We wait.
I bury my hands in my pockets. I should have brought gloves. My mind wanders as the seconds tick closer to the Boars’ arrival.
Back in the van, Kate assured me that unless something goes really, really wrong, this’ll be an easy encounter.
“Ty wants to talk. That’s all the IRIS said,” she whispered. “To make this a fight would be a breach of the rules. It’d be seriously frowned upon.”
Mako nudges my shoulder, and I’m pulled back to attention. “They’re here.”
Ghosts materialize out of the fog. The Boars huddle together as they approach from both Sixteenth Street and Dolores. With their gray hoods up, they are every bit an army. Some are whispering to each other, others laughing like jackals. Someone snaps for them to shut up. My eyes dart from face to face as I try to identify at least one of them.
I get my one.
A tall, lanky guy walks ahead of the others—Ty Boreas, the Boar leader. His gaze is trained forward. Unlike the other Boars, his sleeves are rolled up. The painterly slashes that compose the Boars’ insignia are displayed proudly on his right forearm.
Since Leo died, I’ve imagined the leader of the killers who shot my brother to be grimy, ugly, and radiating with malice.
But from what I can tell, this guy is like any other SF native. He moves with the laid-back gait of someone who’s grown up walking these streets, breathing this air. Between bay windows and white-trimmed houses, he knows exactly where he is.
With a quick raise of his hand, the Boars halt. Jax gives Ty a nod as he comes up the steps.
“How do we know the Boars will cooperate with our terms?” I ask.
“It’s part of the rules. The leaders agreed to it through IRIS, so it’s legit.”
“Who thinks of these rules?”
“The leaders did, early on, after too many people died in the first couple of years and the cops nearly got the survivors. It’s a way to control it—keep the anger and the fight, but without destroying the city or bringing the law down on us.”
I keep a wary eye on the line of Boars. Kate was right—to fight would go against what this meeting is about. The knot in my stomach unclenches, but only just.
I wonder if the Boars know why this meeting is happening. Maybe Ty is more transparent with his crew than Jax is.
Just then, Ty and Jax shake hands. Ty half jogs back to his crew. He gives a single wave of his hand and the Boars move out.
A gunshot sounds.
The once orderly group of Boars scatter, transforming into a frenzy of panicked animals. Mako shoves me behind him and puts his hand on the back of my head like a protective parent.
“Fucking Boars!” he shouts.
Jax yells at Ty, cursing the day he was born and calling him every name under the sun. Somewhere beyond me, the din calms, enough for me to hear Ty’s voice shouting back.
A tightrope silence follows, thin and tense.
“Oh, fuck,” Mako says. The tone in his voice has changed. “It’s some newbie. Get up, Val.”
Legs trembling, I stand. Over at the church, Jax walks toward Ty. There’s a third guy on the ground trying to get up, but Ty kicks him in the side—hard—and the guy doubles over again. Jax turns toward Mako and me, waving us over.
“It’s cool,” says Mako. “Come on.”
We cross Dolores Street together, but Jax shakes his head.
“Just Valentine.”
I freeze. Mako turns to me and shrugs. “You heard the man.”
I feel the Boars’ eyes on me as my breath curls into the cold air like smoke. Any one of them could shoot me. One step at a time, I think. Keep moving. After what feels like a decade, I take a place next to Jax.
“This is Valerie Simons,” says Jax. “My recruit.”
“Valerie.” Ty says my name like it’s a question he already knows the answer to.
Jax points toward the guy on the ground. “Valentine, this is Michael Hennessy. Now, Michael has been very bad. Do you know why?”
I should answer. I should answer so I look brave and tough, but I don’t trust the right words to come to my mind. I shake my head.
“Michael fired his gun at me during a meeting where Ty and I had agreed on no violence. On neutral territory. At Mission fucking Dolores.”
Each word is a drill into Michael Hennessy’s head. He whimpers—actually whimpers—as Jax goes on.
“He’s a new recruit, like you. But you know the rules, don’t you, Valentine?”
That I do know how to answer: “Yes.”
