Blade

by Aiden Bates

  “Hey.” I tugged experimentally on the binds. “You remember that time Mom took us to see a movie with her? In the fall.”

  It was the only time the three of us had ever been together for something fun. Luke stilled his hands briefly as he fastened the ties, then continued.

  “She pulled us out of school early,” I said. “I was in… first grade. And you were in sixth. It was a movie version of a book she was reading me. And she told us not to tell Dad, that it was our secret. Remember?”

  Luke checked the zip tie, then moved to one side and started to fasten my ankle to one of the legs of the chair.

  “And we ate popcorn and watched the movie and got home at the right time, when we would’ve gotten home from school. I didn’t really understand everything then, you know, not like I do now. I just wanted Dad to talk to me. I wanted him to be interested. I didn’t know we’d broken the rules.

  “And Mom was in the kitchen making dinner. He went in there and asked her about it. They started fighting. And you heard them, and when Dad took off his belt, you got in front of her. That pissed him off. So he took you downstairs into the basement. Said he would teach you not to disobey.” I spit another wad of blood and saliva into my lap.

  “I remember it,” I said. “I remember hearing the noise coming up from the vents. Even with Mom holding me in her lap, covering my ears.”

  I kept my head tilted forward and tears mixed with the wet stain of blood. Luke fastened my other ankle to the chair.

  “You protected us from him,” I said. “I just wanted to let you know. I remember. I never said thank you.”

  Luke stood up, keeping his face carefully turned away from me. He checked his work, then turned his back and left the warehouse.

  Beneath the buzzing fluorescent lamp, on the cold concrete floor, amidst the stacks of crates and detritus, I was alone.

  22

  Blade

  I stood, chest heaving, in the center of the aftermath.

  My crew was standing—in some manner of speaking. As the remaining Vipers’ engines roared away into the distance, Coop collapsed flat on his ass in the gravel, then tipped backward to lie all the way down. He cradled his rapidly swelling hand to his chest but, for once in his life, made no noise.

  Tex, sporting a shiner and a crooked nose, knelt at Coop’s side and tugged at his good hand to expose the hurt one. Coop shook his head and turned away.

  “Everyone okay?” I was grateful for the steadiness of my voice even though my head throbbed and I could already feel the bruises developing across my abdomen.

  “Nothing critical,” Gunnar said. His forearms were oozing steadily from shallow cuts where he’d defended a knife attack. “Coop’s hand is fucked up. Siren has a dislocated shoulder. Mav almost got taken out by his own wrench.”

  Maverick was favoring one leg heavily. “Didn’t break anything. And I got my wrench back.”

  “You?”

  Gunnar shrugged, holding up his arms. “This is the worst of it. Knocked around a little. We’ve probably all got concussions.”

  “Mav, can you ride?”

  Maverick nodded.

  “You sure? I don’t want you crashing your bike ’cause you’re too proud to ride behind Tex.”

  Maverick laughed, surveying the scene. “After what we just pulled off, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to knock my pride.”

  Five of us were standing. Five bodies were lying in the gravel. And five Vipers had just fled—including Bane.

  “They’ll be back,” Gunnar said. “They’re gonna want to pick up these guys.”

  I nudged Jed’s head with my toe. His face was cut up by the gravel, and the blackening blood oozed from his skull. “Come on. Let’s get back.”

  Tex heaved Coop to his feet, half-carrying him. Gunnar and I steadied Maverick, and Siren trailed behind, her dislocated arm hanging limp and useless. My chest felt heavy, gripped with a swell of love and gratefulness so powerful it nearly knocked me sideways.

  “Good work,” I said. “All of you.”

  “Yessir,” Gunnar said.

  That’s why Bane and his drugged-out lackeys had to turn tail and flee. The Vipers didn’t have people like this.

  “Hey, Mav?”

  “Yeah, Coop?”

  “Do you think you can build me a bionic hand?”

