Bound Together

by Christine Feehan

  It wasn't that he hadn't done his share of fucked-up, illegal things, but a man had to have a code to live by. The Swords' only code was to wreak as much havoc in the world as possible. Sometimes, when he put on their colors, he felt filthy. Covered in shit. He wanted this over so he could wear his own colors with pride. He'd be truly free when that happened. At least, after five very long years, he could see the end coming.

  He lifted his face to feel the full onslaught of the wind. The sensation made him feel clean when he wasn't. He didn't have the right to judge, not when he'd killed more people than probably the entire Swords club put together. Not him alone, of course. He glanced to his left, and Reaper was there. To his right was Savage. Ice, Storm, Mechanic, Transporter and Absinthe rode at his back. Alena had her arms wrapped tightly around him. Twice she'd thrown her arms in the air for sheer joy. The action had made him smile.

  For the first time in years, they were close to finishing their task. They would be able to strip off the stench of the Swords and wear their own colors. Once they were back in them, none of his brothers would ever take them off again. They were done with being someone's puppets. Word had gotten to them that their greatest enemy was dead--taken down by Viktor's brother Casimir and his woman.

  Viktor honestly didn't know how to think about the death of Uri Sorbacov and his father, Kostya. The men deserved death ten times over, but he'd been dancing to their tune for so long, he almost didn't know how to exist without them threatening his family to force him to carry out the dirtiest, most dangerous jobs they had. Like this one. He could walk away clean right now if he wanted. Start his life free with his brothers, wear his own colors, go to his wife without fear she'd be killed, but if he did that, he'd be letting the lowest scum of the earth crawl away free as well. That was against his code.

  For now, riding for hours in the sun with the wind on his face and his brothers at his back, he felt alive again. He knew the others were feeling it too. They might not be wearing their colors, but they had the ink on their backs, and it felt as if they were living life free, if only for a short period of time.

  They'd been traveling along Highway 1 for a few hours now. The ocean was mellow, looking like blue-green glass shining on the surface. The farther north they went, the darker the water, as if something lurked beneath the surface, ready to erupt at any time. He liked that. It made him feel he belonged. The air was perfect. So far, they hadn't run into a single cop, at least not one that paid attention to them.

  He was eager to see his birth brothers, to meet their women, see their homes. It had been a long time coming, a long hard road, but now that it was nearing the end, it was all worth it, knowing they were alive and safe. They'd gotten out alive, intact, able to have normal relationships. His Torpedo Ink brothers knew all about his younger birth brothers. He knew they would protect them and their families just as he would.

  And then there was Blythe. He let his mind turn to his woman. Five years was a long time for any woman to be alone, let alone one like Blythe. She was beautiful and nurturing, the kind of woman who would make a good mother, or a dynamite old lady. She'd look out for the members of his club, take them under her wing and help them find a way to live.

  He knew their club would continue doing what they did best, and it wasn't legal. It would never be legal. Others would view it as taking the law into their own hands. Before, they'd been sanctioned by their government, weapons let loose on enemies of the state, or criminals impossible to bring to justice any other way. Now, they would continue on their own. They were good at hunting criminals, the kind the law couldn't get to. They used the kind of force the law couldn't use. It was in their blood. He thought long and hard over the "it." Killing. Fighting. Life and death. It was how they lived and they knew no other way.

  Blythe had to understand how important this assignment was. She couldn't view it that she wasn't every bit as important to him--she was more. He'd just have to make her understand that she was his life. His hope. His reason for getting up in the morning. This . . . this was something he did because he had to do it. He had no choice. There was something in him that just couldn't allow Evan and his club to ruin the lives of so many young boys and girls. Girls like Darby Henessy. Again he put it in the back of his mind to check on her, to make certain she had a home and a family watching out for her.

  Alena's hands gripped his shirt tight and twisted. That was her signal that they needed to stop. She never admitted she had to pee. She didn't ask. They'd developed a system after he found her in tears. The rage burning in his belly, always so close, flared into a hot bright ball of burning knots. She wasn't the only one. They'd managed to live through their past, but it left a lot of scars, some of them uglier than others.

