Damnable Grace

by Tillie Cole

  Sapphira’s eyes closed. “What . . . what will happen to us? What will become of us all?”

  I held her tighter as she rested on my shoulder once more. “I do not know,” I said honestly. “But I will fight for us. For you and Grace. I will . . .” I kissed her, stroked my hand through her blond hair. “I will fight for my daughter.”

  Sapphira’s breathing steadied into a soft rhythm, and without seeing her face I knew she had smiled. “Daughter,” she murmured and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Mother . . . I like the sound of that.”

  As she fell asleep against me, cradled in my arms, I realized that wishes and hopes could come true. I had rocked her to sleep when it mattered most. And although I did not know what Meister planned, I would never let her down again. In this dark moment, I cherished every second of this time. This silent time with my daughter back in my arms. As a baby, her heart had beat next to mine. And in my warm embrace, it beat once again, making me whole.

  After all these years of struggle, I had my baby back with me.

  Asleep, comforted by my touch.

  And I would die to keep her safe.

  *****

  “Where are we going?” I gripped Sapphira’s hand. The guard did not speak as he dragged us from the room in which we had slept. He forced us into the bright morning light and toward a waiting van.

  Three larger vans were beside it. Meister stood, waiting. He watched as the door was opened and we were thrown inside. “Aunt Phebe!” a familiar voice shouted as I hit the floor of the truck. Sapphira came in beside me and I pulled her to my side. Grace was tucked into the corner of the van, looking fearful.

  “Grace,” I said in relief and she scurried into my arms.

  “Aunt Phebe . . . I am scared,” she cried and tucked her head into the crook of my arm. I shook my head, tears springing from my eyes as I tried to think of what to do. But I had no answers. Gentle fingers wiped away the droplets from my cheeks. I turned to see Sapphira giving me a watery smile.

  More pain than I had ever felt in my life rushed through me when I realized that all of this—this pain and suffering, this rough treatment by men—was nothing new to Sapphira. It was all she had ever known.

  Grace’s head lifted and looked across at Sapphira. I hugged Grace tighter. “Grace, this is Sapphira . . .” I inhaled deeply and said, “My . . . my daughter.”

  I heard Sapphira’s breath hitch, knew she felt the strangeness those words conjured as much as I did. But they felt right, and when I nervously met Sapphira’s eyes, I saw a sense of peace settle within them.

  “Your daughter?” Grace sniffed.

  “Yes.”

  Sapphira ran her hand over Grace’s head. “Nice to meet you, Grace,” she said shyly.

  “You too,” Grace replied.

  I had little time to enjoy the moment. The doors were slammed shut, and we were plunged into darkness. So I held on to my niece and my daughter, my hands clasped tightly in theirs.

  And as we rolled away, I prayed to whoever was listening that I could somehow get us out of this alive.

  We deserved our chance at happiness.

  Chapter Twenty

  AK

  Secluded farm, La Cruz, Mexico

  My stomach was flat to the roof as I waited, the sun coming over the horizon. It beat on my back, taking me back to Iraq. I breathed steadily, eyes scanning the abandoned farmhouse. We had been here for two hours now, flanked by the cover of darkness. I checked the other positions: Hush and Cowboy at the north, Tank, Tanner and Bull at the south. Flame and Viking were to the west, and beside me were Styx, Smiler and Ky. Ash and Slash were in the dilapidated barn we were using as a hideout, with the truck and the bikes. Rider had been given a gun and told to guard the truck. Fucker could be handy in a fight.

  The meeting with Diablos had gone surprisingly smoothly.

  “We need passage to Mexico,” Ky had told Chavez, the Diablos’ prez. Like Styx, he had inherited the title when Styx had killed his father in the Mexican war, straight after Chavez’s dad had put a bullet in Styx’s dad’s skull. There was no love lost between the two sons, both in their twenties and of similar build and savageness. But with a “You owe us, and when the time comes, I’ll be cashing that shit in,” from Chavez, the deal was done, and we’d crossed the border, no questions asked, no detection from the cartel, border patrol, or even better, Meister and this Garcia.

  “Heads up,” Ky said from beside me as kick-up from the dirt road mushroomed in the distance. I whistled, telling all our brothers shit was about to go down. I focused through my scope and watched as a single Escalade approached.