  Siren rode straddling the back of my bike, her good arm wrapped around my waist for balance while her dislocated arm was safely pinned between our bodies. Her cheek was pressed flat against my back as we rode toward home. Her weight felt soothing and comfortable behind me, from the strength of her good arm to the soft movement of her steady breathing. From the hitch of her breath on every bump and pothole, I knew her arm was hurting her bad. Coop rode behind Tex, groaning and whining, and Maverick and Gunnar rode alone.

  Only the cold air whipping my face kept me alert as we rode. Exhaustion chased me. I’d known Crave was crazy, but this was beyond anything I could’ve imagined. He must’ve known he’d take casualties coming into my territory. And yet he was willing to make that level of sacrifice for the chance to control Elkin Lake.

  Had I underestimated what he’d do to get under my skin?

  It hadn’t felt good to deal with Jed the way I had. It was messy. Spontaneous. But I knew there wasn’t anyone else in the club who would be susceptible to Crave’s lure should he try again. I trusted the loyalty of my club members. But now there’d be an edge of suspicion, a double-checking. Crave had ruined the easy sanctity of the club, even if only a little. It was still too much, something that should never have happened.

  As soon as we parked the bikes outside the clubhouse, Priest flung open the front door. “Blade! Everyone okay? What the fuck happened?”

  “Yeah.” I looped Siren’s good arm around my shoulders and half-carried her across the threshold. “Hurt, but nothing life-threatening. Fucking Jed. He’d been feeding information to the Viper’s Nest. Working for them. Ambushed them.”

  “We kicked their asses,” Tex said.

  “Logan here?” I asked Priest. “He needs to check everyone out. Put Siren’s arm back in, and take a look at Coop’s hand.”

  Priest grimaced. “Is that the worst of it?”

  “Yeah,” Gunnar said from the kitchen. He’d flung his dirty jacket on the floor and was scrubbing the dirt from the wounds on his forearms. “Unless Mav’s not telling us about his leg.”

  Maverick pulled up his jeans and showed a grotesque bruise. “Not a break,” he said. “Maybe a fracture.”

  “What about you?” Priest asked.

  “I’m fine. Where’s Logan?”

  “I tried to get him to come wait here with me,” Priest said. “Wouldn’t have it. Said he was fine at your house.”

  I jogged the short distance to my house with Gunnar and Priest on my heels.

  “Logan!” I shouldered the door open. “Logan! Need some help over here!”

  My voice echoed. A record thumped uselessly on the stereo, long-finished, still spinning. A muffin pan on the kitchen counter was partially filled with batter, and a bowl of batter sat uncovered beside it.

  My stomach dropped to my feet. Something was wrong.

  My feet pounded heavy up the stairs as I threw open the doors. I checked the bathroom, the closets, under the beds.

  “Blade?” Gunnar called from downstairs. “Everything okay? What’s taking so long?”

  I came back downstairs. Cold sweat dripped down my neck.

  “Anything?” Priest asked.

  “Where is he?” Gunnar asked.

  “Gone,” I said.

  “What do you mean, gone?” Gunnar asked.

  “He’s not here.” I hurled the muffin batter, mixing bowl and all, heavily into the sink. The wet, room-temperature mixture splattered across the counter. “He’s not fucking here.”

  “He wouldn’t up and leave,” Priest said. “Do you think?”

  “Blade—”

  “Gunnar,” I ordered. “You
and Priest grab whoever else you can and check the area. Look for any signs of Logan, or anything out of place.”

  Gunnar pursed his lips but said nothing. With a curt nod, they both left, and I was alone in the house.

  No signs of struggle. Nothing was odd or out of place except for the half-finished muffins on the counter. I braced my hands on the countertop and took a few slow, deep breaths. They wouldn’t find anything in town. I knew it in my gut. I had to check, just to cover my bases and ensure we didn’t miss anything, but if Logan was gone, he left from this spot. I couldn’t explain that knowledge to Priest and Gunnar, though. How could I?

