Blade

by Aiden Bates

  “Funny you say that,” Blade growled. “Ankh taught me everything I know. Why don’t you ask Bane about how questioning me worked for him?”

  Crave gritted his teeth and wheeled towards me like he wanted to strike me again, just to make himself feel better.

  “I’d rather speak with you in person,” Crave said. “I’ve got something you might want back. Rebel?”

  Luke passed off the phone to Crave, then stood behind me. He gripped my chin firmly, but carefully, exposing my throat. Gently he pressed the cold, sharp edge of the blade to my skin there.

  “Say hi,” Crave said.

  I said nothing.

  “Rebel!” Crave barked.

  Did Luke brush his thumb over my jaw on purpose? Or was he just adjusting his grip? The blade pressed harder against my skin, biting into it, and a thin, shallow cut dripped warm blood towards my collar.

  “Blade.” I sounded haggard. Tired. I coughed. “Stay away from here. It’s not worth it.”

  “That’s not very welcoming.” Crave motioned at Luke, and he removed the knife and took a step backward. Then, with the phone still in his hand, my father slapped me once, hard across the face, and the sound rang through the phone.

  “Logan!”

  “Logan, huh?” Crave said, giving me a dark little smile before he slapped me again.

  I couldn’t help it—my breath released in a pitiful, pained moan.

  “Logan.” Blade’s voice was sharp with anger, but steady. Protective. My chest fluttered with something warm like hope before I tried to tamp it down. Likely I’d be dead before he figured out where I was. But he was out there. He was looking. That was almost enough. “Hang in there. I’m coming.”

  But if he found me, he’d find out the truth. I didn’t want to see his face when he found out who I was, not like this. I’d thought I might’ve found a home with Blade. I was an idiot to think I could escape the Vipers so easily. And now Blade and his club were going to pay for my mistakes.

  “Don’t come,” I said, even though it was impossible for the phone to pick up the words. “Please. Don’t come.”

  “Cute,” Crave said. “Trying to come and save the day. Little late for that, don’t you think? You think you can save everyone? What about all the people who have already died in your territory? You think the citizens around are going to abide by you controlling Elkin Lake when you can’t even keep bad drugs out of your territory? I knew that’s all it would take to get you to come out and play, Blade, because you’re a weak little goody two-shoes just like Ankh was. Can’t even get rid of some bad drugs easily. Everything’s gotta be a goddamned investigation with your type. You won’t ever drop the hammer when it needs to be dropped. That’s why you’re going to get what’s coming to you, and the Vipers will take Elkin Lake into the next stage of its development.”

  “Enjoy that fucking fantasy while you can,” Blade said. “I assume you’ve gathered your fallen. Get ready to do it again.”

  Crave laughed then ended the phone call.

  “This won’t work,” I said.

  My father pinched my cheek hard, jerking my head side to side in a sick pantomime of affection. “It already is.”

  24

  Blade

  Twenty-six hours.

  I slammed the clubhouse landline back into its cradle.

  Twenty-six hours or more that Crave had been holding Logan. The sound of a blow landing on Logan’s skin like a whip crack, and Logan’s answering low, pained moan—pinched like he was trying to be quiet—echoed in my mind. What other torture had Crave inflicted on him?

  The clubhouse’s ground floor had been converted into a makeshift war room. Raven sat at the kitchen island with his laptops open and a map of Elkin Lake. Siren, Coop, and Maverick had gone to an urgent care and were back, licking their wounds. Gunnar’s forearms were bandaged, and the gashes were luckily too shallow to require stitches.

  I figured I might have a cracked rib or two, but there was nothing a diagnosis could do for me. Every time I breathed deeply, the pain in my chest where Bane had struck me filled me with a fresh rush of anger and energy. “Tell me you got it, Raven.”

  “I got it.” Raven focused intently on his laptop, his narrow fingers flying over the keys. His eyes flickered across the screen and silence hung heavy in the room. Finally Raven leaned over the map and circled a building on the northwest edge of Elkin Lake in the industrial district, a mix of abandoned warehouses and low-traffic lumber facilities. “The call came from here.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “If not exactly here, it’s close.”