“And you would never break a truce that’s been agreed upon by your leader.”
“No.”
“Good.”
I only have a second to look at Ty. His hazel eyes are filled with something, but I don’t know what. He takes a deep breath, then nods at Jax.
“Do what you will.”
“Ty! Ty!” Michael howls, but his leader has already turned his back and started to vanish into the mist. Jax grabs Michael by the collar and drags him into the street. Following Jax, I look over my shoulder once—and see Ty staring back, too. Not at Nianna or Micah, but just at me. Our gazes meet, and he turns away, shaking his head. What was that?
I fall quiet behind Nianna and Micah. The way Ty looked at me—it was like he saw something else. Someone else. His expression had been sheepish, almost guilty. Trouble is, I don’t know what a person as heartless as he is could ever feel guilty for.
Michael keeps screaming. He’s done asking for Ty. Now he’s just calling for help.
But the people in the Mission know this game. They know the nights belong to the Wars.
Mako grabs a fistful of Michael Hennessy’s sweatshirt and tells him to shut the fuck up. The Stags form a kind of battle formation around the Boar. My hands shake, partly because I think I know what’s about to happen and partly because I’m not sure if I want it to. This is a Boar. They’re thugs, criminals, all of them. They killed your brother.
Mako and Jax drag Michael until we’ve reached the embankment in the middle of the street.
Mako looks back to the church, as if checking whether we are still in sight of the saints. At the same time, Nianna holds her arm out in front of my stomach and pushes me back. Words bubble up in my throat. No. Stop. Wait. I can’t get a sound out.
Jax faces the Boar. Illuminated by the streetlights, he is menacing—dark and fuming and singular in his command.
“Please,” Michael whispers. Snot and tears pour down his cheeks. “I’ll do anything, Jax. I was just doing what the guys wanted me to.”
“Ty told you?”
“No, some other guys.”
“Who? Why?” Jax demands.
Michael inhales, leaning forward eagerly. “Because you betrayed us. They said Ty wanted you dead but couldn’t do it himse—”
Jax lifts his gun and shoots Michael Hennessy in the leg.
8
Blood doesn’t look like it does in the movies.
My ears are still ringing as Micah guides me into the middle row of the van. My arms and legs tremble, and I hope he can’t feel it. Fumbling into the backseat, I find his seat belt and pass it to him. The van lurches to life, and soon we’re far from the scene.
On the surface, we could be anyone—a bunch of college kids on their way to the bars, or a rock band, breathless and high as we leave a gig where the crowd was screaming our names. But we’re not. We are the Stags, and we just shot a guy on the steps of Mission Dolores.
“What are you gonna do?” Micah asks Jax.
“What do you think I should do?” our leader replies.
Micah is steady. “We should find out who he talked to. If he’s right, then working with the Boars is gonna get you killed.”
Jax ponders this a while, the only sound in the van that of raindrops starting to hit the windshield. “I need to think on this,” he says finally. “But until I say otherwise, the Boars are our allies.”
Micah sits back in his seat. “To go against the He
rons?”
“Bingo.”
“It’s a good idea,” Nianna says coolly from Micah’s right. “The Herons are getting too cocky, capitalizing on the Silicon Valley bimbos and their money.”
“Ty’s heard more, too,” Jax replies. “The new police chief they hired last year—Ty thinks he and the Herons are going to try and oust us.”
“How?” Micah asks.
“Some program to make it seem like they’re fixing us evil, evil gangs. We’re gonna find out.”
The road turns sharply, and I fall into Micah’s shoulder—I remembered his seat belt and forgot my own. I take a breath and clip myself in, fingers shaky.
I witnessed a shooting tonight. The gang I’m sworn to has teamed up with the one I hate to take down the group that the guy I’m in love with belongs to. Sounds like a movie trailer, I think bitterly. Only this isn’t a movie, it’s my real fucking life and I don’t know what I can do. Worst of all, I signed up for this. Still …
I am part of Jax’s game, or whatever this is. I’ve met a gang leader and did my part in participating in—or, at least, consenting to—what happened to Michael Hennessy. I’m one night closer to earning his trust and finding out who it was that shot Leo, and that’s what I’ve wanted all along.
