Chapter Twenty-Eight

Reed

"Is she okay?" Beckham asks.

I signal for him to be quiet with a finger to my lips as I carefully close her bedroom door. "She's hanging in there. The stress is clearly getting to her, so at least she's sleeping. I don't want to wake her."

I gesture toward my bedroom, and he follows me.

"Well, it looks like she turned off her phone. Talon called me, worried about her and wanting to know what's going on."

"Yeah," I reply, shaking my head. "She was on the phone with him when I came in earlier. She told him what happened."

"He gave me the CliffsNotes version of what's going on. Everly helped fill in the gaps. Is this something you think you could help her with?"

Beckham glances from me over to my computer. His eyes are wide in amazement. "You know, I've never been up here and seen everything. I guess I was still thinking you were using a laptop."

I chuckle, recalling the laptop I used when we were tracking down the fuckers who were messing with Hayes.

"I have to admit, this is pretty fuckin' impressive. You're on some FBI-level shit," Beckham says, amazed.

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and laugh. "Nah, they fuckin' wish they could have me."

Beckham shakes his head.

"I just mean, I prefer to work alone. Do my own thing. When it comes to sports, I can be a team player, but when it comes to this, my work, I prefer to fly solo."

I feel like I've told him too much already, so I change the subject.

"Anyway, of course I can help her. I'm not going to put all this on her. Not when I could take the fucker down and ruin his life in one fell swoop."

"Oh, I can imagine. Remind me to never get on your bad side. Jesus."

There's a knock on the door, and Beckham answers it. Hayes stands on the other side.

"Talon called. He's heading out first thing in the morning. I'm guessing he'll be here by the time we get out of practice," Hayes announces.

"Speaking of Talon," I say, "does the name Wren mean anything to you?"

"Wren? You mean Wren Perry?" Beckham clarifies.

I shrug. "I guess. How many Wrens do you know in Rixton?"

"That's the only one I know of," Beckham says. "Why do you ask? You know she's Wells's sister, right?"

I hadn't realized her last name was Perry until now, but it makes sense why Tate was so upset when he put her on the phone and why she hung up so quickly.

"I guess Talon was with her when Tate called him a little bit ago."

Beckham's brows deepen. "What the hell would he be doing with Perry's sister?"

"No clue. What do you know about this guy anyway?"

I sit down at my computer, shaking the mouse to wake it up and typing in my password.

"Jesus," Hayes mutters from behind me.

Beckham follows it up with, "That's what I was saying."

"Well, I got the account taken down where he made the posts."

"Everly said she wasn't looking at the camera. How do you know it was her?" Hayes asks.

"She's not wearing a shirt, and you can see the tattoo on her shoulder clear as day."

"Damn," Hayes groans. "What's your next move, then?"

"Well, I'm guessing the kid is an idiot and doesn't know shit about phones or security, so I'm going to see if I can hack into his Cloud and delete whatever he has saved."

"All right, I'll leave you to it. I picked up some pizza earlier. Want any? I can reheat some for you," Beckham offers.

"Nah, I'm not hungry. This will take me a bit, but I'll reheat some if there's any pizza left when I'm done. Thanks, though."

They both leave, shutting the door behind them. I turn on some music and get to work.

Anytime I've taken freelance jobs, I always dig into the skeletons hiding in my client's closet. It's one thing if they need me to take down the bad guy, but I'm not one who likes working for the bad guy either.

Two wrongs don't make a right, but it sure makes us even. I prefer serving my revenge cold.

After digging into Wells and his family, I uncover more than I care to know about the Perry family. Turns out he's the son of divorce. His dad left his mom before his first birthday and remarried shortly after. From what I could find, it sounds like wife number two was around a lot longer than they let on. I'm guessing he planned to leave her before he found out she was pregnant with Wells, and the news of a scandal when you're running for mayor doesn't look good, so he stuck around until after the election.

Shortly after he remarried, they announced his new wife was pregnant and expecting a little girl. That explains who Wren is.

The good news, although bad news if your last name is Perry, is that his position as the governor is up for re-election, and this time next month, he could be without a job.

That's if Wells doesn't go away quietly.

I reach into my pocket for my cell phone and pull up the app I use for freelance jobs. I don't normally give out my personal phone number, mostly for privacy but also because I don't want to be bothered when I'm not working.

I type in the number that texted Tate earlier into the messaging app. It's not his phone number, but we'll let him think I don't have that one for now.

Me: If I were you, I'd delete every photo and video you have of Tatum off your phone.

423-729-0000: Oh yeah? Says who?