  He raised his hand, fist closed, giving the signal that they'd stop at the first available place. Granted, there weren't too many on this road, at least not close together. What there was were parks, several of them. All of them had restrooms, most nothing more than upgraded outhouses, but they worked. After their beginning, outhouses were fashionable.

  Alena nuzzled his back, and he patted her hand. She was gorgeous. Sweet. Strangely vulnerable and yet lethal as hell. He thought of her as Torch, rather than Alena. They all did. Earlier on they'd established names for themselves. He was ten and he'd come up with the idea to give the others things to think about. What kinds of talents they might have, what each thought of the other. It was a way to pass the time and to bond closely with one another when they were locked down in the dark "dungeon."

  The school had a dungeon, a real one, where they were often taken to be tortured for some mythical infraction, but the confinement area was without windows and always kept dark. Mostly, they were kept down there without clothes, treated like animals. He gathered the youngest close and told stories and made up games. Eventually, the other boys just under his age helped him to distract the younger ones. Over the years, as children died, the instructors brought in younger and younger ones. Being toddlers didn't prevent the instructors from using them for their own evil purposes.

  He spotted a sign ahead. Another park, this one larger than some. He signaled and they all turned onto the winding drive. A small wooden hut separated those driving in from those driving out. A park ranger stuck her head out of the booth, eyeing them warily. Viktor didn't bother to smile. It never helped.

  "We're here just for an hour or two." He pulled out the money for all eight of them, even though he considered making her take money from all the others. If she thought he looked intimidating, she should get a good look at Reaper and Savage.

  She handed him a map and told him where the bathrooms were before waving him through with the stickers to put on their bikes. Like that would happen. He shoved them in his jacket and glanced back. The ranger had stepped out of her booth and was looking after them as if they disgusted her.

  "I hate that," Alena said as she slipped off the bike so he could park it right in front of the bathrooms.

  "What?" But he knew.

  "The way she looked at me. At us."

  "Fuck her, Alena," he snapped. He caught her chin. "She isn't better than us."

  But he knew that wasn't true. The woman looked down on them for riding motorcycles, for their tattoos, guessing at their lifestyle, but they were killers. Every single one of them. Learning to kill had shaped their lives from young ages. There was no getting around that and maybe, because it was stamped into their bones, it was there in their faces for everyone to see. Bringing them all home to Blythe maybe wasn't such a good idea after all. If she looked at them the same way, with such distaste and disdain, he didn't know what he'd do. Then again, his woman would never do that. Never. It wouldn't happen. Blythe was the best the world had to offer. He didn't understand why fate had given her to him, but he absolutely knew she was the one, and nothing could shake his faith in her.

  "Alena is having too many nightmares again," Ice said, looking after his sister as she made her way to the bathroom. "I don't l
ike it."

  "None of us do," Viktor acknowledged. "She had been sleeping in the bed with me, and that helped some. She was with Lana when Lana and the others got into camp last night."

  Storm was on the other side of Viktor, scowling after his sister. "Scared the hell out of us. You were gone most of the night with Reaper and Savage so you didn't hear. It was that horrible sound that she makes when she's asleep and you know if you touch her you'll just be part of her nightmare. I thought knowing Sorbacov was dead would stop them, or slow them down, but they're getting worse."

  Viktor knew exactly what they were talking about. Alena's nightmares were becoming worse. All of them knew it, but no one knew what to do. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, although hitting something instead would have made him feel a whole hell of a lot better. Still, there was Blythe. He was counting on Blythe. She lived in a world apart from them, and she was smart. She knew things about that other world that they were closed off from.

  "My woman will figure it out."

  Ice and Storm exchanged a long look that annoyed Viktor. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  Ice tried to look innocent, but Storm shook his head as if Viktor was to be pitied. "I don't think this woman exists, Czar. If she did, she'd have to be a fuckin' saint, and since she married you, that can't be."