We get home and Jax starts drinking. We all do. I down my first beer quickly and a second just as fast. All I want is for the image—the sound of Michael shrieking, the smell of blood—to go away. Mako fires up the PlayStation, and soon the boys are lost to their games.
The alcohol hits me. My mind switches off. Something else switches on.
“S’cuse me,” I say, scooting past Kate and into the kitchen. I open drawers one by one until I find what I need.
I shouldn’t do this. Everyone says it’s bad. Lyla made me swear to call her—anytime, any day—instead of doing it. But it’s not a problem. I don’t do it all the time. It’s not a problem. It’s a last resort.
I head for the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind me. The scissors smile in my hand. No one saw me take them, right?
I unbutton my jeans and tug them down. My right side, always the right side. I don’t know why. I bring the blade down, press it onto my skin—then jerk my arm back. Slow then fast. Slow then fast. Breathe. Breathe. Tell no one.
I exhale, nearly sobbing in relief. It works every fucking time.
Two more cuts. Always three. One for each letter.
L-E-O.
When I’m done, I tug my pants up and wash the scissors with soap and water.
Someone knocks on the door. “You okay?”
“Yeah!” I shout back. Clearly I’m fine.
The cuts are not the worst I’ve ever done—two or so inches, wider in the middle. Blood beads along the edge but doesn’t drip down. Plenty of people cut way worse than me. I’m not even cutting, really, just scraping.
I turn and stare down my own reflection in the mirror, like I’ve done a million times before. “You were his big sister,” I whisper. “It was your job to be there. You should have protected him.” My voice cracks. “You can’t now, but you can protect other people. You can stop the Boars from killing any more innocent people.” Michael Hennessy wasn’t innocent. He chose this, just like I did.
I slip back into the kitchen and tuck the friendly scissors in their place.
Kate’s leaning into the fridge, one arm draped over the open door. She twirls the end of her braid around her pointer finger, then lets it go and grabs a can of beer.
“You want one?”
I wave her off and motion to her hair. “I don’t know how you keep it so long.” She didn’t see me put the scissors back. She’d have said something if she did. “This is about as long as I get before I go crazy.”
“I love having long hair.” She teeters on her feet even though she’s still holding the door. “My mom had long hair like mine, then she got cancer and poof! It all fell out. I asked her if she wanted me to cut mine—like, was it painful for her to look at, you know? But Mom said no, because when she looked at me she could see something beautiful. Then we weren’t able to afford her chemo and she died and I had to go live with my shitbag of a dad.”
There’s so much in that one breathless confession and each part splinters my heart in a different way. “Oh my god, Kate. I’m so sorry.”
The corner of Kate’s lip twitches. Her hand goes to her back pocket, and she pulls out a square of neon paper. She pinches the corner, and I want to say something—anything—but Mako cuts me off.
“Kate, stop hogging Valentine and get over here. We’re taking shots.”
“Okay,” is her reply. I catch her eye and she gives me a weak smile. “Go.”
I pretend to take the shot, but leave half of it in the glass. This doesn’t feel good. For the next ten minutes or so, I think I’ve gotten away scot-free, that I’d stopped drinking in time. Then, slowly, I begin to slide away. I’m lifting. I’m a thousand helium balloons, light and free in a blue sky. I feel blizzardy. Blizzardy. Is that even a word? I don’t know. I don’t care. Blizzardy blizzardy!
Everything is hilarious. Everyone around me is radiant and perfect—and I want to tell them. I am going to tell them.
Music booms from the speakers as I dart from Stag to Stag. I kiss Kate on the cheek, and when Mako protests I kiss his cheek, too. Nianna, Jax, and Micah are trying to set up some drinking game, but I ignore their process and flit to each of them. Micah is welcoming and gentle. Nianna is beautiful and strange.
My mind is a tangle of downed wires on the side of the freeway. Downed by a blizzardy blizzard. Little sparks.
