by Trent Jordan
“What we don’t have, however, are enough medical professionals who can help quite like you can. So, we’re going to make this simple.”
He nodded to Jason. Jason smiled and walked toward Devon. I stood up and tried to kick him in the groin, but with disturbing ease, he moved me to the side. I heard Devon saying, “no, no, no,” as she back into the corner before she let out a scream that coincided with the sickening sound of a knife penetrating flesh. Devon cried, but Jason just laughed.
“The knife wound your friend has suffered is not fatal, provided, of course, proper treatment is administered in due time,” Lucius said. “You have my word on that. However, before you can treat her, we need your help.”
On that note, two more Saints walked inside. They sported what looked like nasty infections or wounds that had not healed properly. The wounds looked very recent.
“We do our best not to go to hospitals nearby for a variety of reasons,” Lucius said. “Your friend was supposed to help us last night, but because she instead chose to focus her attention on the Reapers, she has to pay the price. So, here’s the deal, Kaitlyn.”
He came over, grabbed my cheek, and whispered into my ear.
“You will treat these two Saints and give them the medical attention they need,” he said. “If you do not, then I will kill Devon. And I assure you, her death will not be quick. We do not kill rats slowly in our world.”
I shoved him away, but Lucius just snickered at me.
“I do not know why you would push me away when your friend’s life depends on it,” he said. “And, I should add, yours.”
I found myself turning to Jason, who had a wicked grin on his face. I understood then what Lucius meant—if I refused, Devon would die, but so would I. And the person who would kill me would be the same person that had killed my sister. God knew what else he would do before killing me.
“And let me just add one final detail,” Lucius said. “We expect you to treat these two men. Afterward, we will leave, and you are welcome to treat the rat. We want nothing more to do with her, we are finished with her. However, should you make the decision to see that Black Reaper again—and you know full well which one I refer to—I will kill both of you. I don’t care if he comes to you for medical attention. Do not test me on this, Kaitlyn. I will hunt you down, even if it means going out of state or out of the country.”
All of the mocking, all of the false lightheartedness, all of the evil playfulness in Lucius’ voice had faded at the end of his words. He had become the devil when he spoke, speaking with pure, cold venom and disgust.
I felt I had no choice. It was help the enemy or be killed. I knew that I had not seen Michael for the last time, but the only way I could do so was to help the enemy.
It was what I had to do.
The Saints already had a medical kit laid out before both men. I took a step to them and sighed.
“Good,” Lucius said, drawing out the word.
“She’s as submissive as her bitch of a sister,” Jason said with a laugh.
It took an awful lot of willpower not to turn around and try and kill Jason.
The only thing that held me back was the hope that Michael would sense something was wrong and figure out where I was.
It was my last, my only, hope.
Patriot
As soon as I pulled up to the Black Reapers’ HQ, I tried to call Kaitlyn. I knew I owed her a return phone call after she attempted to reach me this morning, but this was the first chance I’d had with a clear head.
But when she didn’t answer, I figured she was just busy with other things and turned my attention to the most urgent matter.
I walked inside the clubhouse and found Lane sitting in church alone, shaking his head. I turned back to Axle and nodded at him. The silent communication was enough to make clear what we both wanted. I needed the privacy of speaking to him, and Axle needed a job to occupy him as he thought about what we’d discussed this morning.
I knocked before letting myself into church.
“You’re back,” Lane said, his words laced with caution.
“Yeah, man,” I said, taking a breath. “I had to get out of town a bit to get my mind right.”
He didn’t say another word as I sat not across the table from him, but one seat over. It might have been taking Axle’s seat, but I didn’t much care. Axle could fight me when the time came—not that, after this morning, he would.
“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
Lane clearly had not been expecting that.
“My mind the past few days has just been so thrown for a loop,” I said. “This business with the rat has brought back some ugly memories in Ramadi, and it all came to a head when the Saints attacked. I began to believe things that I had no business believing, like that you were the rat somehow. It is, of course, utterly ridiculous to even consider such a possibility, but when your mind is shot to hell, and you don’t know any better, it’s what happens. Not an excuse, just an explanation. So, I’m sorry.”
Lane smiled and shook his head.
“I wish you’d said that before you messed up my mug,” he said. “Angela’s going to have a field day when she hears how this happened.”
“Small price to pay for trying to punch me, man,” I said with a chuckle. “But seriously, I’m sorry. I should have known that you would never throw out the club for a payday or something meaningless like that. I’m sorry for doubting your integrity. That one is absolutely on me, and I will make sure that it does not happen again.”
“You’re good,” he said, offering his hand.
I stood up to accept it, and when Lane stood up, I embraced him. The two of us patted each other on the back. We had our problems and things to worry about, but dealing with each other’s supposed betrayal was not one of them.
“And I’m sorry for not understanding you better—”
“Don’t,” I said. “Some stories are just meant to be put to the back end. Some aspects of life aren’t meant to be understood.”
