“I’m not the one fucking with you. I’m the one trying to help him.”
Jester volleys a barrage of questions at me. All justified, of course, but none I can answer right this minute given the time constraint. “There’s no time for details. I’m sorry. All I can tell you is, Wraith’s hurt, it’s bad, and we need your help to get him home.”
“Where is he?” Jester demands, the question full of fury—and an underlying promise of retribution.
“Florida. And that’s all I’m telling you until I know you won’t do anything stupid that will get us killed.”
“You’re going to tell me where he is—”
“Jester, please listen to me,” I plead.
“Not sure how good your memory is, but the Unholy protect our own.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Frustration has my nerves tied in a knot. “Wraith was tortured, and it’s going to happen again, and again, and again, until he’s dead. So, either we do this the smart way and we get him home, or we do this your way and you get us killed. Your choice. You have twenty seconds to decide. I’ll wait.”
There’s a ten-second pause before Jester asks, “Wraith was tortured?”
“Yes. And it’s not the first time, so please listen to me.” Compassion replaces frustration because I know this man loves his friend. Still, he needs to understand the situation. “We have to get him out of here, but we can’t do that without help.”
“What do you need me to do?” His voice is gruff.
“To act with your mind and not your temper. We have a small window of opportunity a week from Friday. Will you help us?”
“Of course. We can mobilize—”
“You can’t come with an army. If they see you coming, he’s dead. We have to sneak him out.” I say to Roger, “Never mind. This won’t work.”
“Phone.” Wraith’s awake, barely, and holding out his hand. I put Jester on speaker and hold the cell near Wraith’s mouth. “It’s me,” he slurs past swollen lips.
“Holy fuck. Wraith. We’ve been tearing shit up looking for you. Almost went to war with the Berserkers thinking they killed you and buried your body in the mountains.”
“Can’t talk. Come get us. Just you.”
Wraith drifts back into unconsciousness.
I remove Jester from speakerphone and put the cell to my ear. “Was that clear?”
“Yeah. Crow’s gonna be pissed.”
I assume Crow is the current president of the Unholy. “That’s your problem, not mine. Can you—justyou—be in Florida next Friday?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.” My relief is palpable. If timed right, David will be on his way to Las Vegas and the guards will be preoccupied with Fight Night. There will be cars coming and going throughout the night, giving us perfect cover. David’s private entrance, one only a select few are aware exists, will be vulnerable for a brief window right after the main event ends. “No public transportation, so we’ll have to drive. Wraith will be hurt and unconscious. I want him comfortable. We’ll need a van or a truck. Something to accommodate his size.”
“Not a problem.” His reply is terse.
“Jester, when this happens, it’s going to happen fast. You need to get us out of Florida as quickly as possible but without drawing attention.”
“Again, not a problem.”
“It won’t be me who contacts you with the details of where and when to meet us. That information will come from Roger or Thomas. Only them. Do you understand?”
“Fuck. Yeah. Okay. And Jamie?”
“Yes?”
“You better say a prayer to whatever god you believe in because if Wraith dies, you die. I don’t give a shit that you’re a woman. I’ll rain hell down on you myself.”
