Breaker

by Alexis Abbott

  “If you’re a real man, get your ass back here, with the girl, and face me.” Buzz’s text tells me everything I need to know. He’s not interested in patching things up, and if I go back to them, I’m faced with death.

  There are also a number of calls and voicemails on the phone from other contacts, even a few numbers I don’t recognize. I don’t bother with them. I know all I need to know: the club wants me to come back with Kate, and it sounds like my only reward for cooperating from here on out might be a quick death. And I’m not so sure about that last part.

  I know I have to destroy this phone. The guys aren’t exactly the most tech savvy on the planet, but I don’t want to risk them tracking me if they have half the opportunity to. I exit all the messages, leaving nothing but my phone background wallpaper on the screen.

  It’s a picture of me and my mom at the most recent birthday of hers I was able to go to. The sight of it gives me pause. Up until now, I’ve been thinking hard about the fact that I’m forcing Kate to uproot and leave her hometown, but it hasn’t fully settled in yet that I’m going to have to go into hiding too. Buzz is probably going to be after me harder than Kate, even.

  I don’t know how much more I’ll be able to get in touch with Mom safely.

  “What are you looking at?”

  Kate’s voice behind me snaps me out of my trance, and I clench my jaw, shutting off the phone screen and dropping it to the ground. A second after it hits the dust, I bring the heel of my boot down on the back of it, smashing it to pieces with a few quick stomps that make Kate gasp and step back.

  “Making sure they don’t track us, that’s all,” I grunt.

  “Was that your phone?” she asks.

  “Yeah. It’s done now. Feeling any better?” I say, turning to face her and step forward.

  “I…” she hesitates, still looking on the verge of tears. “No.”

  “Me neither,” I admit in a softer tone, glancing back at my phone. We stand there staring at each other for a few moments, and it hits me just how tired both of us are, from the way we look to the way we feel and speak. The wind howls in the distance, and I realize that my glare isn’t nearly as harsh as it was a few minutes ago. I don’t think I have it in me anymore.

  “I know I can’t go back home,” she says at last, swallowing hard. “I… I’m sorry I overreacted.”

  I wince and step forward, then start to open my arms to her. I do it slowly enough to back out early if she looks too intimidated, but to my surprise and relief, she takes the invitation readily and nearly melts into the gruff hug I wrap around her. Her body trembles for a moment, and I feel a tear stain the front of my shirt.

  “I know I can’t go back,” she breathes again, repeating it more to herself than anything. “This is just… a lot.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “And I can’t abandon Moxie,” she says, stepping back and looking up at me firmly. “I’ll never go near a biker bar as long as I live, I swear, a-and I’ll scrounge up whatever I’ve got in my account and use my credit cards to get me out of this county. I don’t know where yet, but I-I can make it happen. I just can’t do it before finding my friend. Please, Breaker, will you help me?”

  There’s such desperate, vulnerable hope in her voice that I know damn well I can’t say no. I run my hand over my face, then look long and hard at her, jaw tight. She’ll be more trouble than she’s worth if I can’t get her to chill out about her friend.

  “I need you to swear to me,” I say, holding out that finger again, “that if I help you find Moxie, you get your ass out of town, away from here, anywhere you can go, A-S-A-P,” I spell out. “Cut all ties, leave all phones, drop off social media, maybe even change your name, just stay away as long as you live. If you want to live, and you want me to help you get back with Moxie, that’s what you’re going to do, got it? And forget about so much as looking at any biker from now on.”

  She listens to every word I say with rapt attention, her face scared but determined, and that makes the next words out of her mouth without missing a beat all the more surprising:

  “What about you?”

  Kate

  I immediately feel my cheeks start to flush a bright, sheepish pink when the question rolls off my tongue. What the hell is wrong with my brain that I would’ve thought for even half a second it was an okay statement to make? I stare at Breaker with my eyes widening as the meaning of my question sinks in. I bite my lip, feeling like a complete cool for asking that.

  Why would I ever actually want to see this guy again? After everything we have been through, after how much he has frightened me, after I watched him so easily kill his fellow club member right in front of me, what madness would have to take over my mind to make think it would be at all good to run into him again? Once is quite enough for this lifetime, I try to remind myself inwardly. But I can’t pretend like my question isn’t based in a real, genuine sense of bonding I feel with my captor-turned-savior. I can sort of remember learning about the Stockholm Syndrome phenomenon back in high school civics. Perhaps that is the culprit behind my burgeoning feelings of warmth and admiration for Breaker. By all rights, I should be afraid of him. Terrified, actually. That would be the smart way to react to a guy like him in my life. But whenever I try to think of him in that negative light, my memory instantly flashes back to the feeling of being cradled so delicately, so protectively in his powerful arms as he bolted away from the scene of his motorbike breakdown. The way he so softly said my name, like it was something precious, like it was a secret word in a secret language only the two of us could comprehend. Like the one simple syllable of my name tasted so sweet upon his tongue that he could only grant it the reverence it deserves.

