by A. R. Breck
“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”
~
Cara drops me off and only lets me out after I promise to call her tomorrow. Walking inside my house, I can feel my mom’s irritation from clear across the room. Luckily, Jeff’s car wasn’t out front. Unluckily, my mom’s car was.
“Rose, how nice of you to join me. Is there anything I can do for you? Since, you know, you get to make your own decisions?” Her snarky attitude is expected. I just wish I didn’t have to expect it.
“Mom, would you stop? You have the completely wrong impression of Easton. He’s not as bad as you think.”
“What I’m thinking is that he looks like a thug. And what was that about Corey? Did you hear him? I think we need to call his father.” She reaches for her phone, but I snatch it from the coffee table before she has a chance to grab it.
“Stop! You don’t understand. Easton is not a bad guy. Actually, let me take that back. He hasn’t done anything wrong to make you dislike him. All he has done is protect me, over and over again.”
“Protect you? From what? From who?” Her shrill voice makes goosebumps pop up along my arms.
Don’t say it. Do not say it.
“From just… petty drama. Those girls that jumped me, he came in and helped.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” He narrows her eyes at me.
“Nothing!”
“What did he do to Corey? What was that he was saying about the Mississippi River?”
“It was nothing!” I throw my hands up in the air.
I can’t tell her.
“Rose, I swear to God, you better tell me what is going on right now or I will make sure you never see that boy again.”
“You can’t be serious.” I scoff. Seriously, what decade do we live in again?
“Oh, I am dead serious. I know a bad egg when I see one, and that boy smelled rotten!”
“You're just being judgmental of anyone who you think has less than you. News flash, we have nothing.”
“You think I don’t know that? Look at me.” She gestures to her outfit. “I know that we don’t have anything to our name anymore. Your father dropped off the face of the earth, and I have to fend for myself for the first time in years! I barely know what I’m doing. But that has nothing to do with your little boyfriend. I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”
“That’s not happening.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“I’m am so tired of this attitude where you think you’re the one in charge. This has to stop, Rose. It’s these people you are hanging around, I just know it is. I have to move you back to Woodbury. I don’t care how much money it costs, I know it’s the right thing to do.” She sounds resigned to the fact, and that makes me more worried than anything else.
Fuck.
“No! I’m serious. No. Do you want to send me away from these people that are so-called bad people? These are the people who rescued me from the people you want to send me back to!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Corey. Easton. Jackson. Logan. All of them! Corey raped me, Mother. And it was Easton and his friends who came and saved me and stopped him before he potentially killed me. These bad people saved me, Mom. They saved me.” I angrily wipe the tears that fall down my face and watch as my mom’s eyes fill with her tears.
“He—he what?”
“You heard me. So please, before you want to send me back there, think if that is really the smartest thing to do.”
I set her phone down on the coffee table and walk to my room, quietly closing the bedroom door behind me. I said my peace, and I can’t say anything else.
This is the first time I ever spoke the words out loud. It covers me like an uncomfortable wool blanket and I want nothing but to rip it off me and burn it.
I can’t burn it, though. It’s part of me now. It’s part of who I am and what I know. I feel wrong. The word feels wrong. Yet, there is a small part of me that feels relief that my mom knows. I no longer have to tiptoe around her in fear that she’ll find out on her own. She knows about Corey. She knows about the bad poison that is Woodbury.
At this point, my fate is in my mom’s hands, and there is nothing I can do about it.
And that scares the living shit out of me.
Chapter Fourteen
It’s always the best that go.
Easton
The drive to Wisconsin is long and empty. Nothing but fields, grass, more fields and grass, and then some cows. Jackson snores from the backseat of the car, but I can’t seem to fall asleep, my finger already twitching to pull the trigger at any mother fucker that crosses my path.
Particularly Sanders.
Hours later, we arrive on the east side of Wisconsin, where our whole crew is set up for tomorrow morning. A cheap little Motel 5 sits in the middle of nowhere looking half abandoned, and the other half looks like it should be abandoned. Not out of the norm for half of the guys here. I guess this is where we decided to set up shop for the weekend.
Hugo walks out when we pull up into the parking lot, motioning for us to follow him. “Wake the fuck up.” I slap Jackson in the knee. He wigs out and looks about ready to murder me until realization hits him. “Sorry,” I say. I forgot that his past makes him a bitch to wake up.
Too much trauma.
“Shit, it’s fine. We’re here?” He squints at the motel and grabs for his bag on the ground.
“Yeah. I think Hugo wants to meet with us. Let’s go.” I grab my own bag and exit the car.
We walk into what I’m assuming is the nicest room they have—which I’m sure is equally as disgusting as the others—and see Rich sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, puffing on a cigar.
“Boys, how was the drive?”
“Long, but fine,” Logan says, stretching his arms over his head.
“So, what’s the plan?” I interrupt. “As much as I’d like to sit and chat in this room that smells like stale McDonald’s, we should all know what’s going to happen tomorrow morning.” I’m cranky and tired, and it’s really starting to show
“Always the eager one, my boy. Go ahead, Hugo. Let’s get down to it then.” My father says, puffing away.