  “Holding him in town.” Gunnar leaned over the map. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “That’s fucking ballsy. What’s our plan?”

  My plan was not thought-out or explored. There was no failsafe nor backup. My plan was simple: get to the warehouse. Get Logan. Take Crave apart with my bare hands.

  “You’re with me,” I said. “Priest, Tex, you too. Siren?”

  From the couch where she sat, Siren stood as if called to attention. Her arm had been pushed back into place. “Yessir, good to go.”

  “Coop, Mav, you’re staying here. Raven, stay here as well and keep an eye on the radios and the phones. I’ll be in touch if things go south.”

  Priest shrugged on his jacket. He and Raven shared a careful look. “Blade, before we go—”

  Every second I spent standing in the clubhouse was one more second Logan spent under Crave’s beady, bloodshot eyes.

  “Priest, I’m pulling rank.” Stunned silence rippled through the clubhouse. I almost never pulled rank explicitly—I always found it better to take a moment and listen to any concerns or doubts members had, especially senior members. “Is your concern critical to achieving our goal?”

  Priest’s eyes were considering and worried, and for a moment, I thought he might push back. But then he shook his head. “Lead the way.”

  I rode fast.

  The roaring vibration of my bike beneath me was usually a source of solace. Not today. I urged it faster and faster, pushing my engine to the edge of its limits, like a jockey pushes a racehorse in the last lap, pushing the beast so hard blood gushes from the horse’s nostrils at the end of it all. Attentively joyless.

  The crack of Crave’s hand against Logan’s body echoed in my mind over and over.

  What more had he done? How would I find him?

  Would he be conscious? How many more wounds would be added to his collection, to heal messy and scar?

  Would he be alive?

  If Crave wanted to kill him, he’d kill him in front of me for maximum damage. My stomach roiled at the thought. But—he was a club president, and I was too, and although it sickened me, I could see his strategy. It would do no good to kill him before I arrived. It’d send me off the rails and I’d be an unpredictable threat. But if Logan was still alive, Crave could use him against me as leverage. I’d be incapacitated, and easier to take down. He needed Logan alive. No relief in that knowledge, though. Alive didn’t mean anything but that—alive.

  Even with my enforcers behind me, this was no longer a club matter. This was personal.

  Raven had traced the cell phone signal to a small warehouse, tucked in between two larger facilities on the edge of the industrial district. Nothing suggested it was occupied—no bikes outside, no noise nor visible lights. This is where they wanted me.

  “Crave!”

  Gunnar skidded to a stop. “Blade—wait—”

  “Crave!” I shoved my shoulder heavily into the warehouse door. “Let’s dance, asshole!”

  The rusted hinges on the door shrieked as the door gave and swung open.

  It was a small space inside: stained concrete floors with abandoned crates and boxes stacked haphazardly along the walls. A single fluorescent light hung from the exposed ceiling, flickering its headache-inducing white light across the space. Mold and the coppery tang of rotting blood nearly rocked me backward a step. A single metal chair was knocked on its
side on the floor.

  In the shadows, a half-dozen armed Vipers flanked their leader, armed with handguns and knives. Under the light, Crave stood grinning over Logan’s shoulder. He held Logan by one arm, keeping him restrained, and pressed his pistol’s muzzle to Logan’s temple.

  Logan.

  My heart stopped.

  Blood stained his shirt in varying shades of brown and red. His knees quivered with the effort of standing. And his face—

  Rage burned through me like a wildfire.

  His face was swollen, bruised, and his mouth hung slightly open, blood dripping from the corner. One eye was nearly closed from the swelling. A fresh ring of narrow bruises bloomed on his neck. Sweat darkened his hair and flattened it to his skull. Where I could see his unblemished skin on his arms, it was sickly pale.

  “Logan,” I said firmly.

  Crave pushed the gun harder into Logan’s temple. I stood my ground but didn’t move closer.

  “Logan, it’s gonna be okay now. I’m here. It’s over.”

  “Blade,” Logan murmured dizzily. “No…”

  “It’s me. I got you.” I ripped my gaze away from Logan to meet Crave’s eyes. “And I’m gonna make all these kidnapping bastards pay.”