  I tightened my hold and set to strike. The farmhouse was silent as the Escalade came to a stop. It was bulletproof, armored. Expensive as shit. Fuckers clearly expected trouble on a daily basis. And they had money. A lot of it.

  I breathed deeply, watching, blocking everything out, as the door opened. A muscled Mexican stepped out of the driver’s side, rifle in his hand. He scanned the area, but clearly, having been here many times before, expected no trouble.

  Exactly what we fucking banked on.

  He opened the back door, and a slick-looking motherfucker stepped out onto the dirt. He was tall and toned with jet-black hair.

  The boss.

  Garcia.

  I heard Ky growl. Styx put his hand on his shoulder. I glanced to my left. Ky’s face was more livid than I’d ever seen in all the years I’d known him. Styx didn’t look too different, but that fucker knew when to be patient and when to kill.

  They knew this asshole. Clearly. And by their reaction, this fucker wasn’t easy meat. But there was no time to find out more.

  Three more men got out of the back seats. More muscle. But that was it. Five in total.

  The buyers.

  Traffickers.

  Minutes passed while they all talked and laughed. Like being about to trade my fucking woman was nothing to their prick lives. I wanted to pull the trigger so bad. I wanted to blow a hole in each of their skulls, but there was still no sign of Phebe. No sign of—

  The sound of oncoming trucks came from the dirt road. I turned, silently, and through my scope saw four vans: three large ones and one small one.

  My heart started firing, but I held my cool. I felt the tension coming from Ky beside me. I checked the brothers were ready. They were braced, guns at the ready.

  Two minutes later, the trucks stopped, and Meister jumped out of the cabin of the smaller van. The drivers of the main three vans remained in their seats. The smaller van kept my attention. If the cult whores were in those vans, what the fuck was in the smaller one?

  Meister and Garcia shook hands, and I wanted to laugh. The king of the Aryan Brotherhood doing business with a Mexican. Hypocritical fuck.

  They talked, and we waited. Then a loud shout came from the back of the smaller van. The hair on the back of my neck pricked up when I recognized that fucking voice.

  Phebe.

  And she didn’t stop. Her hands smashed on the doors so loud that Meister’s back stiffened in annoyance and he marched to the back. He threw the doors open, and through my scope I saw three figures: Phebe, a blonde and . . . Grace.

  I held out my hand and hit Ky’s arm. I pointed to the van, signaling she was there. Then Meister was pulling Phebe from the back. No sooner had her feet hit the dirt than he sliced his hand across her face. Her head snapped back, and when I looked up close, I saw that she was beaten . . . and my blood boiled when I saw the dried blood on her dress.

  He’d touched her . . . that fucker had touched her.

  I breathed through my nose, forcing myself to calm. Meister dragged the other two figures out. A blonde came out first, and I knew. I just fucking knew who it was. Phebe, lashing out at the guard who had come to join Meister, was screaming, fighting to get to her.

  Sapphira.

  He threw Sapphira to the ground, her thin body crumpling to the dirt. She stayed down, too scared to get up. Meister pulled Grace out,
but the fucker wasn’t rough with her. Instead, he held her hand and took her to Garcia. Garcia smiled and crouched down. His hand pushed Grace’s hair from her face, and I heard Ky losing it beside me—a low growl of seething anger, followed by, “That asshole’s gonna fucking die.”

  That was all the fucking warning I got before all hell broke loose.

  Ky fired a shot straight at Garcia. But just as the bullet left his barrel, Garcia’s guard moved in front of him, taking the shot. The side of the big fucker’s head blew off and he fell to the ground, and the place exploded into chaos.

  “Fuck!” Ky hissed.

  Guns fired in all directions. Ky and Styx rushed down the stairs of the building, plowing into the fray. I aimed and fired at another Mexican guard. He fell as I hit my target.

  Garcia jumped into the back of the Escalade and shut the door. The bullets pinged off the metal, not getting through. Grace screamed, covering her ears at the sounds.

  Ky dove for his daughter, but as he did, Meister grabbed hold of her and wrenched her to his chest. He took out his gun and held it to Grace’s head. Ky stopped dead, as did Styx. Heart pounding, I lined up my shot, placing the bullseye at Meister’s head.