Lane looked hurt for a second, but when he saw the pain in my eyes, I think he understood. Kaitlyn had, in some ways, gotten lucky—or unlucky, depending on one’s perspective—to hear the story. I doubted that I would share it with anyone else. Healing wouldn’t come by looking back, but, as Axle said, by moving forward.
“Understood, man,” Lane said. “Whatever I can do to help.”
“You can start by letting Axle off the hook,” I said. “I don’t know who it is, but I know that Axle came to me when I went away. He’s the reason I’m back here.”
“Yeah, he called me out on it before he left,” Lane admitted. “Right when you left, he stormed into my office and told me I was full of shit. He said that he suspected a rat too, but he offered to show me his entire cell phone records. He didn’t need to. I realized as soon as he called me out that I was being an idiot.”
It was a great relief to know that the military men of the group were not the ones who were the rats. Granted, there was no way we could truly, one hundred percent know with complete certainty until the real rat was exposed, but I knew that the odds were now significantly slimmer than even I had anticipated.
“By the way,” Lane said. “Did you know that Kaitlyn and I had lunch?”
“No?” I said. “I haven’t heard from her since this morning. We’ve played phone tag a bit, though. What happened?”
Lane chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
“I... thought that somehow, if I confronted her, I’d understand why you and I fought and why she hadn’t joined us as a nurse yet. But, fuck me, I handled it really poorly.”
“So you drove her away, and now she’s never going to work for the Black Reapers, huh?”
“Yup,” Lane admitted.
“Well, that’s probably what she’s called me about,” I said. “Let’s make this easy. I’ll put her on speakerphone, and when she answers, I can bring you on, and you can apologize.”
“Ugh, yo
u’re really going to make me do that?”
“You wouldn’t if I said something offensive to Angela?”
Lane didn’t respond. I knew I was in the right. I grabbed my phone, dialed Kaitlyn’s number, and put it on speaker. We waited a few seconds before an answer came.
“Hey, you,” I said.
But I didn’t get any response. Instead, I heard some background grunts, the kind of thing that sounded like... it sounded like there were multiple people near her.
“Kaitlyn? What’s going—”
But the line went dead. I looked to Lane, who had concern all over his face.
“You heard that, right?” I said.
“Yeah,” Lane said, gulping. “Do you know if she was supposed to work today?”
“She wasn’t,” I said, and now both of us were feeling very worried. “But it sounded like she was doing work of some kind. Wonder why she would answer but not say anything.”
“Unless she wanted us to know she was somewhere without those around her knowing it.”
Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck!
There was only one scenario in which what Lane had said would be applicable. Unfortunately, it was almost certainly the scenario we were facing now.
Somehow, Kaitlyn had fallen into the grasp of the Fallen Saints.
“You know where she lives?” Lane asked, already standing up.
“Was there last night.”
“Then let’s go.”
We bolted out of the church hall, grabbing Axle along the way. We were not asking him to join us—we were demanding it.
Just before we exited the clubhouse, Lane grabbed my shoulder.
“Someone’s going to notice the three of us rolling out,” he said.
Someone who could then alert the Fallen Saints that we’re coming after them. And then it’s Ramadi all over again.
“We need someone to stay behind and act like it’s a casual situation,” I said, begrudgingly admitting he was right.
But we didn’t need to have a debate of any kind.
“You’re going,” Lane said. “And Axle’s going with you. I’m going to stay behind and make sure nothing happens.”
“You’re sure?” Axle said.
I wasn’t going to argue. It was my woman—yes, my woman—that was in danger.
“If I go, it’ll look like something is going down, and every Fallen Saint will know what’s happening,” he said. “But if you two go, you already left once for the day and came back. Now you’re just going out again.”
It was fewer numbers, but a greater chance of success. And if the situation called for it, we could get reinforcements. Put in that frame, and it was the easiest decision we’d made yet.
“Alright, man,” I said, quickly hugging Lane.
“Thanks,” Axle said.
Lane shooed us away before we could say anything more.
We hoped on our bikes without explaining our departure to anyone else. I led the way, with Axle hot on my tail. I ignored all traffic laws, red lights, and stop signs en route to her place. I mentally prepared myself to kill a lot of Fallen Saints when we got inside.
I even prepared myself to make the ultimate sacrifice if I had to.
We showed up to Kaitlyn’s apartment a few minutes later. From the outside, there didn’t appear to be any sort of trouble; the door was in place, there were no Fallen Saints bikes nearby, and the surrounding area seemed peaceful and devoid of police tape or even a police presence.
“Quiet,” I said.
“You know what that means.”
I did. In Ramadi, the enemy tried to lure us into a false sense of security by making all seem peaceful. Of course, we were experienced enough and trained well enough to remain on high alert at all times. The presence of silence, if anything, made it much easier for us to concentrate and do our jobs.
But it also meant that things could go to hell in a matter of seconds, and we all had to be ready to strike back at a moment’s notice. We both had to have our hands by our guns at an absolute minimum, perhaps even in our hands.
