by Naomi West
Chapter Seventeen
Selena
I drop to the floor like a stone, letting my legs fall out from underneath me. Sandy reacts quickly. Within a quarter of a second, he is readjusting his aim, but that quarter of a second makes all the difference. From my place on the floor, I am showered in Sandy’s blood, the bullet tearing through his skull and sending droplets of red down on me like rain. I wipe at my face, trying to claw away all the red. Some of it gets in my mouth, tasting like harsh metal. I cough and spit and then begin to scream. I don’t know why. I don’t mean to. An animal response takes hold of me and I can’t help it. I scream and scream and scream.
Dante stands over me, grabbing hold of his leg and gritting his teeth. “Selena,” he says. “We need to get out of here.”
But I can’t stop screaming. I hear his voice and I hear my screaming and it’s like both are the same; both exist outside of me. I am floating in the ceiling somewhere, watching as the girl screams and the man stands over her. The girl doesn’t look like a tigress. She looks afraid and lost.
Then Dante kneels down next to me and grabs my face in his hands, moving it so that we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “We don’t have long,” he says. “There might be other men here. They might be on their way right now. I don’t know. I’d carry you but …” He grits his teeth. “I can’t. I need you with me, Selena. This isn’t over yet. We need to fight for a chance to survive, okay? You want a life. You want a kid. You want a family. Then stop screaming and get some iron in your bones.”
Something about his words gets through to me. I close my mouth, killing the hysterical sound, and then climb to my feet. He grips my hand briefly and then nods at Sandy. “Get his gun and search him for keys, knives, anything. Quickly.”
“Okay, okay.” I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and then crouch down and search the man’s body. I don’t let myself think about what I’m doing. I don’t let myself consider that this is a man, a human being, and now he’s cold, dead meat. I don’t let myself see the red hole in his forehead or smell the shit and the piss. I put his gun in my waistband and find a knife and some keys, as well as his wallet.
“Take the keys. Leave the wallet. Let’s go.”
We creep through the hallway toward the metal door. Dante limps, wheezing with pain. I offer him my arm. At first he waves it away, but then the pain gets too severe. He lets out a shaky sigh and then grabs onto my forearm, nodding shortly. Linked together, we make our way out of the building. The air is cool on my skin, and welcome. It seems like years since I felt the outside. The night sky is clear and seemingly endless. A million stars gaze down at us. Dante looks around, and then nods to a jeep.
“That’s the car I was brought in,” he says. “Maybe the keys are still in the ignition. If not, we’ll try those …” He waves at two cars off to the side.
But the jeep works. Dante climbs into the driver’s seat and I sit next to him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” I ask.
“I’m driving,” he says, voice unwavering.
“What about your leg?”
“It’s fine.”
He turns the key and pulls away from the warehouse. It looks like a pitiful, small building as we pull away, not at all like a place home to a thousand horrors. I rest my head against the glass when we join the traffic on I-10. Austin is lit in the distant, a beckoning beacon. He hands me a cell phone.
“I need you to dial some numbers for me,” he says.
“Okay.”
He reads them out and I dial. In total he reads out eleven numbers, and in total we hear eleven voicemails. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Brose has done something to my men. I can fuckin’ feel it. The bastard has them, somewhere. They were supposed to follow the trackers, but what if he got to them first?” He thumps the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
“Calm down,” I say. “It’s okay.” I pause, a thought occurring to me. “If we’re checking on your men, why aren’t we driving to Sun Town?”
“I’m taking you home first,” he says.
“What?”
“I’m taking you home.” He laughs bitterly. “You don’t seriously think you’re coming with me, do you? Anything could be waiting for me in Sun Town, Selena. It’s a damn miracle we both got out of the warehouse alive. That move you pulled …” She shakes his head.
“That move I pulled saved your life,” I point out.
“I know, and I’m thankful. But just because it turned out well this time don’t mean it’ll turn out well the next. So I’m taking you home.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Why do you want to come with me?” he asks. “I don’t get it, Selena. You’re not an outlaw. You’re not a fighter. And trust me, you don’t want to be. So why don’t you want to go home where it’s safe?”
“Who says it’s safe at home anyway?”
“I do. The Wraiths don’t know where you live.”
“Don’t they? Maybe Brose has my address.”
Dante pulls to the side of the road.
“You might be right,” he says. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“I want to come with you because I care about you, stupid. I want to come with you because I don’t want you to die when I’m someplace else, hiding.”
“Call this number,” Dante says, reading it out. I call it and put the phone on loudspeaker. “Whisper, it’s me.”
“Well, hold my ball sack and call me Jimmy. I thought you were dead for sure, Dante.”
“No luck on that front, I’m afraid. Listen, I need a favor. I’m coming by and I need you to keep something safe for me.”