  The Vipers in the shadows tittered with laughter. Crave’s laugh, sharp and unnerving, caught in the rafters and echoed back down.

  I slipped a knife out of my sleeve and into the palm of my hand. Gunnar stepped close to my side. From his stance, I knew he had his gun ready at his hip. Siren stood at my other side. Tex and Priest kept near the doorway, blocking the exit.

  Crave released Logan’s arm and gripped him loosely by the throat. Crave’s fingers fit exactly over the bruises. “How cute. You never told him.”

  The bruises.

  Same as the ones I’d seen in Ballast, that first day, a month ago, a lifetime ago. My blood turned to ice in my veins.

  “Let him go, Crave,” I growled. “This is between me and you.”

  “You think we kidnapped him? He’s not an innocent little pet.” Crave shook Logan roughly. “He’s a plant. He’s been a plant the entire time. This boy’s a Viper. Born and raised.”

  The noise of the warehouse fell away. The Vipers were laughing. My brothers were saying something. It all faded to a dull roar as I watched Logan’s bruised face crumple.

  I had known nothing about him. I’d welcomed him into my bar, my home, my bed. Into my family. Gunnar had tried to warn me, but I’d been blind to the danger. The foolishness. And I’d put my club in the crosshairs, risked the lives of my family, without thinking. And for what?

  Logan’s voice echoed in my mind: “I have to tell you something.”

  We’d fit together like our bodies were made for each other. How easily I’d wrapped his frame in my arms and pulled him close to me. How deep and needy his kisses were, the longing I was so sure was there.

  I was so sure he loved me back.

  “Is it true?” I asked.

  With the gun to his head, Logan choked. “Blade, please.”

  I took a step forward. In response Crave took a slight step back and pressed the weapon harder to Logan’s temple.

  “Is it fucking true?”

  Tears cut through the blood and grime on Logan’s face. “Yes.”

  I’d carry the memories forever: That perfect day at the lake. The golden sunlight glimmering in his hair. His green eyes laughing when I rolled on top of him.

  And he’d been a Viper the whole time. Nausea turned my stomach. I’d let two Vipers into the club. I’d betrayed my family—they trusted me to lead them, to keep them safe. Priest trusted me to uphold Ankh’s legacy. And what had I done with the responsibility? I’d tossed it all aside for an outsider. Ankh would be ashamed of me. He’d built this club from nothing, and I’d allowed an infection to grow from the inside.

  I’d never make that mistake again.

  “You can have him,” I said to Crave. I wrenched my gaze away from Logan; I couldn’t look at him. “Do what you want.”

  “Blade—” Gunnar said, his voice high with disbelief. “You can’t seriously—”

  “Sergeant!” I barked.

  Gunnar fell silent.

  I turned back to Crave. “Get out of Elkin Lake,” I said. “Now. Take him with you. And if you ever set foot across our borders again—any of you—I’ll kill you personally.”

  Crave released Logan from his grip and kicked his feet out from under him. Logan fell hard to his knees, and Crave kept the barrel of the gun pointed at the back of Logan’s head. “You think it’s that easy? You think you can just show up here, give back your pet, and then I’ll be on my way? This is Viper territory now.”

  “Yeah, I do.” My gut twisted hard at the sight of Logan on his knees, his arms still restrained behind his back, head hanging forward and shoulders shaking violently. But I couldn’t save him. Not from this. He wasn’t mine to save anymore. “Because it’s just you and a little ragtag group of stragglers. I’ve got the rest of my club outside waiting if you want to let more of your members bleed out in the dirt. Was your last loss not enough?”

  The Vipers standing behind Crave shifted nervously, casting each other sideways looks.

  “What’s the fucking verdict?”

  “This isn’t over, Blade,” Crave hissed.

  “Fucking coward.” I turned away to bark at my club. “Let’s go.”

  “Blade—” Siren said, at the same time Gunnar said, “You can’t—”

  Their voices were a minor cacophony as they tried to stop me, to get me to reconsider, as I moved towards the door. The pounding sound of my own blood in my ears drowned them out.