  "Or," Ice chimed in, nudging his twin, "Czar made her up so he could get himself off at night. He has such a problem with the skanky women hanging around the Swords clubhouse all the time."

  Storm nodded. "That could be, he has a Madonna complex."

  "A what?" Ice demanded.

  "You know, the mother of his child has to be a saint."

  "That's not what a Madonna complex is, you moron," Viktor snapped. "It would mean I couldn't maintain sexual arousal in a committed relationship. Believe me, I had no problem, and thinking about her gets me hard as a fucking rock, so shut the hell up."

  Both men burst out laughing and sauntered toward the path leading down to the ocean. Viktor glared after them.

  "Trouble, Czar?" Absinthe asked as he pulled off his gloves.

  Viktor couldn't help but stare at the tattoos on his fingers, the ones sleeving his arms, going up his neck and disappearing into his shirt. They all had tattoos. Ones that told stories if you knew how to read them. Every single one of them wore the Torpedo Ink tat on their backs--and they wore it with pride.

  The cypress tree spread out with seventeen branches. Roots tangled at the bottom with piles of skulls buried among them. Crows flying away from the tree or picking through the skulls at the roots. Each skull represented a kill. Reaper's tat was alarmingly full. The others were quickly catching up with this last assignment. He hoped to slow them all down. To find reasons not to do what they did, but Reaper was so right when he said they'd never be able to stop. He'd never be able to stop.

  What would Blythe think about their inability to stop what they did best? Could he get away with not telling her? Women, as a rule, didn't know club business. That was the way it was. They didn't sit in on the meetings, and they were expected to do what their old men told them to do.

  Blythe wasn't going to like that. She was all about women's rights and women being strong. He liked strong women, especially her, but he wanted her to trust him enough to follow his lead. He was a leader. He'd been put in that position at age ten and he was still in that position. He couldn't be anything else. He glanced over at Reaper, who was still sitting on his bike, taking a careful look around. The man was right. Either she loved him for who he really was, or she didn't.

  "Your woman knows how to deal with trauma?" Absinthe prompted.

  His woman walked on water. "She can do just about anything. She'll love Alena and Lana, and they need a little love."

  "They have us," Absinthe reminded quietly. "We love them, and they still aren't better."

  Viktor raised his head and looked his brother in the eye. "Are you?"

  Because none of them were. Not a single one, especially him. Viktor was as screwed up as the rest of them. He suffered the same nightmares and had all kinds of issues he didn't want to talk about--especially with someone as sweet and innocent as Blythe. He sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. "You're right, Absinthe, they aren't better."

  Alena came out of the women's room walking toward them with her long, confident strides, her glossy platinum hair flowing around her. She always wrapped her hair in some kind of intricate knot when she was riding, but took it down the moment she was off the bike. He knew that was a leftover from when one of the instructors had beat her senseless and shaved her head. She'd been six and it had taken all of them to console her. But then, she'd never really gotten over it.

  "What is it?" Reaper asked.

  The man was creepy silent even in motorcycle boots. Viktor heard everything, but he never heard Reaper or Savage. The two were a force to be reckoned with. He didn't know which was worse: Reaper, the older brother, or Savage, the younger. Most likely Reaper. Had any of Viktor's birth brothers been in that place of horror, he would have lost his mind.

  "We're all pretty fucked-up, aren't we, Reaper?" What if Blythe didn't take him back? That question had haunted him for too long now. He woke up in the middle of the night numerous times, sweat pouring off of him, his heart pounding at the possibility. He had never once considered she wouldn't want him, not in the first year or two, but then as time stretched out and he couldn't see or hear from her, that fear had begun to take hold.

  "Some of us more than others. You, not so much. You were older than the rest of us and figured out a way to fight back. You kept us human when we would have all been animals." Reaper gazed out at the shimmering water. "You gave us a life, Czar. Stop beating yourself up. I've never seen you like this. She's either the one or she's not."

