24. Ryan

Chapter twenty-four

Ryan

B radford's house was a modest two-story brick house with a neatly trimmed lawn and faded siding. The driveway was empty, and curtains drawn. This afternoon, it was just another sleepy house on a sleepy block, giving no hints as to the occupant within.

"No movement, no lookouts that I can see," Derek muttered.

I nodded. "Stay alert."

My muscles tensed as we crossed the street. The intel we'd squeezed out of Bradford Hayes at our last encounter had been vague. If his aim had been to misdirect us, to drop Ronnie's name and make us think we'd squeezed it out of him, why had he given us Ghost's name too? It has been our first clue, the first time we'd had a name to go on. It didn't make sense.

We climbed the front steps cautiously. The faint glow of a television screen flickered behind the drawn living room curtains. I exchanged a glance with Derek, then pounded a fist on the door.

For a long moment, silence. Then came the scrambling of footsteps, followed by the metallic grind of locks being hastily turned. The door jerked open an inch, a pair of beady eyes peering out .

"Fuck, man!" Bradford registered who we were, and tried to slam the door shut.

I didn't hesitate. Gripping the knob, I threw my shoulder against the wood. It burst inward with a crack, the chain lock snapping from the frame. We spilled into the house on Bradford's heels. He sprinted for the back of the house and let out a yelp as Derek tackled him to the faded carpet. In seconds, we had him up and dumped on the leather sofa.

"Check the house," I told Derek. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Derek swept through the first floor while I stood over a cringing Bradford. This floor of the house was small, I could see most of it from where I stood—living room, kitchen, utility closet. It only took Derek a moment to verify we were alone. He disappeared upstairs, then returned to the living room a few moments later.

"It's clear," Derek said.

We both stood over Bradford. His leg jittered nervously, eyes darting between us.

I dragged over a chair and settled down so we were eye to eye. Bradford shrunk back against the couch, looking like he wanted to disappear into the upholstery. Up close, I could see the sheen of nervous sweat beading his sallow skin. He reeked of fear and cheap cologne.

"Please," he stammered. "I already told you everything I know. I stopped dealing, I swear. Just like you told me. The drugs, man, they aren't coming from me!"

"Oh, we know." I kept my tone casual. Deceptive. "You're small time, Bradford. A bottom feeder. This is way over your head. "

He nodded rapidly. "Yeah, yeah exactly! I'm nobody, just a small-time dealer trying to get by."

I leaned forward, holding his gaze. "But you know things. About Ronnie Bishop. About Ghost." I paused, letting the names settle between us. "I'm thinking you know more than you've let on."

Bradford's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I don't, I swear! I told you about Ronnie, just like you asked. He's the guy you're looking for. He's the one running ripple into the territory."

"Really? How's your cousin, Bradford? Otto, right?"

Bradford froze, then swallowed loudly.

"Otto?" he squeaked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Derek move to stand directly in Bradford's eyeline. He shifted, subtly emphasizing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. A classic interrogation tactic. Push, then threaten.

"Yeah, Otto. He works over in Haxton, doesn't he?"

Bradford's gaze darted from me to Derek and back again. "Yeah, yeah. Otto works out there."

"Uh-huh. And how does he like working for Ronnie? A good job, is it?"

Bradford bolted up and ran for the door.

Derek was on him in an instant, tripping him up and sending Bradford sprawling on the floor. Bradford scrambled up. Derek slammed his boot down on top of Bradford's back, pinning him to the ground.

"Going somewhere, Hayes?" I was out of patience with this scumbag .

"I don't know nothing!" Bradford pleaded, his face squashed on the carpet.

"You pretended not to know who Ronnie Bishop was. What name did he give us, Derek?"

"Reggie Billet."

"Oh yeah. You dropped Ghost's name, then told us he was really working for Reggie and that Reggie was running the show. You had the name just a little off, just enough for us to believe that you didn't know it was Ronnie you were talking about. Why the theatrics, Bradford?"

Bradford's body went limp as he laughed. A low chuckle that got louder.

"You finally worked it out, did you? Took you long enough."

Derek hauled him up off the floor and slammed Bradford into the wall. Derek's forearm cut across Bradford's neck, letting in just the bare, minimal amount of air.

I stood up and stalked toward them.

"You're going to tell us what the fuck you know, Bradford."

Bradford grinned back at me.

"I'm a low-level dealer. You think I know fuck? No, man. I just do what I do."

I motioned to Derek to let him go.

Bradford collapsed forward, holding his neck.

"You told us about Ghost. Why?"

He gasped in a breath before he replied. "Coz I needed some cred with you. You had to believe I knew what I was talking about. I dropped Ghost's name to make sure you believed me, then I could steer you to Ronnie."

Bradford thought we already knew about Ghost. He had no idea it had been the first time we'd heard his name.

"Start at the beginning. Why did you want to blame Ronnie for the ripple?"

Bradford looked back up at me. "It wasn't my idea to blame Ronnie."

No shit.

"I was just following orders."

I went very still. "Orders from who?"

Derek cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the room. Bradford flinched.

"Who ordered you to blame Ronnie Bishop?" I repeated. My voice was cold steel.

"Who do you think? The true werewolf, the true Alpha, told me to do it. Said anyone comes sniffing around, make sure I have you clueless fuckers chasing your asses looking at Ronnie."

Derek frowned back at me. The true Alpha?

"The Alpha?"

Bradford grunted. "Yeah, man, him. The true Alpha."

I went very still, ice trickling down my spine. The true Alpha. There was only one wolf Bradford might refer to by that title here in Three Rivers.

Brock.

Rage ignited inside me, white-hot and visceral. It took every ounce of self-control not to seize Bradford by his scrawny neck and shake him until his teeth rattled. Brock was involved in this, had his bloody paws all over it. Not just supplying Hayley with it, but he was involved in flooding our streets with that poison, destroying lives, families, our whole damn community. And he was setting up Ronnie to take the fall.

"And where will I find this true Alpha of yours?"

Bradford grinned at me. "I've no idea, man. He's everywhere, he's nowhere."

Fuck!

We needed a break. We still had no clue where Brock was, or who the fuck was Ghost. My hands curled into fists. Brock had framed Ronnie—was Ronnie in on this? Was this just a distraction to delay us? We'd split our resources chasing after Ghost, trying to find out who he was, instead of focussing everything on Brock. We were out of time and out of leads. Brock was going to kill Jem if we didn't nominate him tomorrow. The urge to tear Brock apart with my bare hands, make him suffer for every life he'd ruined, pulsed inside me, primitive and feral.

But I couldn't give into it. Not yet. I needed to be smart, keep a clear head. Use this rage as fuel rather than let it control me.

I exhaled slowly, regaining my composure before turning back to Bradford.

"You're coming with us."

"What?" Bradford snapped his head between me and Derek. "No way, man."

I stepped up close to him. "Yes way, man. I'm not letting you scurry back to your Alpha and tell him we've worked it out. You're going to spend some time in our cage rooms and once this mess is settled, I'll think about what the fuck to do with you."