  Logan had been nervous about the operation—he wouldn’t leave without knowing we were okay. He wouldn’t just disappear knowing the club might need him. Knowing I might need him. He hadn’t fully opened up to me, and I couldn’t fully open up to him until he was patched in, but regardless of that, he wouldn’t leave without saying anything. If he wanted to leave, he would’ve disappeared as soon as his car was fixed.

  He was still holding parts of his history back, but the things that mattered—his character, his personality, his morals, the things that truly defined him—I knew those.

  But… I had thought I’d known Jed, too.

  When Bane had bragged about his insider, my thoughts had gone immediately to Logan. And now here he was, gone… Was it just coincidence? Was I in denial? Were all the signs there and I was refusing to see them?

  I scrubbed the batter out of the mixing bowl.

  Logan had looked so small and sweet the last time I’d seen him, swimming in a sweatshirt and his hands wrapped protectively around a mug of hot coffee. His green eyes had been lazy with sleep but still fond and glittering with intelligence. It had made my own love for him crest, and it had been all I could do to leave him, to get some distance so I could get my head in the game. I’d been too worried that being around him all day would distract me, make me more vulnerable when facing the Vipers.

  As I rinsed out the bowl, the realization hit me like a punch: Jed would have known that. And he would have known that Logan would have been left all alone, while we were at the meet.

  Logan hadn’t taken off. He’d been taken.

  A gentle knock on the wide-open front door brought me back into reality. Raven stood in the doorway, his forehead creased with worry. He looked like he’d just crawled out of bed, dressed haphazardly in sweatpants and his club jacket. “Hey.”

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “I’ve got a program listening to the police scanners,” he said. “And another one following the emergency medical radios. If there’s any mention of Logan in the public services, we’ll hear it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Listen, Blade…” Raven pressed his lips into a thin line.

  “What is it?”

  Raven grimaced, then pulled a beanie out of his pocket and shoved it over his hair. “Nothing. It’s not important. I’m going to head back to the clubhouse to monitor the radios. What else can I do to help?”

  “Just keep me updated.”

  He nodded. The large, dark circles under his eyes made his face look even paler.

  “I know you two are close,” I said. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

  Raven laughed then, sharp and short, and shook his head incredulously.

  “Something funny?” I looked down my nose at him.

  “No, it’s just—” Raven crossed the distance between us and flung his arms around my neck, like he did when he was a kid. “You shouldn’t have to do the reassuring. I know we’ll find him.”

  I returned the hug roughly. When he pulled away, I pushed his beanie down over his eyes, teasing. It made Raven look young again, like the gangly teen he was ten years ago, not the tall, handsome tech wizard he was now.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Wherever he is—I’ll find him. No matter what it takes.”

  23

  Logan

  In the cool darkness of the warehouse I drifted.

  How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Memories came in snippets and scenes: faces, voices, moments. Things I hadn’t let myself think about came bubbling to the surface like blood from an old, infected wound. Cataloging all the moments of finality in my life, all the times a door had closed behind me without me even noticing: The last time Luke helped me with my math homework. The last time Mom took me to the movies. The last day at my job. The last time I drove the Sundance, feeling her accelerate so smoothly on the Elkin Lake highway.

  The last time I’d kissed Blade.

  He’d move on, surely. Maybe not right away, but eventually. The thought comforted me as the ice-cold of the metal chair seeped into my bones. Blade had the strength of his family behind him—Gunnar, Raven, Priest, and the others. He’d miss me. Or maybe he’d find out who I was, and I wouldn’t be there to apologize and explain the truth, and he’d hate me. I’d never have a chance to tell him I’d never betray him. But he wouldn’t be alone. He’d walk through the fire and emerge stronger than ever, and he wouldn’t let the Viper’s Nest disrespect his turf like this. However it ended, Blade would be okay, and the Vipers would be done.

  That was enough. It had to be enough.

  The doors to the warehouse slammed open.

  “Fucking Ankhors!” Crave howled. His ragged face was flushed with rage and a beer bottle dangled from his fingers. Luke trailed behind him, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Those fuckers!” Crave hurled the beer bottle at the wall of the warehouse behind my head. The sharp shatter echoed through the empty space. “You think they’re gonna get away with this? You think you’re gonna come out on top?”

