Cole

by Trent Jordan

  “OK, they’re hyped now,” Lane admitted. “And I know maybe this is my bad side about being passive coming across, but we gotta make the right fucking choice, Cole. We’re not retaliating with this strike. We’re going into the mouth of the wolf. And if we do this wrong…”

  We all die.

  “You heard what I said in there,” I said.

  I didn’t say anything else as I brushed past my brother.

  Harsh? Maybe.

  But the right move?

  I didn’t have any doubts about that.

  I couldn’t have any doubts about that.

  I grabbed Phoenix and Patriot and told them to hang back with me when the rest of the club rolled out. Lane would lead the frontal assault, while the three of us would head over to Lucius’ mansion. We’d park our bikes about half a mile outside his place, sneak up to his home, and finish the job by whatever means necessary. If all went well, the hit would be undiscovered until the morning after.

  Finally. The end has come.

  An hour later, with everyone on their bikes and waiting for the final command, Lane came up to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “I know I’ve been an ass to you most of my life,” he said. “I know that I push you and you push me, though usually I’m the one pushing harder. But let’s do things the right way. We’ve got a genuine chance with both of us under one banner to end this. Let’s not fuck it up. Let’s do it how Dad wanted. With honor and respect for the innocent. Got it?”

  In other words, protecting the innocent is more important than prosecuting the evil. It really came down to what we were doing with Lucius’ daughter, but to me, it seemed like an inconsequential argument. If she was smart and had any instinct of self-preservation, she’d stay the hell out of our way. If she grabbed a weapon or tried to stop us... well, then she had lost the innocence she had right now.

  In other words, she’d live innocent or die guilty.

  “Got it,” I said.

  I’m not the Cole you think I am, Lane. I’m not an idiot who’s hungry to prove himself.

  Not here.

  Lane smiled, squeezed my shoulder, and hopped on his bike, leading all but three of us out of the parking lot. It looked like a battalion of soldiers rolling out into combat, as impressive a sight as I think any of us in the MC had ever seen. The only people behind were my Sergeant-at-Arms and a military veteran.

  “Time to go, man?” Patriot said.

  I looked at the two of them. If there was anyone I knew I could trust on a mission like this, it was these two. The man who had taken the job to protect my life, and the man who had taken the job to protect justice and freedom in any and all situations.

  “Yes,” I said. “Let’s fucking go.”

  Lilly

  The hours had passed late into the night, and I had become more convinced than ever that now was the time to make my escape.

  I had one suitcase I could drag with one hand if need be and a backpack ready to be slung over my shoulders. I had a little over a couple hundred dollars in cash I had found as I went through and searched my room. I had already planned out an escape route to get off the property—my room had a balcony that had a stairwell leading to the backyard, which I could then run to the edge of before sneaking around nearby houses. It wasn’t exactly secret agent stuff, but it was the best I could do.

  The front yard would be far too densely populated, far too crowded with my father’s henchmen. The sides of the house didn’t really lead anywhere; only through the back and around would there be any chance of having a true escape option.

  I took a deep breath. I could hear my father talking to a few club members downstairs. He sounded as frazzled and angry as he had in ages, and that was saying something. I heard something like, “Why haven’t you assholes split them apart?” “No good fuckups,” and so much more. If my father ever thought he was keeping me protected from that part of his life, then he had no idea how little he really knew.

  Or he’s just deliberately dense and delusional.

  I did one final checkup of everything in my bags. I had everything I needed. I carried my bags to the porch.

  And then I paused.

  This was so much easier thought than done.

  I was leaving my father for my freedom, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t leaving nothing behind. This was the house that both my father and my mother had raised me in. It was disingenuous to say that there were no good memories here.

  In fact, in my own room, there were photos I didn’t have space for that featured my mother or my father actually smiling. There were trips to far-away locations like Mexico City and Paris. There were memorabilia trophies from my sports days, although those had fallen off around the time my mother died and my father had become far more controlling.

  I’m not saying goodbye to them. I’m saying goodbye to them being here. I can still carry them with me, if only metaphorically.

  The door to my room swung open.

  “Lilly.”

  I jumped when I saw my father standing there. He had a perplexed look on his face. He wasn’t looking at me—he was looking past me. Right at the bags I had packed.

  “What’s going on here? What are you doing?”

  I gulped. I put on a pretty smile, but it had to be the least convincing smile ever.

  “I heard all of the commotion downstairs and thought that I should get ready to leave just in case,” I said. “I thought you’d want me to get ready to go to Oregon—”

  “I didn’t tell you to start packing,” he said. “You were going to run away, weren’t you?”

  “What?” I said, laughing in a desperate attempt to make my father’s accurate accusation sound ridiculous. “No! Dad, if I was running away, I would have left by now.”

  “You were going to fucking run away, weren’t you?” he said. “After everything I’ve done for you. After everything I’ve given to you. You were about to run away. How fucking dare you!”

  “Dad!”

