Outcome (Aftermath #2) (19 page)

"Look,"
Remy had gritted out,
"I'm not calling for my sake. A friend of mine has questions about Ben—about the kidnapping—and if you could
please
just answer them—"
Clarissa had scoffed, but Remy was adamant about getting his words out.
"I sent the questions to Fred's email. I'm begging you, Clarissa. It's not for me. It's for one of the guys Ben took—"

He'd been cut off there. Clarissa had called out to Fred.
"Oh, thank God! You're back. Remy's on the phone; you deal with it. My heart can't take it."

Rolling his eyes, Remy had been forced to rehash it all to a fuming Fred, telling him about Chase's questions concerning the case, or rather, the puzzle pieces needed for confirmation of their theory.

Fred hadn't been pleased.
"Listen to me, Remy. You do not call us here again. You fucking got that? I don't care about you or your…your faggot friend. Wanna know what I do care about? Huh? I care about picking up the pieces of the family you destroyed. Ben lost his mind after you barged into our lives, my father is in a home, my mother can't even live on her own anymore, and I—"

It had been Remy's turn to fume, because at that point he'd lost every bit of composure.
"Yeah, what about you, Fred?"
he'd seethed into the phone.
"Tell me how you mourn the loss of your perfect fucking brother. Or better yet—since I'm sick and tired of all those stories and have heard them too many times—how about you explain to me why he didn’t see you as perfect!"
He'd shouted the last few words, so goddamn heated he could barely function.
"Or have you forgotten that he kidnapped an innocent man to play the part of
you
, too?"

Back to the present, Remy turned again and stared up at the ceiling, remembering the silence that had followed. He could've heard a pin drop.

He didn’t know how many seconds had passed, only that his heart had continued pounding until Fred had disconnected the call.

That was that.

Remy hadn't accomplished shit, other than throwing a fit and being nauseated by the memory of how his biggest goal in life had once been to please the Stahls.

On his nightstand, the phone buzzed again.

Then it started ringing, and Remy's eyes widened before he realized it was his new phone and not his old. Therefore, it couldn’t be Trent. Thank fuck.

Feeling heavier than a ten-ton truck, Remy dragged himself up in a sitting position and saw it was Andy calling. He answered with a hoarse "What's up?" and was met with music in the background.

"Hold on, Rem."
Andy walked closer to where Remy knew the speakers were and then disappeared into his office. At least Remy guessed so, since the music stopped.
"Jesus Christ, finally a break."

Remy checked the clock on the wall and saw it was pretty late. Minna had to be totally immersed in her house hunt because they were usually at the cabin by this hour.

"I got your text earlier," Remy said. Andy had sent a quick message to let Remy know he'd picked up Chase and that everything had gone well, for which Remy was grateful, but he was hoping to hear from Chase himself soon.

"Yeah."
Andy yawned.
"So…saddest part of being a tattoo artist?"

Remy knew that one. "Tramp stamps."

Andy grunted in agreement.
"Four fucking butterflies, man. Starting a beautiful back piece tomorrow, though. But that’s not why I called. I wanna talk about Chase."

Remy was a little taken aback by how fast it became serious. "Why? You said everything went fine when you picked him up. Did something happen?" He wouldn’t be able to take another thing going wrong today. It was already too much.

"Nothing
you
can't fix,"
Andreas replied.
"I get that it must've been tough to hear about Chase getting kidnapped for being gay, but you gotta stop putting that on yourself. It's not your fault Ben took Chase, regardless of the fucking circumstances behind Ben's reasons to target him."

Remy shook his head, confused as hell, and a cold chill ran down his spine. "Wait…what?"

Andy grew impatient.
"What do you mean, 'what?' It's pretty damn obvious what I'm talking about, isn't it? I'm just sayin', Rem. Talk to Chase—solve that shit. I mean, it's not like
you
made him gay. Yeah, Ben went for him because of that, but Ben's the—
was
the—fucking psycho."

Just like that, the world slowed down. Dizziness and nausea took over, and Remy was sent straight back to hell.