  Viktor pressed his thumb to the center of his left palm and held it there. Prakenskiis didn't make mistakes when it came to choosing their women. Blythe was the one. She was his wife. His partner. His only. He touched his chest, the lock tattooed over his heart. She had the key tattooed on her body. "She's the one." He turned toward the ocean, and strode away from Reaper. The man saw too much.

  Alena waited for him on the small, beaten-down trail leading to the beach. "Who did you leave with the bikes?"

  He ruffled her shiny head of hair. Her brothers had the same color, a throwback to some Nordic ancestor. "I didn't have to leave anyone. Savage is sitting there, scaring the hell out of people."

  Alena laughed. "He does like to do that."

  That wasn't true. Savage just didn't give a damn what people thought. He wanted them to leave him alone. Viktor worried about him almost more than he did about Reaper. Savage was one year younger than Reaper; he'd been only three when he'd been brought to the school. He rarely showed feeling, even with Alena and Lana.

  Viktor lowered his shoulder and hit Alena in the belly with it, lifting her and running toward the cold water. She screamed and pounded his back, laughing as she did so. Ice and Storm moved to intercept him, running to cut him off before he would throw their younger sister into the sea. He wouldn't, but he believed in living in every moment. That was a gift from Blythe. He wanted the others to learn laughter. It was so rare in them, and they needed it.

  Blythe had taught him to play. She'd been his mark. He'd studied her and become everything she needed, inserting himself into her life until she was lost in him. Except that--he'd found himself lost in her. He'd delayed killing the stepfather in order to spend time with her. He found laughter, something he had never known, and he wanted to give that to his brothers and sisters.

  Ice came at him from the side at a dead run, leaning low to catch him around the waist. Storm caught his sister as if she were a sack of potatoes rather than a human being. Ice tackled Viktor, taking him to the ground. They rolled in the sand, like two little kids, yet there was no laughter, not even a glint of it on Ice's face. Viktor's heart sank. Where was the feeling they all needed to remain human? He couldn't find it,
and he'd pinned all his hopes on Blythe--not just to save him--but to save all of them.

  Before Ice could get up, Transporter was on him, a dive that took him several feet across the beach, landing hard. The two rolled several times and came to a halt at Alena's feet. She caught both by an arm. "Get up, you two clowns."

  Transporter jumped to his feet. "You're afraid of clowns."

  "I'm not afraid of clowns, you dope," Alena protested. "But you are."

  Transporter caught her around the neck in a headlock and rubbed the top of her head with his knuckles. Alena dug her fingers into his pressure points at his elbow and back of his knee. His knee collapsed and he staggered. She took him down by planting her shoulder in his belly.

  Mechanic caught her around the waist and lifted her off Transporter. "I can't have you beating up the younger brother, Alena."

  Absinthe dove on top of Transporter the moment Alena was clear. "I've been waiting for this moment. You owe me seventy-two cents. I'm taking it out of your worthless hide."

  All of them knew Transporter had lightning-fast reflexes. It was one thing for Alena to attack him; anyone else was taking a chance. He rolled out from under Absinthe before their bodies touched. Somehow he managed to turn the tables on Absinthe. Ice and Storm instantly went to Absinthe's aid, racing to get into the fray, wrestling Transporter. Mechanic let out a roar and dove in to help his younger brother.

  Alena laughed, the sound like music, drawing Viktor's attention. She looked beautiful with the sun shining down on her sleek hair. She was beautiful; she just didn't believe it. Viktor sat in the sand, watching his brothers play. Ice and Storm wrestled with Transporter, Mechanic and Absinthe, yet he didn't hear the sound of their laughter. There was an occasional grin, but no real laughter. How had Blythe managed to teach him? He couldn't remember the first time he'd smiled with her, and that bothered him.

  He rubbed his chin on his knees. He was putting too much on her. He knew that. He hadn't been able to stop the insidious spread of the need for violence through his brothers and sisters. How could he expect her to save them all? Him included? Yet he did. She had to. If she didn't, if she couldn't, they would all eventually be lost.