“Come on,” I said. “Second floor.”
Axle followed me up the stairs, covering my six as we moved up. Even though the complex, which faced outside, like a U-shaped motel, was deserted of apparent trouble, that didn’t mean darkness wasn’t lying in the crevices, waiting to strike.
I reached her door. I crouched to the side, away from the windows. Axle went to the other side. He nodded to me, reached out, and turned the handle.
It was locked.
That wasn’t going to stop either of us. But it did mean that I was about to owe her apartment complex a brand-new door.
Axle reared back, lifted his leg, and stomped the door down, sending it flying against the wall. The two of us entered, guns raised, ready to pull the trigger in a split second.
But it was completely empty.
In fact, not only was it completely empty, it was set up the exact same way as it had been that morning. The couch where we’d slept together was still there. The eggs hadn’t even been put away.
“No one’s been here since this morning,” I said. “The Saints haven’t been here. They aren’t careful enough to keep a place this clean.”
“So, where is she then?”
She couldn’t have been at the hospital. Today was her day off, and for as little time as I had known Kaitlyn, she didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would burn herself out, trying to accrue a little bit more over time.
That left...
“Devon,” I said, murmuring her name. “The two of them got into a huge fight yesterday. You remember, right?”
“The nurse we already have on staff,” Axle said.
“Right. I don’t know for sure, but it would make sense. Maybe the Saints are using her as bait to bring Kaitlyn in. I know...”
Then it really started to come together.
“The Saints saw me with her at Brewskis before. They had to have figured we were on a date that night. But they probably knew that if they came here, we’d kill them without hesitation. So maybe they’re dragging her in... Axle. Do you think the two of us could take on whoever is at Devon’s?”
Axle did not smile. But I knew a part of him relished the chance to kill some Saints.
“It wouldn’t be a full force,” Axle said. “But two of us is a huge risk. Even if there’s just three of them, one of us going down makes it harder, impossible, maybe. We can’t afford to make a decision so rashly.”
“True...”
So then we do what we did before. We rally everyone together. We don’t announce anything is happening, we just go. We don’t give the Reaper rat a chance to do anything other than help.
“Then let’s head back to the clubhouse,” I said. “I have an idea. We’ll just have to repeat what we did for the counterstrike for my slashed tires.”
“You mean not tell anyone what’s happening until the last second.”
“Precisely,” I said. “And you know, there’s one thing I learned in war that I think applies here. For as much thinking as we’re doing, it’s simple.”
I even allowed myself to smile.
“Best thing I learned in war—just fucking go!”
Kaitlyn
“What the fuck, bitch?”
The large, irritable Fallen Saint before me, with enough muscles to crush me five times over and a mean streak to go well enough past that, twitched as I tried to put stitches on a wound that had not healed on his shoulder.
“You have to hold still, or else it won’t hold.”
“You’ll make it hold still.”
The only reason I didn’t roll my eyes and tell him to quit being a baby was because I could still hear Devon cringing in agonizing pain in the other room, still feeling the effects of the knife wound. Only a few minutes had gone by, but it felt like hours had passed as I tried to figure out how I could get Devon and me out of this.
Unfortunately, every time I considered a way to get out, about fi
ve different obstacles that could not be hurdled presented themselves. For example, maybe I could use my tools to kill the Saint in front of me. Okay, great, but that still left the three Saints in the main room, the other wounded Saint, and who knew who else attempting to kill me. Or maybe I could steal a gun and try and force my way out, but even if I succeeded, what then? My tires were probably slashed, if not removed entirely, by now.
I had a long way to go, and I didn’t have the speed to escape them. I was a known quantity now, and even if I sought permanent refuge with the Black Reapers, there would be no way for me to function in the normal world.
“Just be patient with me, please,” I said as gently as I could after a few seconds. It was the most I could muster without losing my cool. At least the Saint merely grunted in approval.
And then my phone rang.
“Sorry,” I muttered as the Saint muttered something about how this was total bullshit and how the other nurse was much hotter and better.
But when I looked down to stop my phone from ringing, I saw it was Michael.
There was no way I could answer it. That was a good way to ensure way more than five different obstacles popped up. I hadn’t forgotten Lucius’ promise—and I believed in his willingness to carry through on it—to kill me if I ever interacted with Michael.
Who was to say, though, I couldn’t accidentally answer it when I meant to hit ignore?
“This might hurt a little bit, but—”
“Bitch, how many times do I have to tell you not to make it hurt!” the Saint bellowed.
But the goal wasn’t to warn the Saint about what was to happen. Actually, I could have applied the stitches with nothing more than a mere pinch, maybe a slight sting.
The real goal was to give enough background noise to make it clear to Michael on the other end of the line that I was in danger, and I needed help. It was something of a Hail Mary attempt, given that I wasn’t speaking to him, and there was no guarantee that he would figure out I wasn’t at the hospital.
But I had no other option that didn’t involve me getting killed. This was the only way.