  Calm.

  Breathe.

  Focus.

  But before I could pull the trigger, a shot fired from behind him. The bullet came smashing through his skull, brain and bone hitting the air. My head snapped up as Meister’s huge body fell forward, dead, blue eyes forever open, landing on top of Grace. Ky had flipped him off her in seconds, picked up his daughter and run back in the direction of the barn. I turned my head, looking to see who had shot the prick. Phebe stood with a rifle in her hand, hands fucking shaking and cheeks paling. She’d fucking hit him.

  Direct hit on Meister.

  Sapphira was still on the ground, hiding her head with her hands. Two more men came running at Phebe. I took one out, then the other, not letting a single one get near her. I had just lined up my next shot, some AB driver who had jumped out of the van, when a gunshot went off behind me. In seconds I rolled onto my back, ready to strike whoever was there, and the body of a Klansman slammed to the roof beside me. I looked up to see who had taken the fucker out.

  It was Lil’ Ash.

  His gun was held out, nostrils flared as he stared down at the now-dead skinhead.

  “Ash,” I said. His black eyes were wide with shock, but he managed to look at me.

  “I saw him come up the stairs. I had to follow.”

  “Ash—” I heard the sound of tires screeching from the road. I rolled back onto my front and saw all three of the vans pulling out onto the dirt road, abandoning the Klansmen who were still fighting my brothers. Flame was hacking some cunt up with his knives; Viking was shooting at any fucker that moved.

  And then I saw him. Saw some Klansman get off the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound in his shoulder. Phebe was looking around in a daze, hands bloodied, face pale, lost, trying to find Sapphira. She’d gone. Where the fuck had she gone?

  Then I saw, almost in slow motion, as the Klansman pointed his gun at Phebe. I scrambled for my rifle, determined to end this fucker. And I shot, sending a bullet through his heart. But he’d already fired his gun before he hit the ground.

  I watched helplessly. I watched as Sapphira came running from behind the cover of a van and pushed Phebe out of the way. And I watched as the bullet sailed straight through her stomach. Her brown eyes were wide, turning to Phebe as she fell to the ground.

  I ran. I fucking ran the minute Phebe lifted her head and saw Sapphira on the ground. I was there in seconds, taking out the final few fuckers that got in my way. I followed the sounds of Phebe’s frantic cries and ran to where she sat, screaming and crying with Sapphira in her arms. Blood mushroomed across Sapphira’s white dress, fucking bright-red blood coming from her stomach.

  “No!” Phebe screamed as the shooting came to a stop.

  The vans had gone; the Escalade had escaped too. Garcia had got away.

  “Rider!” I shouted and dropped down beside Phebe. She was a fucking mess, beaten, bruised and clearly raped, but her blue eyes were wild, fucking cut, when she met my gaze. “Sapphira!” she cried harder, almost unable to breathe.

  I thought I’d seen pain before. I thought I’d seen the fucking terror of loss. But in that moment I realized I hadn’t seen shit. Phebe, my fucking Red, was dying along with her daughter. Fucking heart broken and bleeding out.

  Rider came sprinting to Phebe. Our van came seconds later, Slash at the wheel. Grace was in the front of the cabin, her little hands on the glass, trying to see Phebe and Sapphira.

  “I need her in the back,” Rider said. I picked Sapphira up in my arms.

  Phebe reached forward, trying to get her back from me, fucking losing it more, second by second. “Get in the van, Red,” I ordered, trying to be quick. Phebe stumbled to her feet. I laid Sapphira on the floor, and Rider got to work. He split her dress, and I watched as he rubbed his hand down his face, seeing the wound. It was bad. It was fucking bad.

  I could tell by his reaction.

  “We need to go, now,” he said and got the fuck to work.

  I lifted Phebe in beside Sapphira. She fell to her knees at her daughter’s side. She held her hand and rocked back and forth.

  Phebe was already emotionally too far gone.

  Red was fucking mentally tapping out.

  I turned and saw my brothers getting back on their bikes. Then I saw Ash, standing on his own, staring at his fucking hands. I sprinted over to him. “Ash,” I said, and he looked up. The kid hadn’t even seen the commotion, too fucking busy freaking out about his kill. “You good?” He numbly nodded his head.