“We’re supposed to meet the Canadians about thirty miles north of here. We’ll meet them near the truck rest stop we usually meet at. Word is, Sanders and his boys will be scattered in the woods around us. Sanders thinks he’s smart, but he’s really just a fucking dumbass. We’re going to have some of our men scattered out further than his men and start closing in on them. Best case, our outside men will be able to eliminate their men without our shipments being fucked with. Worst case, they do end up getting to us in the middle of our deal and are going to have to clean up a lot of dead bodies tomorrow night.” Hugo, with his massive frame and sunglasses on—even in this dark room—explains to us with a heavy frown.
“We’ll be all right,” Logan says, nodding his head. “We’ve recruited a lot of new men these past few months.”
“We’ve also had to get rid of a lot of suspicious men, too. Although, if what our little rat says is correct, we should be fine. We have bigger numbers.” Hugo grumbles.
“What time are we leaving?” I ask. I’m ready to go to sleep and get tomorrow over with already. Sooner I can get back to Rose.
Rose.
My ass was about to tell her I loved her. I was about to say it, but she stopped me. Did she not want me to say it? Why the hell did she stop me?
I cannot fucking handle feelings because I hate feeling. If I could, I would reach in my chest and tear out this beating muscle that feels so foreign to me and toss it on the ground like a pile of dog shit.
Emotionless is better. Easier. Less messy.
Unfortunately, my heart is stronger than my mind at this point, and it wants what it wants.
And it wants Rose.
“We leave at dawn. Go rest up, and we’ll see you in the morning.” Rich says as he stubs out his cigar in the nearby ashtray.
&nb
sp; “Where did you put us?” I ask. Honestly, I’d rather sleep in Logan’s car than one of these rooms, but Logan would throw a fit at the shoe scuffs that would most definitely be on his seats the next morning.
Hugo hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re right next door. Here’s your key.” He reaches in his pocket and hands me a faded white key card.
I nod at Hugo and Rich and head out. “See you in the morning.”
Both Logan and Jackson follow me next door, and when I open it up, I almost choke at the smell. “Shit, this is almost worse than next door.”
“It is definitely worse than next door.” Jackson lifts his shirt over his nose. “Smells like athletes’ foot or some shit.” His voice is muffled, and all I can do is nod my head and breathe through my mouth.
Logan shrugs and walks over to one of the beds. “Dibs. And I know just how to get rid of the feet situation.” He pulls out a bag of green and some papers. “Anyone?”
“Hell, yes.” Jackson sets his stuff on the couch and claims that on where he will sleep. In the past when we’ve gotten a hotel room, I’ve offered him the bed, but he always viciously declines.
“I’ve slept on worse.” He always says. I’ve never really pried too much, and I kind of just quit asking. He takes the couch every time.
After we pass around a couple of joints and a take a trip to the vending machine down the hall, we shuffle our asses back to bed, half-baked, and pass out.
~
The next morning, we silently get ready and hop into a large van with Hugo and Rich. Two of our semis trail behind us with some of our other men, while others are already out there, scoping out the place and looking for a place to wait.
Sit and wait. I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing. Waiting, waiting, waiting, and I want to grab my gun and shoot the fucker in the head, brush my hands on my jeans, and get my ass home.
Nope. Can’t. Have to fucking wait.
My foot jiggles when I finish off my breakfast sandwich. We stopped at a local drive-through and grabbed some food to pass around. The last thing anyone wants is to be hungry. That will put us off our game for sure.
We pull off the highway and take a gravel road to our meeting spot. Once we make a turn around a corner, two massive semi-trucks with Canada license plates make their appearance.
Parking our van, we hop out and walk up to the men walking around the corners of the semi-truck, Jorge and Cyrus, two of Canada’s most prominent drug and weapon runners.
“Jorge, Cyrus, good to see you,” Rich says as he shakes hands with both of them. We don’t, instead stay standing behind Rich and Hugo and waiting for direction.
Waiting for a gunshot.
Waiting for anything.
“I hear that fucker Sanders is up to no good.” Jorge says while lighting up a cigarette.
“Isn’t he always? We kept on good terms for so many years, but now he’s stirring up shit he shouldn’t be.”
“Is he coming? Today?” Cyrus says, looking around for any sight of him.
“Apparently. We’ve got eyes and ears on us today, guys.” Rich gestures towards the woods, and the three of them share a laugh.
“Well, as much as I would like to stay and see what happens, we’ve got to get back,” Jorge says, nodding his head at one of his workers, who lifts the door on the semi and revealing crates and crates of guns. Opening up the other semi door, it reveals blocks of cocaine.
Shit. This is a lot.
“All right then, let’s see what you’ve got.” Rich and Hugo step forward with Jorge and Cyrus, while the rest of us stand and keep watching, looking for anything even remotely suspicious.
“It’s quiet.” Jackson leans in and whispers in my ear.
Heaviness sits in the pit of my stomach. It is quiet. Too quiet, considering there are supposed to be two different gangs of men at battle in these woods. A grunt, a gunshot, shuffling of the trees, anything would be remotely comforting.