Remy had hoped for some backlash when he'd come out to his dad, simply because maybe it would've made Ben and Fred hate him less. It could've meant that Remy was suddenly not so perfect. But no…Remy had continued to receive praise from Dad since he was rolling in the big bucks. And Fred's resentment had grown. Ben's hatred had spiraled out of control.

To the point where he'd evidently needed his victim to be gay.

Chase had been the one who had paid for everything.

"I…I gotta go," Remy mumbled, swaying in place. "I'll c-call you back."

He hung up the phone and let his arm fall, and with it went all his strength. He broke out in a cold sweat and swallowed dryly
. Oh, God
. Chase. Why…how…fuck. Remy couldn’t think.

The walls closed in on him.

His phone buzzed, and he checked it automatically.

Chapter 21

"Feel free to take your time with those beers," Cam told Chase, resting his elbows on the bar.

Chase grinned tiredly, and Donna swished past to grab something from the bottle rack. Last call had just been announced by playing Semisonic's "Closing Time" on the jukebox, so they were both busy getting everyone's final orders.

"What're you guys talking about now?" Chase asked.

"Golf." Cam rolled his eyes. He was here with his brother, Austin, and their fathers, because apparently they weren't allowed at home. Riley and her grandmothers, aunt, and cousins had taken over. "Only Austin has the patience to pretend he's interested."

Chase looked over to their table and caught Landon yawning.

The dads were enjoying themselves, though.

"Rematch tomorrow, old man?" a guest slurred, clapping a hand down on Old Tuck's back. "I gotta win back my ex-wife's alimony."

Tuck took his regular place at the end of the bar and shrugged, a lazy smile on his face. "I'm sure the dart board will still be here."

Chase smirked and turned back to Cam with a tray of five beers. "Damn, I need this night to be over."

Cam huffed. "How you can even be a bartender, man…" He gave the establishment a disgruntled look. "Goddamn people."

It was those
goddamn people
, or rather the false sense of not being alone, that had contributed to Chase never getting outta this business. But ever since getting closer to Austin and Cam, not to mention Remy, Chase found himself not needing that fakeness. Though, he still very much enjoyed his job.

Just not today. It was a miracle he'd worked his way through the entire night without either falling asleep or having a meltdown. Though, that said, there was also a small sense of relief. Even if it was only to Gale and Andreas, Chase was, in a way,
out
.

Now he only had to be more open with Remy, and part of him actually looked forward to it. It was exciting, terrifying, and meaningful all at once.

Still, it had been a long fucking day, and he was more than ready to call it a night.

"Isn't that…?" Cam nodded at the door. "Whatsherface. Stahl's friend."

Chase followed Cam's gaze and saw Minna awkwardly making her way through the crowd of six or seven beefy bikers who were leaving.

When Chase saw she'd been crying, he hurried toward the end of the bar and called her name.

"Oh, there you are!" She blew out a breath, her eyes welling up at the same time. "Please tell me Remy's here."

Obviously he fucking wasn’t, and Chase could see Minna didn’t really think he'd be here, anyway. And now Chase was worried. "He's not. What happened?" He leaned over the bar slightly to hear her better.

"I…" Minna gestured with her arm, but helplessness seemed to pull it down again. "Something's wrong. I can feel it." She did her best to keep her emotions in check. "A couple hours ago, he asked to borrow my car. He said he was only going out for smokes, but—" Her bottom lip trembled.

Chase pressed his lips together in a grim line. It would be easy to get pissed and throw his fists down on the bartop, but it would only delay the answers he needed.

"Tell me everything," he told her, pointing toward the door that led to his office. When he passed Tuck and Donna, all he needed to do was give them a look and they nodded in understanding. They'd cover for him.

Once he had Minna in his office, she broke down and stuttered through words about Andy having misunderstood something. "He thought Remy knew," she rambled tearfully. "We've been looking all over, and I said we should call you, but Andy felt bad—said he wanted to fix it and not worry you. Then, like, twenty minutes ago, we got back to the house, and I found this in Remy's room." She sniffled and pulled out a phone. "We need your help, Chase."

