you, Phi." She agreed.

"I'll send you her address and where she works." I was already on my phone. "Just watch her for now."

Exhausted, I left the bar earlier than usual and went home. After a long shower, I wrapped a towel around my hips and went back to the file I'd been creating on Ryanne. I couldn't imagine growing up in the foster system, alone, no one wanting me.

She'd been fostered three times the entire eighteen years she'd been there and from what saw, she was returned each time. There wasn't any information on why—all it said was foster failed.

I found an instant where she was hospitalized due to a near drowning. She was kept in the hospital for a little over two days due to a fear of second drowning, but other than that she was a healthy child.

Her grades in school were very good—and there weren't any disciplinary actions on her file.

Then what stopped her from being adopted?

Why did her fosters fail?

I had so many questions rattling around in my exhausted brain.

Like I usually did, I fell asleep in my office, leaned back in my overstuffed chair. But while it wasn't the best place to sleep, the nightmare of the night that changed my entire world filled my brain. It floated in on me like the smashing down of a tsunami wave and left me struggling to breathe because of the main and the chaos.

Having a sharp blade slicing through the skin was a kind of pain I didn't wish on anyone—that coupled with the panic and the fear that curled my inside forced me awake, panting.

No matter how long ago the attack happened, I didn't think I would ever get used to it.

I didn't think I'd ever get rid of the nightmares that came with it.

Shaking, I stood.

The towel I had on slipped to the floor but since I lived alone, I didn't care.

Walking my naked body into the kitchen, I grabbed a couple bottles of water and then wandered up the stairs to my bedroom. After using the bathroom, I drank one of the bottles of water, set the other on the bedside table then plugged my phone to charge.

I tried again to settle in, but my brain went from the nightmares to Ryanne.

That was dangerous territory.