by Bo Reid
“How in the…” Hunter says trailing off in shock as Aeron Valdis' throat is slashed.
“That motherfucker,” I growl.
Chapter 17: Dimefox
Morana
I’ve been sitting in this room for probably close to twenty-four hours and it’s getting old. Plus, I have to pee, and I refuse to piss myself, but I also refuse to ask for a bathroom break.
The door on the far side of the room opens and I hear someone walking across the room. He steps into the light with a shit-eating grin on his face as if he’s won some big prize. I guess capturing The Reaper of Sanorah is a pretty big prize, he just doesn’t realize the game isn’t over yet.
“Hey there Jason, how was college?” I ask, smiling broadly and watch as he loses his smirk.
The annual Homecoming Bonfire’s tonight and it isn’t a stretch to say I’d rather be committing various felonies than sitting here. But the guys wanted to come, and who am I to deny them a normal high school experience just because we’re anything but normal.
“Hey, Little Queen,” Jason Anderson, varsity football team captain, calls as he sidles up next to me. He extends his hand to offer me a red plastic cup of shitty flat keg beer. I lift up my hand and wiggle my flask back and forth for him to see I brought my own.
I rarely drink, but when I do I skip the cheap keg beer and go straight for the hard stuff. Plus, I don’t accept open containers from anyone other than my brothers, and certainly not from someone like Jason.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Jason isn’t a bad guy, he’s just your typical high school jock who thinks he’s better than everyone. He’s on his way to college on a full-ride football scholarship which sounds great, but my guess is he’ll peak in college. If his peak hasn’t already been high school.
Pro Tip: Never be the person who peaks in high school. High school’s not this do or die period of your life. Just because you’re cheer captain or prom queen doesn’t mean shit in the real world. If you want a real life once you leave these walls then put your head down, study hard, and get as far away from the mind fuck that is high school as soon as possible.
“So, who snatched you up for homecoming?” Jason asks. I fight not to roll my eyes. It’s no secret I won’t be attending homecoming, I never do. I never attend any of the school functions and it’s not for lack of dating options.
I just don’t date, at least none of these people. What would be the point? Get a boyfriend and have to dip out on a Friday night movie date because I have to go murder someone? Yeah, try explaining that one to a high school boy who’s controlled by the head in his pants.
“I’m not going,” I state, bringing my flask up to my lips and draining half of the amber liquid in one gulp.
My gaze drifts across the bonfire where Ranger has two cheerleaders attached to either side of him. Hunter has a cute little blonde in his lap while Nash’s on the makeshift dirt dance floor grinding between two of the drama department girls.
I wonder what it’d be like to be normal.
“Come on, Morana, it’s our last year for homecoming. You have to go to at least one dance,” Jason says, bringing one of the plastic cups up to his lips and tipping it back, draining the cheap liquid in one swig.
“I don’t have to do anything, Jason. I don’t want to go to the dance, or the game, or the after-party, the pre-party, or any other thing involving school spirit of any kind,” I say. It’s the same thing I told the guys for the hundredth time tonight right before my ass got dragged out here anyways.
“But you’re here, that’s a first.”
“Yeah, well, I got dragged here against my will.”
“Pretty sure Morana Valdis doesn’t do anything against her will,” he says with a small chuckle. There’s no need to respond. He isn’t wrong, and he knows it.
“But you’re here for them, ‘cause they wanted to come,” he says, tipping his second cup towards the line of trucks, on the other side of the bonfire. Again, he isn’t wrong.
I never did mistake Jason for being stupid. He’s smarter and more observant than people give him credit for. But that’s because he plays the dumb jock part well. It suits his needs, the ones that come from inside his pants and reward you with perky blonde cheerleaders.
“If you change your mind about the dance and all the other shit, give me a call,” he says before stepping around me and heading back towards the keg.
My phone pings and when I look down, I’m reminded I’m not normal. I can never change my mind about doing normal things. Taking one last look towards the guys I decide they don’t need to be involved in whatever this job is, after all they wear normal so well.
I shoot off a text to Marcus to pick me up on the edge of the woods. Tipping my flask back, I drain the rest of it in one gulp, savoring the burn from the expensive whiskey as it coats my throat. Then I turn and disappear into the tree line, into the dark, the shadows, the place a Reaper belongs.
“College didn’t work out,” he says, feigning nonchalance but I don’t miss the way he favors his left leg over his right, or the way the sound of his steps isn’t even.
You really shouldn’t peak in high school, because apparently when your dreams fall through you get roped into working with an MC and a dirty fed.
Good times.
“Shame,” I say without an ounce of emotion or sincerity.
He doesn’t say anything, just bends down to start untying me from the chair. I watch him, carefully cataloging all of his movements. He places one hand around my bicep, gripping me tightly as he hauls me out of the chair.
“Come on,” he says, pulling slightly towards the door.
“So, did you do it, or was it just your idea?” I ask as we walk across the dark room. He throws open a door, reaching his hand in and flicking on a light. It’s a bathroom, thank fuck.
