by Liz K. Lorde
I craned my head behind my shoulder, feeling like eyes were burning holes into my back.
Nothing.
Sexton and Luke were whispering about the home base, and how it couldn’t be long before something bad went down – no matter how reckless it would be for the Old Knights, and how damaging for the New.
I smiled when I thought about Madeline, and how she would have been up at The Point in those days. She was such a little spitfire, but God if it didn’t drive me crazy in all the right ways. Pop had told me though, that back in 1925, there were a string of disappearances.
The birds sang songs to one another, and I became uncomfortably aware of my own heartbeat.
These disappearances happened weekly for over half of a year. That was when locals, after exhausting every other possibility, really began to believe that there was a serial killer at work. One night, as Pops had explained, a young couple that he claimed to know later in life – they were walking together, the cold biting at their skin. Those two stumbled upon something, something that was jutting out of the ground. For the better part of an hour the young couple tried to exhume it, this rust-covered barrel, until finally it gave way. When they managed to open it, the stench of death slammed into them – and they instantly recoiled away; the whole thing was so surreal, that the woman, Freya Lebowitz, cried out into the night. This brought the attention of more people.
Luke turned his head to me briefly, “We’re almost there.” There was a small sheen of sweat forming just above his brows. I could feel it too. Hiking in leather may be a sexy fantasy for the ladies like Madeline, but for us men – damn if it wasn’t troublesome in its own way.
Fate must have been in play that night, because once Freya screamed – it didn’t take long for more digging and searching to start. In total, there were eighteen barrels. All of them packed with the bone-white remains of a skeleton. All of them husbands. Sequim grieved for the whole year; funeral after funeral, and even the skies seemed to weep their passing – constant rain came down in thick, heavy sheets.
Safe to say The Point died out in popularity, and from those years to this very day, became known as Widow’s Point.
I won’t let Madeline ever experience a pain like that. Even if I have to get out of this line of work in the club. I just won’t let it happen. For her, I’d give it all away.
Following Luke, we started branching off further from the designated path – and we all kept our eyes and ears on edge. Wasn’t a chance in hell I was about to let these Demonios fucks get the jump on me.
The three of us crested the hill, and we maneuvered over towards a towering gray boulder. This boulder was the height of all three of us combined, and the width of six of us. Just around the rock, was the spot dubbed Widow’s Point – and if the Demonios had parked somewhere, it wasn’t something that we had noticed. The top part of the hill was more of a clearing, with fewer trees and plenty of nice overlooks that would give a good view of Sequim.
“Nothing,” Luke whispered. “Watch our six, Angel.”
“Heard,” I replied, and we moved together as a unit through the woodwork, stepping from cover to cover. I was starting to really feel the heat from the sun against my back, and my muscles were protesting against all of the movement; course I’d been living rough and tough my whole life, so I bit back on the pain and the exhaustion. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled – in my mind, there was a flash to the scene of my death. Or at least, I thought that I was going to die that day. There was some noise then, some faint note that wasn’t in harmony with the nature around us – and as we stepped further into the abandoned crown of the hillside, it became more prominent.
Shit. Am I trembling? We kept moving through, and with every air that I breathed in, all I could do to calm myself was bring my mind back to the thought of Madeline. I knew that I could get through this.
I had to.
Our rolling convoy of death came to a sudden halt, and I twisted on my ankle to face Luke’s direction. Near instantly, we moved to the cover of a thick bush. The bush itself was mighty, and its branches were gnarled – each one holding a host of razor-sharp thorns; it was dark, closer to black than to green, and my heart thumped in my chest because of what was around it. Ba-dump, ba-dump. I was certain of the noises now, some faint conversation in Spanish.
Luke turned his head, his multi-colored eyes burning with the haze of revenge. He mouthed: “Getting a count.” I kept watch of our flank along with Bruiser, holding tight my gun.
Bruiser jabbed his elbow into my side, and signaled with his eyes to look towards Luke. Luke himself was holding up five fingers, and then two.