  So Blade was alive, or Crave wouldn’t be spitting mad like this. Any other outcome had been impossible in my mind, but I still sagged with relief.

  Crack. Crack. Two backhands across my face.

  Dazed, I looked up at my father. I saw double.

  “Don’t get comfortable. They’re gonna pay for this.” He gripped my head by the hair and jerked it roughly backward. “I should cut your throat now. Dump your body at their bar. See if they’re eager to fuck with us then.” He gripped my throat roughly.

  Fear paralyzed me. I wasn’t afraid of him in that moment—I didn’t want to die, but I wasn’t afraid of death, either. But his hand on my throat woke something in me. I was a kid again, five, and ten, and fifteen all at once, cowering under my father’s rage. All the work I had done to escape him, all the strength I had built up to stand against him shattered as his grip tightened around my neck, slowly cutting off my breathing.

  As I wheezed and sputtered, blood dripped from my mouth, and my vision darkened at the edges. Like some terrible nightmare, all I could see was his face as I suffocated.

  Just as I teetered at the edge of unconsciousness, he released me.

  Then he was gone, stumbling out of the warehouse.

  I inhaled gasping, burning breaths deep into my lungs, followed by wet choking coughs as I spit blood and saliva onto the floor. The rush of oxygen to my brain brought with it delirium, fear, and relief.

  A brief high, then a crash.

  A broken sob ripped from my throat.

  Luke knelt behind me. With a click his knife opened, and the zip-tied restraints fell from my wrists.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Luke said nothing. He twisted the cap off of a small bottle of water and handed it to me. I held it in both hands, shaking. First, I rinsed the blood and saliva from my mouth, spitting it on the floor, then drank slowly and gratefully.

  As he knelt at my eye level, Luke’s face was creased with concern. His eyes shone brightly and I thought for a moment he might cry—but that was impossible. I hadn’t seen my brother cry since Mom’s death. He took the bottle from my hands and poured water on a bandana, then used it to carefully wipe the dried blood from my face.

  “Please, Luke,” I said. Tears spilled down my face. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. He was a Viper. He co
uld use it against me. He’d tell Dad.

  But. But.

  “Just get it over with, Luke,” I said. “Please. I don’t want—I can’t—”

  Crying in earnest now, my shoulders shook with the effort.

  Luke carefully took my wrists in his hands. He applied gentle pressure to the joint, delicately massaging the tendons there where I’d been restrained. The sweetness of the motion only made me cry harder.

  I wanted my brother back. I wanted my life back. I wanted Blade to rain hell on my father. I wanted it all to be over.

  Still Luke was silent. I slumped forward, exhausted, as he zip-tied my wrists back exactly as they were before. Just as wordlessly as he’d followed my father in, he left. Then it was just me and the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead again.

  I slipped into a restless half-sleep or just lingered in the bizarre twilight of the concussed. I sniffed, wept, spit blood, tugged at the restraints, scooted my metal chair noisily across the concrete. I called for help, though I knew none would come. Sometime later, when footsteps sounded in the warehouse again, it was the same familiar heavy dragging gait. I winced.

  “All right, Paddy,” Crave said. “Vacation’s over. Time to earn your keep around here. Rebel, call him.”

  Luke pulled a cell phone from his jacket. Over the speaker, the phone rang only once.

  “Who is this?” Blade barked.

  “Blade.” Crave grinned at me. “Great to hear from you. How are things down at Elkin Lake?”

  “Crave.” Blade’s voice was low and dangerous.

  “Calling to say hello,” Crave continued. “Hope you’re enjoying your last smidgen of time there in your territory. You know it won’t be yours for long. Elkin Lake is such a lovely area, you know, I just don’t want to see all its natural beauty and earning potential squandered by such a weak fucking dipshit president.” Crave sighed. “You remind me of Ankh in that way. I knew him pretty well, you know. He was cowardly, too. Too much of a weakling to do what it takes to survive in this line of business.”