  Nobody has ever said my name quite like that before. Never before have I felt this wild, restless, longing energy pulsate through my body every time Breaker stands close to me. He makes my heart beat faster. He makes every nerve in my body burst into lightning bolts, firing on all cylinders. There’s an aura of heat and strength radiating from him that I find both terrifying and intoxicating at the same time.

  He is a representation of the horrific time I spent in captivity, of the bent trajectory of my life that will lead me away from my family, away from my friends, away from my prescribed future and everything I once knew so well. I should hate him. I most definitely should fear him, and I do. But there’s something else crackling intensely between us, and it isn’t just because he’s stunningly, ruggedly hot as hell. It’s more than that, even if I can’t quite put my finger on it. I crave him. I ache for him to stay close by. My body pulses with the desire to fold myself up into his strong arms again, the only safe space I have encountered in the past forty-eight hours.

  Still, I know I shouldn’t want to see him again. He may have saved me from one hellishly dark fate, but he’s still a dangerous man in his own right. I should fear him, not desire him. It almost feels like the wires have gotten crossed in my mind in regards to Breaker. I want what I should fear. Then again, I am incredibly sleep-deprived, exhausted, starving, thirsty, and traumatized by the events of the past day or two. It makes sense that my objective reasoning abilities are, uh, a little slowed down at the moment. Hopefully they’ll kick back in soon, though, because I know now that my journey is only just beginning.

  To both my relief and my dismay, Breaker doesn’t answer my pointed question. Instead, he just fixes me with yet another version of an unreadable scowl. He gestures toward the stolen black sedan and sighs.

  “Come on, kid. It’s time to go,” he says quietly. “Back in the car.”

  I slowly turn and watch as he strides around to the driver’s side, opens the door, and slides behind the steering wheel. I stand there for a moment, paralyzed with indecision. I know I should probably just do as he says. After all, he knows far better than I do what’s at stake here. But I also know that if I take this step, any step, it will only bring me closer to the worst thing I will ever have to do: desert my hometown life and stri
ke out into the world on my own.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready,” I murmur sadly.

  Breaker looks confused at first, thinking I’m referring just to getting in the car. But then the real meaning behind my words dawns on him and his intense face softens a little.

  “I know, Kate. It’s difficult. But you need to do as I say if you want any shot at surviving this mess,” he insists. I sigh, knowing he’s right.

  I reluctantly climb back into the passenger’s seat and close the door, slumping back against the seat and leaning to rest my forehead against the fogged-up window. I give a little yelp and startle at the sensation of Breaker’s large, warm hand touching my knee. I whip around to look at him, and the fire blazing behind his eyes is almost too much to see.

  “I need you to help me retrace your steps,” he says. “Can you do that for me?”

  I bite my lip and nod slowly. “I-I can try.”

  “Good girl. Now, where is this club your friend took you to?” he asks.

  “I’m not totally sure. It’s in a rough part of town, a neighborhood I don’t usually go to,” I admitted. “It was a biker bar, I think. There were strippers and scary men. Motorcycles parked out back. Big neon sign with some of the letters burned out.”

  “Can you remember what the sign said?” he presses me.

  I hang my head sadly. “No. I’m sorry. I think I was too distracted trying to look after Moxie. I didn’t read the sign,” I say.

  It hits me all of a sudden just how much time has passed since I first went out that fateful evening with my friend. It’s been over thirty-six hours at least since I last saw Moxie. We have to find her. I’m terrified that she might have fallen into the same trap that I found myself in. After all, she’s a pretty young thing, too. And she’s much more personable and outgoing than me. I’m sure she looks like an easy target to the kind of guy who would seek out young women to capture for… dark purposes.

  “I can figure it out from that. It’s a small town,” Breaker assures me.

  “I wish you hadn’t destroyed your cell phone,” I speak up suddenly. “I could have used it to call Moxie’s cell and see where she is.”

  Breaker arches a thick, dark eyebrow and glances over at me with an expression akin to amusement on his handsome face.

  “What? What is it?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

  “Nothing. It’s just surprising that you would have her phone number memorized. I thought most kids these days didn’t bother learning any numbers by heart,” he points out.

  It’s my turn now to look bemused. “I’m eighteen, Breaker. I’m not a small child. We’re closer in age than you think. Your generation can’t be that much different from mine,” I remark, surprised at my own boldness.

  “That’s a fair point,” Breaker agrees. “I suppose we’re more alike than dissimilar. But there’s still a damn good reason why I would not have let you use my cell phone even if I hadn’t crushed it with my boot.”

  “Why? I don’t understand. You want to find this club so we can find Moxie, but it would be so much easier to find her with a phone. Trust me, she doesn’t go anywhere without it,” I say.

  “Because the motorcycle club will be tracking it, that’s why. The last thing we need right now is to place a phone call that will ping off all those towers and give those guys a triangulated location so they can swarm us and take you back from me,” Breaker explains. “Beyond that, it would put your friend in danger, too. The best we can hope for is that she has somehow evaded capture or involvement so far. But if her phone received a call from my phone, that would put her on the map. She would be in even more trouble.”

  “Oh. That makes sense,” I begrudgingly accept.