Three against seven were not favorable odds; life never cared for balancing my scales, anyway. It was times like these that I wished I had paid attention in Spanish. The three of us shared an instinctual bond, and as I waited for Luke’s signal between the chatter, it went unspoken between us, that I and Bruiser would go right – and he, left.
Another beat of time went by, and then Luke gave the signal silently. He went left, and we went right. We crept as quietly as we could be, slithering into the den of bastards like three cobras ready to pounce. Just as he had said. Seven men in total. I could practically feel the heat radiating off of Bruiser, and the adrenaline was pumping thick through my veins.
A few more careful strides, and we’d be in perfect range to mow them all down.
I felt my jaw clench up, and it was as though all of my muscles began to vibrate with a grim energy.
Another stride. Something crunched beneath my boot, and one of the dark skinned men whipped their head in response.
Fuck.
There was a string of curses from the Demonios, that much I was sure of – just by the way they were yelling it.
Hell broke loose in an instant. We made our shots from a fair distance, and I sprayed gunfire at the men.
There were five Demonios, and two unaffiliated men. Neither of them I recognized from the underworld in which we all lived. One that looked Cuban or some shit, and a tall, lanky white male that fit the bill for top ten rednecks in America. I felt the familiar, wild kick of my gun as it recoiled, the casings jumping into the air within the span of a single, hard breath. Those bullets careened through the woodwork, slamming into two of the Demonios. Some strays pelted into the ground, kicking up bursts of dirt – cutting roots and leaves; snapping branch and all. I arced the gun from one side to the other, Bruiser following a similar pattern as me, until both of our magazines were depleted.
Red burst forth from the Demonios that we hit, and their cries pierced the midday air. Immediately, like a bunch of cockroaches they scattered into what cover they could make from the environment. Two were down for the count, and in response to the ensuing shootout, I darted to the right and hid behind the thick trunk of a tree.
Redneck scrambled through the clearing, holding at the back of his washed out jeans as he headed for the protection of two rocks. These rocks were jagged and left a human sized gap between themselves, just enough for the bastard to hole himself up in. While he did that, I was quickly in the process of reloading – on the other side of the fight, Luke was still laying down burst fire to keep us from getting our asses blasted.
More chatter from the Demonios, and I could make out Bruiser cursing beneath his breath – of course, there was a certain joy in his tone. He lived for shit like this, and I did too for a long time.
Until Madeline…
Redneck brought out his .45 and popped off a couple of rounds blindly from his cover, so that only his arm was exposed. “What the fuck is this,” he yelled out in his hick accent, “leave us the hell out ah this shit.”
Reaper’s gun went click, and he bounded to another tree, fumbling for his next magazine. “You deal with them,” he called out in response. “Lay down your fucking piece and crawl over here if you want to live.”
Bruiser reloaded his weapon and brought himself out from his cover to squeeze off another few bullets. “Don’
t listen to him,” he boomed, “come ‘ere and meet your maker. These puppies got your name right on ‘em.”
Two of the three remaining Demonios crept out of their protection, and in response, so did I. “Shut your mouth, Bruise – Redneck, raise that white flag man,” I called out in an authoritative tone, scanning the field of battle for targets. When one of the Demonios went from one tree to another, nearly stumbling on a thick root, I positioned my gun at the hip and aimed for him – keeping the sick rush of battle raging inside of me in check.
Crack. Some gunfire made its way just next to me, and a cold, powerful shiver ran through me. Still, I fought back against those deadly tides and popped off a good six round burst. Each bullet chewed right through the side of that tree, some popping into the dirt and kicking up some of the ground. The sound was deafening, but having been in so many fights – you kind of get used to it. I clipped the dude’s leg, and he fell straight to the floor, a couple bursts of red flying through the air.
While the man was down, Bruiser put the man out of his misery.