Me: I wouldn't worry so much about who I am. Instead, I'd worry more about what I have on you and your family, and what I could do with it if you don't heed my warning.

423-729-0000: Ha ha. I'll take my chances. Nice try, though.

Me: I thought you might say that. Don't say I didn't warn you.

It wasn't hard to figure out his email. I discovered a post on Marketplace from five months ago when he was trying to sell a dirt bike and gave his email as a form of contact.

After I put together a fake email promoting a fantasy football app, I scheduled the email to go out first thing in the morning. I need it to look legit. He may get suspicious if I send it too close to my text.

If all works out well, though, the fucker will fall for it and download the app, and I'll be in like Flynn.

By the time I finish, it's after nine, and my stomach is growling. Tate hasn't eaten since breakfast, so I head downstairs. The living room is dark, and the only light is from the stove in the kitchen. It looks like the guys are either out or in their rooms.

I grab a can of soup and heat it for Tate. If she's hungry, at least she'll have something light that won't sit as heavily as pizza. If she prefers pizza, she can have that instead, and the soup can be for lunch later.

After warming everything, I grab a couple of water bottles, put everything on a tray, and carry it upstairs.

Tate's room is still dark, and she's curled up under her fleece blanket. I set the tray on her desk and gently shake her shoulder, trying not to startle her awake.

She groans, shielding her eyes from the lamp on her nightstand. "Is everything okay?"

"It's late, but you need to eat something. I made you some soup. I thought you might like that instead of pizza."

"You didn't have to do that," she whispers.

"Well, I wasn't about to carry you into my room and tuck you in, knowing you haven't eaten dinner tonight."

"Couldn't sleep away from me, even for one night?" she jests.

"Not a chance in hell," I fire back. "Now sit up and eat some of this before it gets cold."

She pulls off the blanket, and I try not to stare as her shirt rides up. I carry the tray over to her. After she settles with her back against the wall, I place it in her lap and take a seat across from her with my plate.

"Shit, I forgot to call my brother back," she mumbles after a few minutes. "What time did you say it is?"

"It's almost ten now. He called Beckham earlier, and Beckham told him you were sleeping. I guess he's leaving Rixton tomorrow morning. He should be here by the time we get out of practice."

"What?" Her voice is loud, firm.

"Is that a problem? Do you not want him to come?"

"It's not that; it's just I know he can't be away when he has hockey. He could get in trouble."

"Some things are more important than sports, Tate."

She nods and takes a bite of her soup and hums. "This is so good. It's been forever since I've had soup."

"Remind me to make something homemade for you. This was out of a can."

"Homemade is always better, but this is good too." She smiles. "Thank you for making it for me."

I finish the last bite of my pizza and wink at her, setting my empty plate on her desk.

After eating, I take the tray downstairs and clean up the kitchen while Tate takes a shower. By the time I'm done, she's standing in my bedroom wearing one of my football shirts. It hits her at about mid-thigh.

Her hair is still dry, so it doesn't look like she washed it. It's pulled out of her face in one of those damn messy buns that look so fuckin' good on her.

She has her toes painted pink, which are new from when she was curled in my bed this morning. She pads across the hardwood floors of my room toward me and wraps her arms around my waist.

I don't miss the way her body seems to relax when I hold her. If I can give her peace and safety when I don't doubt she feels like the walls are caving in, it's enough.

I'll make sure that fucker pays for hurting her.

"I'm scared to turn on my phone or even check my social media now. I don't want to know what people are saying about me."

"Who the hell cares what they're saying?"

"It's easy for you to say. It's not private photos and videos of you being shared," she fires back.

"Hey, hey." My voice drops low, and she exhales a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry, it's just so damn frustrating. If I went to the police and filed a report, I doubt anything would happen. The last time he did this, it was like it all went away. His dad makes every indiscretion disappear."

It's probably to cover up whatever messed-up things he's done to his son. You don't end up threatening to blackmail your ex without some deep-rooted issues.

Still doesn't justify him being a piece of shit and hurting her the way he is.

I could say the same about me. My mom was an addict, and my dad skipped out a long time ago. I didn't let that turn me into a shitty person. The fact he does it and apparently gets away with it, all because of who his daddy is and his last name, is bullshit.

The weight of the Perry name means nothing to me.

"Let's not talk about this anymore tonight. All I want right now is to hold you."

She nods, and when she steps away, I watch her as she pulls the comforter back and climbs into my bed.

I don't know what Wells did to deserve a woman like Tatum Pierce, but I'm thankful as hell he was dumb enough to let her go.

I don't want to imagine what my life would be like without her.