  “I need you to ride my bike back to Austin.” Ash nodded again. “Ash?” I pushed, and Flame appeared behind him. Ash looked at his older brother and swallowed.

  Flame’s hand clenched at his side, then clenched again. “I got him,” he said, then awkwardly as fuck, put his hand on Ash’s shoulder and squeezed. I saw the fucking tears build in Ash’s eyes at the fact Flame was touching him. At the fact he’d killed.

  Flame was fucking touching him.

  I gave my keys to Flame, then turned and ran back to the van. I slammed the doors shut and sat beside Phebe. I pulled my bitch into my arms as Rider worked on Sapphira. As we moved out, Phebe looked up at me, her lifeless daughter on the floor before her, and I didn’t like what I fucking saw in her eyes. She was dead. Her eyes were fucking dead. The tears had stopped, she was numb, but her hand held tight to her daughter’s.

  So I held on to her.

  I just fucking held on.

  *****

  Phebe

  “No,” a voice screamed from beside me. I blinked and then heard two shots. I turned, and Sapphira jerked before me. I was confused. I did not know what had happened . . . until she fell . . . she fell to the ground. I dropped beside her, then I saw it. Saw the blood pouring from her stomach. Saw her brown eyes watching me, silently begging me to save her.

  “Sapphira.” Her eyes began to close. Panic gripped me as I the blood kept coming. I pulled her into my arms, trying to wake her up. “Sapphira!” I screamed, realizing she would not wake. I brought my hands to her face. She was getting cold . . . she was getting cold . . .

  AK was carrying me out of the van, but I would not let go of Sapphira’s hand. I could not. She needed me. “I am her mother,” I said as we entered the clubhouse. But my hand fell from hers when AK pulled it away. “I am her mother,” I repeated numbly.

  “She needs to go, Red. Rider needs to get the fucking bullet from her stomach.”

  Cain and some of the men took her into a room. I let AK lead me to the room to wait at the doorway. But as I watched her hand fall to the side of the bed, her life draining from her veins, as I watched her face grow paler, and as I watched Cain try . . . try but fail to save my girl, I knew it was too late.

  She was gone. I felt it within me. She had gone. My daughter . . . she had died. I
did not save her. When the time came, I had failed . . . I tried, but like everything else, I could not save her . . . when it mattered most . . .

  . . . I failed.

  I was going to lose her when I had just gotten her back. When she had just called me “Mother”. When we had our chance at a better life.

  My feet backed away. And away again.

  “AK, I need your help,” Cain said from beside Sapphira.

  AK brushed past me. But I kept backing away. I saw AK taking a bag and pushing a needle into her arm. The potion. They were giving her potion. She was never coming back. They needed the potion to take the pain away, because her pain would never go.

  She was never coming back to me. To be in my arms. To be in my heart.

  I came to a door, and needing to be alone, needing to be away from the blood and the pain and the evidence of my failure pushed it open. I staggered into the room, using the countertop as a guide. I did not know where to go. I did not know what to do. I needed this pain in my heart to go away. I needed the image of Sapphira, bleeding in my arms, to go away.

  My hand knocked something over. I looked down. I had spilled a bottle of pills. Pills. I knew pills took the pain away. I cleared the fog from my eyes and looked around. A bottle of alcohol was on the opposite countertop.

  That took away the pain too.

  Taking the bottle, trying to see through the tears, I pulled off the cap and grabbed a handful of the pills. I swallowed one, then took a drink. I did it again. I did it again and again until the pain began to fade. I did it again and again until my eyes closed and I woke up in a familiar forest.

  I wiped my eyes as I drank in the beauty of the bright green trees. The grass was soft under my bare feet. My arms were clean of bruises and . . . there was no pain.

  “Mama?” I closed my eyes at the idyllic sound of a softly spoken voice. Mama. “Mama, you are here.” There was no pain in her voice, no fear. There was just . . . happiness.

  Opening my eyes, I looked toward the river. Sapphira was sitting on the grass. She was dressed in white, her long blond hair falling to her back in soft waves. And she was smiling. “Sapphira,” I said and ran to where she sat. I dropped down beside her and took her in my arms. She fit so perfectly, like it always should have been.