Heat and ice pressed against my side, and I felt my body tighten up – the heart of my body pumping harder and faster in response. Shit, shit, shit. Huddling tighter against the cover of my banged-up tree, I glanced down.
Just looking at it was enough, now the pain started to flood in. Must’ve been hit a few seconds before I even realized; growling in pain, I tried to find calm within the storm of violence.
Redneck shouted something at his Cuban partner. Sounded like some kind of disagreement, but it was only half in English – and I couldn’t be bothered to grab all the details between the crack of fire.
Bruiser ducked and cursed beneath his breath, then looked towards me and raised his chin, “You good?”
“Yeah!” I called back and pointed with my head towards the still active field of battle. The both of us peeked out from our respective trees and sprayed down range.
While all of that chaos continued to brew, the Redneck tossed his gun and called out that he wasn’t going to die for… well, he said something rather distasteful.
As we laid down bullet after bullet, and the pain continued to blossom in my side, Luke made like a fox and flanked the remaining Demonios and Redneck’s partner. Hell if that didn’t put the fear of God into them; when Luke’s bullets came winding down their way, they howled and made a dead run in retreat. Ain’t no way in hell they’re getting out of here alive. Giving chase, even in my damaged state, I leapt across two thick, outreaching roots from sister trees. Passing by Redneck, I caught a quick glimpse of him huddled up in fear between those two rocks.
Nothing but a coward. Moving past the man, I followed the three – and just as I was catching my stride, a hail of bullets from Sex flew just past me and barreled into the back of the Cuban. His body came crashing down in the time it would take me to snap my fingers; falling almost completely lifeless to the floor, his chin smashing into the dirt. He bellowed out in pain, and all that one would be able to see was the red that slathered in dark clothes.
Lining up my shots, I fired off what remained of my clip and cut a swath of destruction through the two Demonios; practically bisecting the one to my left, he was surely doomed, and the one on my right fell bloody to the ground. Couple of trees were caught in that crossfire, thankfully they weren’t able to moan about it.
Whipping my head back to my crew, I announced as I watched them move over to the Redneck, “Got ‘em, Prez. Just don’t make ‘em like they used too, anymore.”
Bruiser called back, “Three to seven and this guy pusses out on them. Demonios will be sending us gifts for giving him a slow roast.” He threw his head back and howled with laughter, stepping beside the Redneck.
While I let them deal with that, I moved passed the Demonios I was certain perished, and sidled over to the one that was still managing to breathe. When I heard the Cuban gasp out, what I presumed to be, one of his final breaths, I whipped my head around. “Stay down, and let it go. I don’t know which one of you fucks shot me, but for your sakes… don’t let me find out.” God the pain was intense now, but in a way, I was happy to have been shot. If I hadn’t – lord only knows how long I’d be anticipating with the fear of it all again.
Stepping to the groaning Demonios lackey, I reached into my pocket and produced my knife – ending the man’s suffering with an effortless strike; pulling the blade out and wiping off some of the red with the man’s shirt.
Reaper strode towards me. “Not bad for a botched job,” he motioned to my wound, “have to get little miss scalpel to look at that.”
“It’s not that bad, Boss,” I winced.
He narrowed his gaze, “It wasn’t a suggestion. It’s gettin’ looked at.”
I pushed out a breath and absently worked my jaw, finally conceding, “Alright.”
“Have Jas stitch you up on her break and we’ll grill Mr. so thankful to be alive.”
“Don’t have too much fun without me,” I joked.
Luke cocked his head to the side, “I’ll try not to get too carried away. Dunno about Bruiser though.”
“Wild mutt like him can only be kept on so much of a leash,” I openly mused.
25
Madeline
“MJ, what are you doing here?” A voice that I recognized called out, from behind. I didn’t turn my head to meet her, I was lost in a haze that she wouldn’t understand. Messinger explained in agonizing detail what I would have to do; except going through with it, having to actually… it wasn’t something I ever thought that I’d have to do, or consider.