Rigid, overwhelmed, and bewildered, Chase accepted the phone. "Andreas thought Remy knew
what
?" There was no password on the phone, so as soon as the screen lit up, Chase saw several texts from…someone.

"Party in Santa Barbara,"
one read, followed by an address. And the text after read,
"I know ure reading this. Come on, man."

"'Malibu Hustler'?" Chase muttered.

Oh, fuck.

"I don't know!" Minna's cry of frustration made him look up momentarily. "He wouldn’t tell me! Andy just said he'd talked to you about something, and then he'd spoken to Remy about the same thing, thinking you'd already told Remy, or…" She was confusing herself. "Fuck if I know!"

Chase knew.

Chase knew exactly, and
this
freaked him out. Now he needed that bartop to bang his fists onto, but the wall worked, too. Anger, fear, and worry exploded inside of him as he cursed and punched the nearest wall.

You weren't supposed to find out that way, baby.

Minna gasped and took a startled step backward. "Look—" She swallowed. "He didn’t respond to Trent's texts. Remy might not've gone there. I'm going to borrow a friend's car and drive up to the cabin—"

"Let's be realistic here, Minna." Chase didn’t mean to snap at her, but he couldn’t worry about that now. "He—
fuck
." He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. "I gotta find him."

He didn’t dare think about in what state he'd find Remy 'cause if he allowed himself to go down that path, he'd lose his goddamn mind.

"Andy's already on his way to Santa Barbara," Minna whispered.

Chase nodded curtly. "So am I."

*

Chase hadn't expected company, though maybe he should have known better by now. Once he had barged into the bar again, his mood hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone who knew him.

Landon had been quick to offer his truck—and a baseball bat—and Cam had, oddly enough, been the first to volunteer to tag along. While muttering about a guy named Twitchy. Or whatever. After that, Landon had insisted on going too, and Austin had stayed behind to make sure Minna didn’t do anything reckless when she was that upset.

Chase was thankful; he hadn't meant to lash out at her, but apologies would have to wait. Hell, he wasn’t even mad at Andreas—at all. Chase knew a misunderstanding when he saw one.

He was also thankful that Landon didn’t give a shit about speed limits. And that was saying a lot in a city like Bakersfield, where the cops loved to pull you over for speeding.

"I'm not gonna lie," Landon said as they drove outta town, "I'm feeling pumped. Austin told me about Stahl's former
friends
, and getting into a fight might make me feel less old."

Chase said nothing, busy staring out at the black night, and Cam was muttering again in the back seat.

"Why do you feel old, Landon?" Landon started talking to himself. "Well, because I'm in my mid-forties, and my twin daughters can almost outrun me. They're three."

"I should've told you this sooner, Chase," Cam stated randomly. "A while back, there was a motherfucker lurkin' outside of Remy's house. I didn't think too much about it, other than he needed to get his meth-head ass away from Stahl. He was sent by a dude named Trent, who wanted Stahl back in LA." Chase sighed heavily and massaged his forehead. When it rained, it fucking poured. "I didn't realize it was serious. I'm sorry."

Wasn’t much Chase could say. He didn’t care about circumstances, as long as he could get his ass to Santa Barbara and find Remy. But first Chase had two more hours in a car with the Nash brothers.

*

About half an hour before they got off the interstate, they'd caught up with Andreas. Nods were exchanged, and everyone's expression had tightened with determination.

Chase hadn't talked much during the ride, but he'd answered the few questions Landon had asked about Remy's past and addiction. Cam had been quiet, only breaking his stoic façade to give Chase an odd look when Chase had mentioned how worried he was about Remy to Landon.

"Worried" didn’t come close. Chase was sick to his stomach, and his mind battled against his heart. He wanted to believe in Remy; he
did
believe in Remy, but he also knew there were gonna be downs to accompany the ups. It wasn’t realistic to think Remy had risen above his depressed state and suddenly turned around and driven home. But Chase couldn’t help but
hope
.

I don't wanna find him drunk.

Or high.

Or with someone else.

Chase's gut churned at the possibility. Because it was one. He'd heard about Remy's party ways, but…no. Chase couldn’t go there. He had to have some fucking faith in Remy, whose priority was gonna be booze. Forgetting reality by drinking. Maybe drugs, too.