  My father’s nostrils swelled and his eyes widened. But at least for a brief respite of a moment, he kept his mouth shut. I had this one chance to avoid getting screamed at or hit.

  “You’re always saying I should be prepared for the worst, be prepared for whatever may happen, equip myself to make sure I don’t get hurt,” I said. “And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do right now. You already told me you want me to go to…”

  My voice trailed off as my father started to laugh at me.

  “Do I look so fucking stupid?” he said. “You ungrateful, stupid bitch. I give you everything and treat you so well, and the first thing you want to do is run away when you can. Well, fine.”

  He came forward and shoved me to the ground. I fell too easily; though far past his physical prime, my father still had that brutal, violent strength that could make anyone my size cower and crumble before him. He raised his hand. I crunched up, preparing for the worst.

  No strike came. I still didn’t open up. I was terrified he was baiting me into looking at him before he hit me. It was only when I heard him chuckle that I glanced up, keeping my chin tucked to my chest.

  “It seems you’re a faster learner than you used to be,” he said. “Unfortunately, just because you are a fast learner does not mean you are a willing one. Spike!”

  I heard someone very heavy thundering up the stairs. I could hear chains and metal bouncing off of the approaching man’s body; he sounded like a movie villain more than an actual man.

  “Keep a close eye on my daughter and make sure nothing happens to her,” my father said as Spike kept coming up the stairs. “She tried to escape. She does not know what is good for her. I suggest you keep an eye on her as if your life depends on it, because it may very well. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Spike said in an intensely gravelly voice.

  Spike walked in, and my father left. Spike looked every bit the part of nasty convict—he had tears tattooed near his eyes, multiple neck tattoos,
hair spiked and dyed red, and more chains on his clothing than a padlocked gate did. He had to have known that he looked like a stereotype; maybe that was, in fact, exactly what he was going for.

  “Are you going to hurt me too?” I said.

  Spike just glared at me. The look would have shut up just about anyone else, but I knew better. Only one person in this house would touch me without risking death, and that was, unfortunately, my father. Spike so much as laying a hand on me was probably grounds for a bullet through his skull.

  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have permission to talk cruelly to me.

  “Or are you going to just stand there looking all tough—”

  “God, shut the fuck up,” he growled. “I’m here to protect you, not hurt you, and my job will be a lot easier if you simply keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

  The vitriol of Spike’s words, at first, made me crawl back against my bed, fold my arms, and try to recover. But when enough time had passed, I tried to regain the calm and composure I’d had before my father had triggered me. I had kept my distance from the club members as much as I could for my own sanity, but maybe engaging them might somehow make a difference.

  I didn’t have a lot of faith, but I also didn’t have a lot of options.

  “Do you enjoy this kind of work, Spike?”

  Spike looked at me with a single arched eyebrow but said nothing.

  “I know you won’t say it because you value your own life, but it can’t be healthy or fun working for my father.”

  The subtle release of tension—even though I couldn’t describe it, I sensed it—encouraged me.

  “What was your life like before you joined the Fallen Saints, Spike?”

  “Harsh and cold,” he said.

  I waited for him to fill in the details. I shouldn’t have been so naïve as to think he would.

  “What made you join the Saints?”

  Spike looked out the door before turning back to me.

  “The chance to feel free,” he said.

  “And can you here?”

  Spike bit his lip and sighed. He never answered, but his body language had said more than enough.

  “You know what I want to feel?” I said. “I want to feel the same thing. I want to feel free. But I can’t do that with my father watching me like a hawk. He watches everyone like that. The only reason you feel free is because that’s relative to how it was before. But…”

  “Don’t push your luck,” he growled, but the slight waver in his voice told me I was getting through.

  Still, for a good minute, I just kept silent, watching him, trying to see what sort of an impact my words might have had. He wasn’t looking at me much; most of the time, he was peering out at the hallway, likely to see if my father was coming. And who could blame him? My father’s presence was almost always unannounced, unexpected, and unwelcome. That’s not to say it was never good, but it was rare.

  I was still trying to seek an angle to get out of here. I had hoped softening up Spike would work, and maybe it would, but it was taking much longer than I had hoped. I took a breath.

  “Listen, Spike, I—”

  BOOM!

  It sounded like a grenade had detonated.

  It was probably a couple miles away, but I’d been around my father too long to not know what it was.

  “You didn’t warn me they would fucking attack!” my father yelled. “Spike!”

  Spike, eyes wide, bolted downstairs.

  I had my opportunity. It was now or never.

  With my face flush with a mixture of anger, embarrassment, fear, and grief, I grabbed my suitcase and my backpack, and I bolted out the balcony doors, not even bothering to shut them behind me. I didn’t have time to say goodbye to any more parts of my past. As far as this moment was concerned, that was dead and gone.

  I got to the balcony, sprinted down the stairs, and nearly stumbled down onto the grass. I looked back; I could still hear my father arguing voraciously with some of his club members.