But I’m in control enough to know that when I reach Jax, he puts his arm around me first, and kisses the top of my head like I’m precious, like I’m special.
Like I’m his.
9
The next night, after a long day of being hungover and trying to get my mind off the previous night by watching baking shows on Netflix, Jax calls all the active Stags together. “Time to show the Herons their reign is over,” he says. He takes a sip of his beer and gives me a wink. “Plus it’s time you met everyone else.”
After last night, I’m not really ready for any more Stag business, but this is what I signed up for, so I man up and am in the kitchen at the appointed time.
Kurt arrives first with two more Stags, Juliet and Cameron. Juliet is heavyset with a long braid of black hair; she keeps her arms folded as she leans against the wall. “Half Filipino, half Chinese,” she tells me when I ask. Her eyes smile from beneath long, thick lines of eyeliner. She throws some punches into the air with practiced motions and says, “Fighter on both sides.”
“Me, too,” I reply, relieved to have something in common. “Well, half Filipino.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Really? You don’t look it.”
“Yeah,” I say. “My mom’s side is pretty light skinned for Filipinos as is. And since my other half is white, it’s super hard to tell.”
“Gotcha.” She puts her arm around my shoulder. “I’m just glad there’s going to be someone else to back me up when I argue halo halo is the best dessert of all time.”
“Ooh,” I reply, salivating at the thought of the red bean, shaved ice, and purple ube ice cream concoction that is halo halo. “A hundred percent will back you up. Have you ever been there? To the Philippines?”
“Yeah, a few times. My grandma and cousins are there.”
“Wow,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Why haven’t you?”
I hesitate. “Just never got around to it, I guess. My mom hasn’t been since she came to the U.S., and it’s not a big deal to her. So we never did.”
“Dude, you should go, at least once,” Juliet replies. “It’s pretty cool.”
Cameron shakes my hand when I offer it, but doesn’t say anything else. He lives and breathes monotone—gray hat with black pants and shoes. The side of his head and face is tattooed with a series of interlocking gears. A dagger entangl
ed in barbed wire rides up his forearm.
“Where’s your Stag tattoo?” I ask, going with the safest bit of small talk I have.
“My back,” he replies flatly. Then he turns and greets Jax, who’d just stomped down the stairs. An amused laugh sounds from behind me.
“Don’t worry about Cameron,” Nianna says. “He tries to look all tough, but he’s scared shitless around girls.”
The three of them stay and we have a feast of enchiladas, rice, beans, and everything in between. Juliet tells a story about a guy who tried to hit on her by talking about bird hunting, which makes Nianna laugh so hard she cries.
Once we’ve all eaten, Jax tells us to leave the plates and gather in the living room.
“As you all know,” he says, “we’re partnering with the Boars to take on the Herons once and for all. And thanks to Theresa, I know exactly where we’re going to hit ’em.”
I frown and sip my water. I always found it bizarre when people refer to their parents by their first names.
“There’s a corner store in the Lower Haight that’s been owned by the same family for three generations. The Herons want to tear it down as part of a redevelopment plan. This store is the last holdout on the block. Now there are plans to build an apartment complex there.”
“Of course,” Juliet mutters.
“The company building the complex isn’t publicly associated with her Herons. Theresa says the Herons are trying to fund the building through a San Francisco-based company to avoid backlash. They won’t reveal they’re with the Herons until after everything’s done.”
“Sneaky,” Kate murmurs.
Jax continues. “Anyway, demolition is scheduled for next week. Media will be there, and probably some city officials keeping people away from the area. We’re going to make sure that the building remains standing by flooding the streets with people protesting.”
“What do the Boars need us for?” Nianna asks, swirling the last of her beer.
“To make it two against one. I agree with the move. Everyone’s going to pitch in getting the word out, and getting people there,” Jax replies. Taking a hair tie from his wrist, he pulls his hair back into a man bun. It’s like freakin’ Thor is in our living room, I think, laughing inwardly.
A Thousand Fires Page 10