“Do what?” he asks as he pushes me gently into the bathroom.
“Kill my father,” I say, cocking my head to the side. He thinks he doesn’t react, but he does. It’s the micro-expressions that give him away. They’re nearly impossible to control.
“There’s soap, shampoo, and conditioner in the shower. Fresh towels on the counter, and a hairbrush under the sink. Everything sharp has already been removed from here, so do us both a favor and don’t try anything stupid,” he says.
“Scout’s honor,” I say crossing my hand over my chest and smiling.
He closes the door, locking it from the outside, leaving me to shower and stew on the fact that Jason Anderson, high school varsity football captain, murdered my father and set me up.
Jason
I can’t really remember at what point I started hating her so goddamn much. I just remember that I do. She always cast me aside in high school. I was probably one of the few people that understood the rumors surrounding her family were true. But I couldn’t tell her that because I had secrets of my own.
Football was my one and only shot to get out of this life. I took one wrong hit and college, my career, and my life was over before it really ever got started.
But she was here the whole time, doing what she’s always done. Maybe her life isn’t exactly every little girl’s dream, but she’s always been the Queen; that’s more than I can say for myself.
My father was one of the founding members of the Fallen Angels MC, and he always wanted me to follow in his footsteps. Mom wanted me out of the life. They compromised. I got shipped off to live with my aunt and uncle in Sanorah, but that didn’t exactly protect me.
Football was my chance to get out. I made a deal with my dad. If I got into college and got a scholarship, then I could go away. But if something happened my ass would be right back here. And here is where I find myself.
When they brought me into the fold, the little education I was able to get before my injury robbed me of the rest was useful to them. So, I met Malic Connors and learned that the hatred for Valdis blood wasn’t exclusive to me.
We just have different reasons for our feelings. He’s t
he rightful president of the MC, and when he figured that out, he had high hopes for combining the MC with Valdis. But Aeron, Morana’s father, apparently didn’t see any benefit in allowing the MC to expand, and when you’re the King, you call all the shots.
I remember the first day I saw Morana, walking down the halls of Sanorah High. She was every wet dream a fourteen-year-old ever had, and the dream just got wetter as time went on.
When Hades was killed, any light she had got snuffed out and her bright green eyes dimmed. I wanted nothing more than to help her, to hold her, tell her it would be okay. But she wanted nothing to do with me, nothing to do with anyone.
The first thread of hatred for them started when Ranger showed up at school. With each new member that was brought into the Valdis family, I hated her a little more. They brought the light back into her, little by little. They did for her what I always wanted to do. She paid even less attention to me after they came into the picture.
But all that disappeared as time went on. I don’t hate her because of them. I hate everything she is, everything she represents.
She’s the representation of everything I never wanted, wrapped inside the package of everything I ever dreamed for. I hate her as much as I love her. I despise her as much as I want her.
And the most fucked up thing is, if she said that she wanted me right now, I’d drop everything and hand her my heart on a silver platter.
Chapter 18: Ethylene Oxide
Hunter
We spend hours sitting around the apartment as Emma tries to track down Jason, Malic, and the rest of the MC members.
In the process, we find out that Jason’s father was a founding member of the MC and still rides with them today. Jason’s football career ended when he was tackled during a game, breaking his leg in three places. He’ll never play again.
We’re still trying to figure out why he’d be willing to murder Aeron though. It’s one thing to be involved with an MC by family ties, it’s another thing to condone murder.
It’s a whole other ball game to be the one committing the murder. No one knows that better than we do.
“Got ‘em. Looks like they’re at a warehouse in-between Delling and Sanorah, not too far from where the accident was,” Emma says, as she clicks through the laptop. “I’ve got the coordinates. Let’s go,” she says, standing from the couch.
“Maybe you should stay here,” Nash says to Emma, and by the way her face turns bright red even I know that was the wrong thing to say.
“We’ll just meet you guys outside,” Talin says moving towards the door.
“No, fuck that,” Ranger says, stepping up to Nash and Emma before they can start throwing verbal punches. “One, she’s a federal agent, she carries a gun and has more training then we do,” he says, pointing a finger at Nash.
“And you,” he says, pointing to Emma. “He just wants to protect you, so don’t pull a Morana and get pissed off about it. Now shut the fuck up, get in the goddamn car, and let’s go get our girl.”
They agree, and we all turn to make our way into the garage, determined not to sit around this time when our girl goes missing. Last time might have been for different reasons, but we never should’ve let her take on the Ashby’s alone. Even if that’s what she thought she wanted, we’re a team, always have been.
Ranger, Talin, and I load up into Ranger’s truck while Emma and Nash go towards our SUV, the one that’s blacked out and outfitted with bullet-resistant glass.
Ranger peels out of the garage while I switch channels on the CB Radio in order to keep in contact with Nash.
The landscape flies by in the blink of an eye until we’re pulling into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse. We all climb out of our cars. Ranger looks over to me and we nod.