Something? I’m about to speak but Dante reaches across and grabs my mouth. I slap his hand away, but by then it’s too late and all the plans are arranged. “You can’t just grab me like that,” I say.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Dante says.
“That was, like—”
“Listen here,” he says. “I had to stop you from interrupting because you were gonna try and ruin my plan, and my plan is to keep you safe, so, to be frank, I don’t give a damn if you’re angry with me as long as you’re still breathing.” He starts the engine and rejoins the traffic. “I’m taking you someplace safe, and that’s that.”
I gesture to the gun I took from Sandy, resting in my lap. “What if I point this at your head and demand that you take me with you?”
“Then I’ll keep driving and let God decide.”
I think about picking up the gun, but of course I don’t. There’s nothing I can do short of jumping out of the car, so I rest my head and wait for Dante to drive us through Austin and then north into the woods. He turns off the road and drives into what looks like the middle of nowhere. After half an hour of driving aimlessly into the woods, he pulls to a stop. He climbs from the car, wincing with every movement now, and we walk toward a hut hidden behind two trees. It’s built of wood with a stone campfire out the front and clothes hanging from a washing line between the two tree trunks. Further to the right sits an old rusty car.
Dante knocks on the door.
“Who goes there?” a man calls.
“It’s us,” Dante says.
“And who is us?”
“I’ve got a slug in the leg. I’m not in the mood to be fucked around.”
“Manners cost nothing,” the man says, opening the rickety wooden door. He’s a Marine, I see right away. He’s wearing fatigues and a beret and has a military way of standing. “Come in, then, my good friend. I won’t even charge for you for the pleasure.”
We walk into a wide open-plan living area, looking like something out of the 1800s. I feel like I’m on one of those interactive history tours, replete with old-style cooking utensils and no electricity plugs in sight. We sit by the light of an oil lantern.
“Let me get my first-aid kit,” the man says. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
Dante and I sit on an old brown couch, Dante sitting more heavily on on
e side as he clutches his leg. Whisper returns with the kit, which looks out of place and modern next to everything else, and goes to work on Dante’s leg, cleaning it and bandaging it properly. “Just a nick,” he says. “I bet he’s been a real baby about this, hasn’t he?” Whisper smiles at me. “I guess he’s told you my name, and I already know yours, so there’s no need for introductions, which is lucky because Dante wasn’t going to introduce us, was he? Really, it’s like getting shot robs men of their manners.”
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Dante says, but he’s smiling. “Any news of the Saints?”
Whisper shrugs. “No idea. I took my money and left. I did my job.”
“Any calls?” Dante asks.
“Only from you.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
“What’re you thinking?”
“Something’s gone wrong. None of my men are answering. I don’t know what it is, but it don’t smell right.”
Once Whisper finishes bandaging the wound he stands up and rubs his hands together. “Time for dinner. Are you hungry?”
“Yes!” Dante and I yell at the same time.
Whisper jumps back, pretending to be scared. “No need to attack me.”
He goes to the back of the hut and starts throwing vegetables into a big pot.
“You’ll stay here when I get going,” Dante says. “Whisper’s a good man. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
“And what about you?” I retort.
“Stop worrying about me,” he says. “That’s not your job. Your job is to keep yourself safe so that we have a shot at that life we talked about. Your job isn’t to stress yourself over me.”
“And your job isn’t to tell me what my job is. That’s my choice.”
Vegetable stew has never smelled so good as Whisper cooks it in the giant metal pot over the fire outside. We sit huddled around the flickering flames, Dante and I under one blanket and Whisper under another. The aromas of onion and carrot and sage make my tongue tingle with anticipation, my mouth fill with saliva. I didn’t know how hungry I was until now, my belly aching at the scent of the food.
“So I’m keeping watch on you, then?” Whisper says, the crackle of the flame underlying his words.
“Apparently so,” I mutter.
“You don’t seem too thrilled about it, missy. I must assure you that I’m the gentlemanliest gentleman who’s ever gentlemanned. I can promise you that. I won’t lay a finger on you, or talk to you in any way that’s not proper.”
“It’s not that,” I say. Oddly for me, I trust this man. I shouldn’t trust men, especially strange men, but Whisper has a cuddly quality about him that has nothing to do with his appearance. Or maybe it’s just the food, or my tiredness, or the fact that I don’t plan on being here anyway.
“I have to check on my men,” Dante says, sounding tired at rehashing it all. “I have to check on my men. You were in danger once because of me. It’s not happening again.”
“Okay.” I raise my hands as though defeated. “You won’t get any arguments from me.”
He squints at me. I see his mind working, trying to figure out if I have an ulterior motive. But then dinner is ready. Whisper spoons the chunky vegetable stew into wooden bowls and gives us crooked metal spoons to eat it with, as well as a hunk of bread each. If its smell was incredible, its taste is heavenly. For several minutes I can’t think about anything other than the next mouthful. I eat far more than my fill. I eat until my belly is bursting and then I eat some more. Dante does the same, mopping up his stew like a man in prison, eager to get every last morsel.