  We ride along in near-silence for a few minutes before my own curiosity comes springing out of my mouth, uncontrolled and unfettered. “Breaker, I don’t understand how you ended up getting involved in all this mess in the first place. Why are you with those biker guys? You seem so… so good. Why would you fall in with bad guys like them?” I blurted out.

  “There’s not so big a difference between them and me,” he says somberly. “We have more in common than you think.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” I insist. “None of those other guys would help me.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m better than they are. It just means you got lucky,” he grunts.

  But that’s not good enough for me. “No. I don’t buy it. Breaker, you saved my life. You risked your own life to save me. That makes you a good man. Those other guys back there… they’re not good men. I can tell. I just don’t get how you would end up tangled up with these losers. You’re better than that,” I tell him defiantly.

  “I don’t want to discuss this shit with you,” he warns.

  But I can’t help it. He’s acting so shifty and uncomfortable, which only stokes my curiosity. I want a fuller picture. I want the details. I want to understand. I decide to try a different tactic to get Breaker to open up to me, though I know it has a chance of backfiring and just pissing him off even more. At the moment, I hardly care. I’m already screwed. I might as well ask my silly questions while I’m still alive for the time being.

  “I saw the woman on your phone screen before you smashed it,” I murmur softly. “She’s really pretty. Is she your girlfriend or something?”

  Breaker’s jaw tenses and he shakes his head slowly. “No. She’s not.”

  “Your sister?” I press him doggedly. “Your mother?”

  “Bingo. But it doesn’t matter,” he says flatly.

  “It’s really sweet that you had a picture of her as your background. That must mean you really care about her, huh?” I suggest.

  Breaker’s hands grip the steering wheel more tightly, his knuckles going white. I can tell I’m tapdancing right on an exposed nerve, but I can’t back down. I want more information about the man who saved me. I want to find out as much detail as humanly possible, even though he seems totally reluctant to give any of it up to me.

  “It’s not,” he retorts.

  “What do you mean? I think it’s cute,” I say with a shrug.

  “It isn’t. I have not spoken to my mother in many years. I wish you hadn’t seen that damn photo of her,” he growls. I can tell I might have pushed him too far. He even sounds a little ashamed that I saw it, though I don’t have any idea why.

  “I have a weird relationship with my parents, too,” I pipe up, wanting to smooth things over as I always do. “They’re hardly ever around because they work so much. And I have four siblings, so their attention is always split in five different directions on the rare occasion when they are home. But they’re still overprotective. They want me to stay home all the time, never go out, never try new things. Sometimes at my house I feel like some kind of caged bird. I want to be free, but I also want them to want me around, if that makes sense.”

  For a moment I worry I might have overshared, but then Breaker nods.

  “I get that,” he replies. “Must have made it even worse for you when the guys locked you up in that room.”

  “It’s totally not the same,” I insist quickly, then when I think about it some more, I add, “Well, maybe a little bit the same.”

  Again, a few more minutes of quiet. I can tell Breaker isn’t usually the kind of guy to give away anything easily. He keeps his thoughts to himself. I can’t help but wonder why. Is it just the way he is? Is it because he’s gone so long without anyone around to ask him? Does nobody in his life care about these answers but me?

  There’s something else weighing heavily on my mind. I have to set it free, come what may. It might make him angry, but I have to know.

  “Breaker,” I begin softly, “what happened back there?”

  “Back where?” he asks, clearly trying to avoid the subject. But I’m stubborn.

  “Back at the place where they had me locked up. I heard a scuffle. You opened the door. I saw a body on the floor. There was a lot of blood around his head, Breake
r,” I mention.

  He frowns deeply. “Don’t ask me about that,” he commands.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s a… a sore spot. But I need to ask it. I need to know if I’m riding in the car right now with a killer,” I tell him emphatically.

  “Would it make any difference?” he points out, glaring at me.

  I shake my head. “No. I just want to know the answer.”

  He groans and rakes his fingers back through his thick hair. “I wasn’t sure if he was dead when we left the scene, but judging by the messages I’ve been receiving from the rest of the club, I’m pretty certain now that he did die,” Breaker explains to me with an almost clinical detachment. I expected to feel sick to my stomach, but instead I just feel kind of… relieved.

  Oh god, what is wrong with me?

  “How do you feel about that?” I ask with genuine interest.

  “What are you, a shrink?” he snaps.

  I remain patient and quiet. “It’s just a question, Breaker. I’m not psychoanalyzing you or anything. I promise,” I tell him.

  “You want to know how I feel?” he growls. “I feel angry. I feel pissed the hell off that Roadster put me in that situation to begin with. I trusted him. I thought of him as my friend. It never should have happened, but he’s the one who pushed me to that point.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” I murmur.

  He bristles at the apology. I can tell Breaker is a man who does not like to accept pity or compassion from others, especially not a girl like me.

  “And if you tell any living soul about what I did to Roadster, I will have to find you and take care of you myself,” he adds threateningly.

  Breaker

  The old sedan creaks as I turn it off the road and into the cracking parking lot of the club that Kate has pointed out to me, and I drive it around to the side of the building before parking and turning the ignition off. I look at Kate thoughtfully for a moment, and she furrows her brow, shifting uncomfortably.