  I almost felt sympathy for him. The harder he tried to protect me and get his way with the club, the less he was able to do so. And if the Reapers were as savage as my father said they were—which I had my doubts about, but I had my doubts about everything my father said—then he couldn’t protect me from them either.

  I got to the trees in the backyard when I heard my father scream my name.

  “Lilly! No!”

  It was... emotional. It sounded genuine. It sounded pained.

  All this time, I’d assumed my father was a controlling monster... and he was... but he had that side…

  I heard more gunfire in the distance. The far distance, actually; it didn’t sound like it was at the house or even in the neighborhood.

  It didn’t matter, though. I couldn’t stay any longer. This was a risk to my life. If my father had wanted to be a better parent, he’d had plenty of chances before. I just hope this doesn’t cost Spike his life.

  It probably will…

  “Find her!” my father shouted so loudly that I wondered if he would split his vocal cords. “Do whatever the fuck you have to do to find my daughter and bring her to me! I cannot lose her! Fuck!”

  I couldn’t hear his men’s responses, but I had to imagine they felt the same way I did whenever he demanded something of me. Panicked, rushed fear to follow his every command to avoid violent punishment. The Saints weren’t bad people; they just had to do bad things to avoid a worse punishment from the worst man possible.

  I kept my head low and hauled my suitcase and backpack through the woods. The hills and rocky terrain were making it very difficult, and I immediately knew that this wasn’t sustainable. I had to get into a public area, maybe hitchhike with someone, and just get somewhere with a bus or a train. Once I got out of the Los Angeles area, I could take time to figure out the rest, but this current method wasn’t going to cut it. I was not a wilderness girl.

  I just had to hope that my father would eventually get over my escape. Because right now, I couldn’t be anywhere near him. My life, my sanity, my happiness depended on me having actual freedom.

  I pushed through the woods until I got to a street in the neighborhood I knew was far from my father’s place. I started walking toward downtown Springsville.

  I walked. And walked. And walked. And—

  “There she is!”

  Spike.

  And then I ran.

  Cole

  I could hear the explosions in the distance from the battle raging at the Fallen Saints’ headquarters. Such a battle did not need to be won in the traditional sense of the word. We only needed them to divert enough forces from Lucius’ house for us to kill him.

  On the drive over, I felt focus unlike anything I had felt before. Nothing entered my head. No emotions were felt. I had truly become something of a machine, programmed for the sole purpose of infiltrating, killing, and escaping. And even then, if I managed to only accomplish the first two objectives, there was something to be said for a happy ending.

  We pulled off the last main busy street and into the neighborhood housing Lucius’ mansion. Although he lived behind a gate that would separate him from the rest of the houses nearby, his neighborhood was actually pretty massive. Based on our previous reconnaissance, if we disembarked at the entrance of the neighborhood, we’d still have to walk nearly three-quarters of a mile before we got there.

  But to get any closer risked blowing our cover, and so we found a dark part of the entrance, pushed our bikes over there, and dismounted.

  “You guys know the deal,” I said in a loud whisper. “We move in, we kill Lucius, and we get out. Nothing else—”

  “There she is!”

  We froze when we heard first the sound of an angry man, and then someone running and... luggage wheels grinding on the street? It was hard to say exactly what that was, but the sound pulled me out of my focus and triggered the protective feelings I’d had all my life. Gone was the machine intent on killing; someone was in dange
r, and I needed to help.

  I ordered Patriot and Phoenix to follow me, and we headed into the street. Under a lamppost about fifteen feet away, a woman—I recognized her, even if I couldn’t place her—ran in a full sprint, carrying some sort of airport luggage with her. And then, half a second later, the sound of a motorcycle revved to life.

  “Fallen Saints,” Patriot muttered under his breath.

  “Go for the kill?” Phoenix asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  I didn’t care that we were in a semi-public space and likely to blow our cover. I remembered now—I knew that woman from the funeral, and though I didn’t know anything more about her, if the Fallen Saints were chasing her, that was good enough reason to protect her.

  “Hey!” I roared.

  I raised my rifle.

  “Get down on the ground!”

  The woman almost literally collapsed straight onto the asphalt beneath her. When she fell, two Fallen Saints came into view. To my surprise, though, neither of them had their guns drawn; both of them simply rode their bikes, as if intent on kidnapping, not killing, the woman on the run.

  I saw their mouths open wide, likely at the realization of what they had just run into. I saw their hands start to reach to their hips, trying to grab their guns. But I never saw them move again, because Phoenix and Patriot fired with precise aim, killing both of them. Their motorcycles skidded to the sides of the road, careening into the ground and sending the corpses tumbling.

  “Go take care of the bodies,” I said. “I’ll check in on the civilian.”

  Phoenix and Patriot ran ahead as I holstered my weapon and approached the young woman. She was still on the ground, hands over her face, protecting herself from the dangers of the night. And who could blame her?

  “Are you hurt?” I said.

  She peeked up at me, just barely lifting her face. And when she saw me, she gulped, sat back on her ass, and scooted back.

  “You’re... you’re with the Black Reapers, aren’t you?” she said.