Felicia, another waitress at Alicia’s, sidled her way over to me. She had pretty, long brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. Her lips twisted into that friendly smile I’d come to know over the past six months. “MJ?” She said once more.
Finally, I turned my head, “Huh?” I slid my gaze between the woman and the front windows of the diner, looking for Damien or the motorcycle that I’d seen twice earlier. Curiosity turned me to thinking that it was Gabriel, but I never got a good look at them. Maybe it was just paranoia digging in its dirty roots.
Felicia’s thin eyebrows glided upward, “Alicia said you were on leave… are you okay?”
Okay was the absolute last thing that I was. “Yeah,” I croaked out in a flat tone, “I’m just here to meet someone.”
Felicia picked at her top absently, “That’s cool, is it some boy? I thought you were with that asshole, with the black hair.”
She was a good person, and above that, a hard worker. But I couldn’t take this conversation. “It’s nobody,” I said harsher than I intended, and before I said something that I might regret, I went with: “Can you just get me a coffee, please?”
The girl’s face darkened, but she nodded her head, “Sure,” she said and stepped away from me.
I felt bad for sending her away. She was just genuinely curious about what was going on with me, but pain had a way of changing you – changing what you say, think, and do.
After I’d made my way from the doctor’s clutches, I considered for a long time going ‘home’ to Mom and Dad. Telling them everything. But despair ripped through me, and I ended up going to the library for a number of hours where I knew I could find some quiet space to skulk. It felt like my life was over. Truly finished.
Sickness curled against my chest and rose up to my throat, threatening to spill what little food I’d had earlier. Everyone had always told me that even considering abortion was an ultimate evil, so how could I think about it?
Damien’s child… my child. The hate twisted my insides up, and it felt like someone was taking a lighter to my brain – kissing it with fire and pulling away. When I noticed the pain in my hand, I unclenched my hand; my nails had been biting against my skin.
Just when the image of Gabriel swam into my mind, and the thorn of pain that pricked against my chest began to swell – the front door of Alicia’s opened, and its subsequent bell rang.
In walked Damien Du
ponte. His posse of two cronies, too.
Just looking at him made me sick on my stomach. Knowing that he had screwed me over like that, the fucking prick. He was everything that I hated, everything that I couldn’t stand - he wasn’t a man of honor like Gabe. The only thing that he stood for was himself.
Always.
The three of them walked over towards me, and Damien was wearing his shit eating grin - like he had just went to a cow pasture and gone to town on it or something. His black hair was all done in a mess, and his unshaven face was clear to me, even from this small distance. His eyes fell on me, and that smirk widened.
I got up from my side of the booth, the anger making like twin snakes up my spine; I’d never known such a white-hot rage before. Such a powerful, gripping hate. Before the man and his goons could even stride to me, I snapped at him: “You’re a complete asshole, Damien.” My voice boomed through the diner, and instantly I could feel the eyes of staff and what few customers remained, looking at me.
Damien and his two friends closed the distance between me. “Where the fuck have you been, huh?” Damien said, moving dangerously close to me.
Beyond upset with the human filth I’d so long ago associated myself with, I pushed hard at his chest. “Getting clean - what’s it to you? Your limp, pathetic excuse for a dick tired from roping in skanks with your—”
His open hand crashed against my face, and a stinging pain bloomed where he had struck me. All my senses woke up in that terrible instant, and for some strange fleeting moment - I thought that I’d heard the sound of a motorcycle rumbling in the distance. But I’d told Gabriel I needed space; essentially put a wedge between me and the only thing that really gave a shit about me. “Don’t you go there,” Damien seethed, “keep your idiot tongue to yourself, you stupid bitch.” My heart thumped in my chest, and he snorted and added, “or on my cock, at least. Only thing you’re good for anymore, ever since you got the idea that you were better than me in your head.”
Damien’s friends circled around both me and Damien alike, trying to keep our parlay obscured as much as possible. Those two turned away from us, and folded their arms over their chests - staring daggers to anyone that would look.