When we’re done we go back into the hut and sit down for an hour or so, talking about nothing. I play the obedient girlfriend—and I feel like his girlfriend huddled under this blanket with him—and nod and smile when he reiterates that I’ll be staying here. He looks suspicious, but there’s nothing he can do; I’m agreeing with him.
Dante stands up after about an hour and a half, stretching his arms and legs. He still winces, but not as much since Whisper gave him some paid meds.
“If I don’t get going now, I’m never going to,” he says. He looks down at me. “I’ll be back by the morning.”
“Unless you’re not,” I say. “Unless you die out there and I never hear from you again.”
He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon. And then we’ll start our life together. I promise.”
“Okay.”
He limps from the hut. I don’t have much time. There’s no way I’m getting out of this forest alone. It’s too dark, and everything looks the same. As soon as I hear Dante close the door, I jump to my feet and run across the hut to the key-rack near the cooking utensils.
“What’re you doing?” Whisper asks in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I say, snatching up the car keys. “But I can’t let him do this.”
He steps forward. I raise the gun. He lifts his hands and takes a step back. “It looks like you’ve got me, missy.” He shrugs. “I don’t have a dog in this fight. If you want to follow him, you can follow him. It’s not my job to stop you. If he was paying me, there’s nothing in the world that could stop me, but since he ain’t paying me and since Cupid is involved ….”
I don’t hear the rest because I’m running to the car, jumping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. It coughs, shudders, and then growls into life. I follow Dante through the darkness, his twin headlights like the signal of a lighthouse, easy to follow.
There’s a voice in the back of my head, constantly whispering, constantly doubting. It’s the same voice that kept me crippled by Clint for years, the same voice that made me too scared to do anything for all those years of abuse. “Are you really following this man?” the voice hisses. “You barely know him and you’re going to follow him into danger? Why? What’s wrong with you? What sort of madwoman are you? What sort of madness has overcome you? You only narrowly escaped with your life last time and now you want to throw yourself into it again! Have you completely lost your mind, woman? Have you completely lost all sense of self? What—are you, this man’s sidekick now?”
I block out the thoughts. They niggle. They corrode. If I let them, they’ll eat through my resolve and poison my heart. They’ll make it so that I’ll never be anything more than a scared person, shuddering at the risk of risk. But I’m more than that. I have to be more than that.
I grip the steering wheel harder, looking at my white knuckles and telling myself they’re a sign of my strength.
Soon Dante’s lights lead me out of the forest onto the road. I follow his car carefully, heart pounding in my ears. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s harder than I would’ve thought, keeping far back enough not to arouse suspicion but forward enough so I don’t lose him at the traffic lights.
Despite the danger, despite the risk, this is my choice. My fate is mine, nobody else’s. If it is my fate to die trying to protect my man, then fine, so be it.
But I won’t let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do. Those days are over.
Chapter Eighteen
Dante
I have to keep reminding myself that Selena’s safe with Whisper, that Whisper would never hurt her or let anything happen to her. I feel strange, like I’ve fallen out of a twenty-story window and yet I’m alive and relatively unharmed. I was supposed to be dead now. I came to terms with it. I readied myself for it. And yet I’m still alive.
I drive through the city, heading to Sun Town, preparing myself for violence. The gun rests on the passenger seat and my leg hurts less. If it comes to fighting, I reckon I’ll be ready for some fighting. But how many, and who will I have as backup? I think of Lion and Timmy and all the rest of them. Are they dead, or just captured? Maybe I’ll get to the clubhouse and find a tomb, all my men hacked and bloody. I know that Brose is capable of that kind of savagery, Gentleman or not. He’d have no qualms turning my men into red mush if it brought him some sick kind of pleasure. Maybe h
e’s angry at not being able to kill Selena and figures he owes my men nothing.
I force myself to stop overthinking it. I’m on a job. I need to stay focused. That is all.
But I find I can’t close my mind as easily as I once did. I keep thinking about Selena. Everything is higher risk now. If I die, I don’t just die. I lose Selena. I’ll never get to sleep with her again, kiss her, hold her, laugh with her. It’s a selfish way to think about dying, maybe, but it’s something I can’t ignore. When I die, my relationship with Selena dies. And I can’t pretend that there’s no chance of me dying. In fact, there’s a big damn chance of death.
I pull into Sun Town and stop on the outskirts. I climb from the jeep and put the handgun into the back of my jeans. Then a thought occurs to me. I check the trunk and find a shotgun and a submachine gun, as well as a backpack of ammunition. I load the submachine gun and sling it over my back by the strap, and then carry the shotgun at my side. I walk away from the road, cutting across a basketball court which is dead silent at this time of night.