“We’re bringing her home unharmed, even if everyone else leaves in a body bag,” he says to Talin. “If you hesitate to pull that trigger, you’ll be in one of those bags.”
“She’s my only concern,” he says as he moves towards the building, determination evident in his eyes.
Talin
I draw my weapon as we make our way into the building. We systematically clear every level of the building, room by room. Ranger takes point as we move down the stairs into the basement, but I am not prepared for what we see when we open that door.
Blood. So much blood.
As fast as we can we move around the room, searching every nook and cranny. All we find of our girl is blood and a pile of torn, bloody clothing.
Ranger turns around, immediately slamming his fist into the wall, over and over.
Hunter falls to his knees in front of the chair that seems to have been used to keep our girl still while they tortured her.
Nash and I are stunned into silence. I can’t move, I can’t even think. How did I lose her before ever really having her?
“Guys, come check this out,” I hear Holt call from across the room but my gaze is too fixed on the blood-soaked chair to move. “Guys, get over here, you’re going to want to see this,” she calls again with more force in her tone.
We move towards the small room set back in the corner of the basement that we missed somehow. Holt’s standing in a small but clean bathroom, staring into a shower stall.
“What?” Nash asks. Holt gestures to the shower. I’m not sure if it’s the shock that has us unable to comprehend what she wants us to, or if she just sees something we don’t because she’s a woman.
In case you didn’t know, women tend to be slightly more detail-oriented and observant than men. Occasionally.
Holt rolls her eyes before leaning in to the shower and picking up a bottle, waving it in our faces. I look to the other guys. Yeah, we still don’t get it.
“Shampoo. Conditioner. Women’s body wash….,” she says, trailing off. “And the shower’s wet, and it smells like all this stuff in here. I know what it looks like out there, but why would they let her shower if they were going to kill her? Maybe the blood isn’t even hers. We can do a quick type test if you guys know what hers is,” she explains slowly so we all get it.
“O Negative. It’s rare, so if it’s really not her blood it’s not likely they could’ve found another person with that type,” Nash says, his head snapping up to meet Holt’s gaze as he pieces everything together.
“Why would they leave her torn clothing but take her body? If they wanted us to see her dead, they would’ve left her here,” Hunter says slowly, also registering what’s happening.
“It’s a fucking set up. They want us to think she’s dead, either to ensure we’re so maddened from grief that we can’t think, or so we give up,” I say.
“Reapers don’t give up,” Ranger growls before turning to leave the small space. “Emma, figure out who this blood belongs to,” he calls over his shoulder as his feet retreat from the basement.
Chapter 19: Gallium Trichloride
Morana
“They’re going to figure it out, you know. They’re not stupid,” I say from the back of the SUV. “Unlike some people,” I mumble to myself.
“I don’t need them to not figure it out, I just need them to be consumed by grief for a little while. We just need time, and they’re all so stuck in a pussy-haze that they won’t stop to put together the facts until it’s too late,” Malic comments from the front seat.
“What’s the plan here, Malic? Killing me or the guys doesn’t get you Valdis’ business. I don’t run anything but homicide.”
He turns in his seat to face me with a sinister smile on his face that I can’t wait to cut off.
“You still don’t get it, do you? You’ve always been so distracted by that dark fog in your head. Never could see past it to realize your full potential,” he says smiling, and I roll my eyes.
Oh, I know plenty. I know I could run this town and everything surrounding it if I wanted to. I’m smart enough to run all of this and make more money doing it. I already mapped out how to expand the business beyond our current borders.
It’s a numbers game really. There’s just one problem: love trumps fear. When people fear you like they do me, yeah, they’ll do just about anything you tell them to in order to avoid the consequences. But when they love you? Well, they’ll jump headfirst into an ocean of consequences to please you. Even if one of those consequences is the death they try to avoid when blinded by fear.
And that’s what someone like Malic doesn’t understand. Yes, taking out the Valdis’ might earn him respect from those we deemed unfit to work with. And he’d gain the fear of the townspeople. But they’d turn on him like a dime as soon as someone better decided to step into the picture.
Better the devil you know than the one you don’t, and the people of Sanorah already know who their devil is.
Me.
“But regardless of what you could’ve been, you’ll be nothing behind bars,” Malic says, smiling.
“I wouldn’t bet on that, Malic. I could pull an El Chapo and run shit from the inside. Might be a nice break from all the bullshit out here,” I muse out loud.
“Are you really that arrogant?” Jason asks next to me, and I smile.
“I might be a tad overconfident,” I say as I reach my hand over and gently cup his face. Before he can comprehend my movements, I turn in my seat, wrapping my hands around his throat, and squeeze his neck as he pulls at my hands. “Then again, when you’ve killed as many people as I have, I think I get to be an arrogant asshole.”
I release his neck from my death grip and casually move back over to my seat. Jason grips his neck and coughs, trying to regain the breath I stole from him while I chuckle lightly to myself at the fact that Malic didn’t even try to stop me. Jason isn’t nearly as important as he thinks he is.