Except all I hear is silence.
Hugo, sensing my unease, hurries up the process and then gives the nod to our men who get to work with loading up our semis with the guns. Walking over to me, he says, “What’s up?”
“Something’s not right.” I breathe out in a low voice.
The feeling is getting stronger. A part of me wants to say fuck it and bail out. But we came for a purpose, and that purpose is to kill Sanders and each one of his men.
“What makes you say that?”
“A feeling.” I walk away from him and up to the edge of the tree line. Reaching into the back of my pants, I grab one of the guns I have strapped to my pants. This is one of many. I’m strapped from head to toe today, as are all of our men. And not only do I have guns, but I also have a few of my favorite knives too, in case anyone wants to have a good time.
I hear a break of a branch, which doesn't sound like an animal. Sounds much more like a heavy foot. Then another crack of a branch makes me quickly take my safety off and point it in the direction of the noise.
A moment later, one of our men steps out, momentarily making me relax. Only the sight of him makes me stand on high alert.
Bleeding from his chest and leg, our new guy stumbles towards us in pain.
“What the fuck happened?” Hugo rushes forward and helps him walk out of the brush.
“They’re all coming. So, so many men. We thought we got them all, but then more came. Completely… outnumbered.” He falls to the ground and goes unconscious. Reaching forward, I feel for a pulse.
“Is he dead?” Logan stands over my shoulder as he asks.
Standing up, I brush my hands off of any blood and lift my Glock again. “No, but he’s not going to make it. His pulse is too weak.”
“Want me to load him in the truck?” Logan takes a step towards him, but I block his path.
“No, Logan. We don’t have time to grab all the strays. He’s as good as fucking dead.” I’m pissed, and worried, and fucking furious.
We’re about to be ambushed.
I never called Rose last night or this morning like I promised I would.
And now I might never have the chance.
When we hear the first gunshot, I glance at everyone around me. “Get ready!” Everyone takes their guns out, and Hugo runs over to the semi-trucks.
“This one is nearly full. Go now.” He instructs the driver of one of the semis. And the driver doesn’t waste a moment, cranking on the truck and speeding out much faster than he should with a truck full of illegal weapons.
A few more gunshots and the rustling starts to get closer.
The Canadian workers work as quickly as possible with our own in trying to get all the crates transported.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Logan says only seconds before we hear the whistling of a bullet flying past our heads.
“Me too, let’s go.” I dodge another bullet and we run around the corner of the semi to escape the gunfire.
“This isn’t any better. We’re going to get fucking shot standing here. This semi is going to leave any time. We’ve got to get out of here.” Logan ducks as another bullet flies over his head.
Leaning my head around the corner of the semi, I see the idiot trying to shoot us. I aim and fire, watching him drop dead. Once I start hearing cracking of branches going on behind me, I realize Logan is right.
We’re about to be surrounded.
“You’re right. Come on.” Jackson, Logan, and I sprint off the road and into the woods. Beyond the few hundred feet of woods is all pasture, and once we get there we’ll be out in the open. But these first few hundred feet of woods will keep us covered enough where we should be able to shoot and not get hit right in the face.
Logan moves to the south end of the woods where Rich and the Canadians are finishing up their deal. He keeps his gun poised and ready to fire at anyone who goes close to them. This side of the road is silent, but the other side is getting louder. Guns are firing and there is a lot of grunting. Jackson, always ready to s
pill blood says, “I’m heading over there to help.”
“Wait—” I start, but he’s already off, sprinting to the other side of the road and into the brush. Within seconds, he’s hidden, and I can no longer see him. “Fuck!” I whisper shout. This isn’t good. It wasn’t a smart move of Jackson to go over there alone. We always have a pact to stay together if necessary.
It’s definitely necessary right now.
Every few minutes a couple men break through the brush. Their men and our men, bleeding, shooting, and dying right on the pavement.
Hugo stands off to the side of Rich, protecting him and blocking him from any fire that might come his way.
When rapid gun shots ring out close to the edge of the tree line—way too close—I aim my gun and get ready.
A mass of men breaks through the woods and a battle like I’ve never seen starts right in front of us. Gunfire makes my ears ring, and once the flood of bodies starts getting close to me, I start firing. The first man I hit ends up getting shot in his left eye. Splat. He falls to the ground like a brick.
I keep shooting until this flood thins out. Glancing over at the Canadians, I see that they’ve closed their truck and are preparing to leave. Rich gives them a quick handshake and pulls out his own gun, firing off at some of Sanders’ men.
Where is Sanders? Little bitch is probably hiding.
The Canadians trucks pull out and head north. As much as it would be nice to have some allies right now, we all understand that this is our battle. That, and the Canadian’s are way too neutral and rarely ever go up against anyone.
A second flood of men break through the trees and I snap my gaze away from Rich, looking over at the men getting shot left and right. When the bodies get too close to me, I leave the brush and start shooting Sanders’ men left and right. I see some of my own on the ground, begging and pleading for help as they bleed out on the gravel. I pay them no mind.
I can’t. They will all die.