  One voice cut through the discordance. Choked, wet. A burst of energy like a dying star.

  “Byron!”

  I turned. Time froze.

  Crave’s gun was pointed directly at me, his penetrating gaze staring down his nose. As Crave pulled the trigger, Logan hauled himself to his feet and thrust himself into the bullet’s path. The bullet slashed through his abdomen. Logan collapsed, the weight of his body hitting the concrete with a sickening thump. Blood pooled from the wound.

  Gunshots rang out from behind me as Gunnar and Siren turned their weapons on the Vipers. I instinctively charged forward and knelt on the floor at Logan’s side, pulling his head into my lap. “Logan? Logan! Stay with me!” I could hardly hear my voice over the gunshots and the screaming.

  The bullet had traveled straight through his body. I pulled off my jacket and pressed it the entrance wound, pushing hard. His blood pulsed hot and wet and steady beneath my hand, and began to pool under his shivering body.

  A Viper wouldn’t have taken a bullet for the enemy. Even if Logan had initially come to Elkin Lake under his father’s orders—that hadn’t been a choice, had it? I couldn’t believe that, not after seeing how Crave had gripped his neck and pushed the barrel of the gun into Logan’s temple. To Crave, Logan wasn’t a son—he was a disposable resource, no better than any other Viper prospect. And despite his injuries, Logan had still taken a bullet. And he’d taken it for me. After I’d doubted him and told him I was leaving him behind.

  How could I have gotten everything so wrong?

  The gunshots stopped.

  My enforcers had driven the Vipers out. Crave was half-dragged, half-carried by his club members out the back door the warehouse, hissing and spitting like an animal, as a gunshot wound in his lower leg bled steadily. Siren’s work.

  “Logan,” I said. “Baby. Stay with me.”

  The pet name spilled out of my mouth. Logan blinked his eyes open, and his gaze was dull and unfocused. All the anger, all the betrayal dissipated, driven out by the iciness of bone-deep fear.

  “You idiot,” I said. “You fucking moron. That was close range. He could’ve gotten you point-blank in the chest.”

  “Gonna die either way,” he mumbled. “Not you.”

  “You’re not gonna die,” I said sternly. “The bleeding’s slowing down. It’s
gonna be okay. I’m here. Logan, I’m here.”

  The bleeding was not slowing down. I pushed harder on the wound and Logan grimaced.

  “Blade.” Gunnar pointed his gun behind me.

  From behind one of the crates, a Viper stepped out with his hands up and visible by his head. “Don’t shoot,” he said.

  Logan’s breath grew shallow, but he still fought to turn towards the voice.

  “Why not?” Gunnar hissed.

  “I’m Logan’s brother,” the man said. “Rebel. I just want to help.” He nodded towards his hip. “I have a gun on me. I’m going to set it down and slide it over to you. Is that okay?”

  “Slide it here,” Siren said, her own gun trained on him.

  Rebel nodded, then slowly reached into his jacket, pulled out his handgun, and set it on the concrete floor. He kicked it to Siren.

  “Logan told me you two don’t speak,” I said.

  Rebel stepped over slowly, telegraphing every movement. “We’ve had our differences.”

  “You’re Crave’s son.”

  “He’s still my brother.” I could see the resemblance between them in the sandy-brown color of Rebel’s hair and his slim, strong build.

  “Luke,” Logan murmured.

  “Hey, Logan,” Rebel said quietly. “We’ve got you, okay?” He shrugged off his own jacket then looked at me. “One of your guys needs to call an ambulance. We can’t handle this in-house.”

  “Priest,” I said. “Call it. Guys, lower your weapons.”

  From the door, Priest nodded. He pulled out his cell phone. Gunnar and Siren holstered their guns, Gunnar with not a small amount of reluctance.

  “Keep pressure on it,” Rebel said. He lifted Logan’s hips up slightly and slid his jacket under the exit wound. “All right, I’ve got it now.”

  Rebel took over the wound, pushing with both hands on Logan’s abdomen so hard that Logan barked a sharp cry of pain. “I know, Logan,” Luke said. “I’m sorry. Got to. You know that.”