Unless he's changed his mind and—

"Looks like we're getting close." Landon made a turn after Andreas's car, and they ended up on a street lined with lavish beach houses. "Yeah, there's a party up there."

Chase saw a dozen cars parked near the house at the end of the street, all the lights on, loud music pouring out, and people everywhere. It reminded him of a stupid frat-house party from the movies.

When he spotted Minna's truck that Remy had borrowed parked among the others, Chase's spine chilled with ice. At the same time, fury blazed through him so hot that he could've ignited. And he knew if he saw that motherfucking Trent, Chase wouldn’t be able to hold back from beating his goddamn face in.

As Landon pulled over, Cam lit up a smoke and stepped out, looking tenser than Chase had ever seen. Landon wasn’t his usual carefree self, either. And Andreas looked ready to kill.

He'd obviously seen Minna's truck, too.

"You've met Trent before?" Chase asked.

"Once." Andreas's voice was steely as he closed the door to his car and pulled on a hoodie. "He's mine. I'll make sure he'll never call Rem again. Trent's no real threat, just a fuckin' pest, but he likes to keep a couple guys with him."

"I'll go with you," Landon said. It wasn’t the time for introductions. "Bro?" He looked to Cam.

Cam nodded once. "I'm in."

Chase nodded, too. "I'll find Remy." He wasn’t exactly waiting for approval, so he made his way toward the big house, all the people fading into nothingness. He didn’t see them unless they shared features with a certain green-eyed man.

What Chase did see were flashes of time he'd spent with Remy. He pushed past obstacles as he entered the house, images of the two of them floating around in his head—them screaming at each other in the pouring rain, them observing one another during quiet moments, them kissing and rolling around on a bed… Chase's skin prickled with awareness, his every sense on high alert.

He'd created memories with Remy, and he was dead set on creating more—for the rest of his damn life.

The heavy music pounded into his skull, but it wasn’t louder than the sound of his pulse. It carried its own beat, and as it quickened, the world seemed to slow down. Himself included. His frustration and desperation grew tenfold, as did his anger.

"Watch it, man!" A college kid who was drunk off his ass ended up with his drink spilled over his chest when Chase pushed through to the crowded kitchen.

Remy wasn’t there, so Chase continued toward the living room, or wherever the music seemed loudest.

Behind him, he could hear Andreas demanding to know where Trent was, and Chase was pretty sure he had the answer when his eyes fell on a group of older people in the living room. Occupying a set of couches and chairs, half a dozen men, long past college age, were busy drinking, laughing, and snorting lines of what Chase could only assume was coke.

He couldn’t control himself; his feet brought him closer of their own volition, his hands balling into fists along his sides. He'd bet his life that the lanky fucker laughing the hardest was Trent. Dirty blond hair, shadows under his eyes, a sinister grin, a nose that looked like it'd been broken a couple times, and clothes a few sizes too large.

Andreas had spotted him, too. "Chase, lemme at him." He flew forward and caused three of Trent's buddies to rise to attention. "Where the fuck is he, motherfucker?" Two guys blocked Andreas from moving further, so Chase acted on instinct and punched the guy closest to him.

It was only the first of many blows.

"Whoa, whoa!" Trent laughed uneasily and stood up. He was confident because he still had protection, but he had to see that Chase and the others weren't gonna go down.

"Tell me where he is, Trent." Chase growled and then shoulder-checked a fidgety creep who had a broken beer bottle for weapon. "I don't fucking think so." He grabbed a fistful of the guy's greasy hair and pushed him down to knee him in the face. The beer bottle hit the floor at the same time as a few girls screamed in the background.

Cam took over there. "If it ain't, Twitchy!" A dark chuckle. "I was hoping I'd find you here."

Chase didn’t see what Cam did, but he heard the sickening crunch of bones breaking when there were a couple seconds of silence between two songs. Then Chase's attention was stolen when he was clocked in the ribcage. He grunted as pain radiated throughout him, but his rage made him undefeatable, and he threw himself at the motherfucker, who ended up shattering a china cabinet.