EDGE OF REASON

by Barker, Freya

  I’m a big man. I’m not afraid to fight and often win, but I’m no match for these guys. Blood is running in my eyes, almost blinding me, as I try to block the blows that pummel my body with my one good arm. I roll on my side, curling my knees up to protect some vital parts, but that leaves my back exposed. They don’t hesitate to take aim at my kidneys and with every blow landed; I feel the fight drain out of me.

  “Finish him,” I hear, before a glimpse of a boot coming at my head is the last thing I see.

  Jaimie

  “I didn’t think it was possible to be this tired,” Tahlula says, kicking off her shoes and putting her feet on the coffee table in our suite as Evan hands her the baby.

  I agree with her. It’s been a hell of a day. Fun and exciting, but exhausting as well. Karen Dove, Tahlula’s editor, insisted on taking us out to dinner after the last interview, when all we wanted was to roll into bed.

  Evan stayed in our joint two-bedroom suite with Hanna, who provided a good excuse to leave the restaurant without coffee or dessert, since T is still nursing.

  “Why don’t I run you a bath while she’s feeding?” Evan suggests and, not for the first time this weekend, I consider what a lucky bitch my boss and best friend really is.

  “Ahhh. That would be so nice,” T groans. When her husband disappears into their bedroom, she turns to me. “If you wanna hit the sack, you should go right ahead. I’m heading there right after my bath, if I don’t fall asleep in the tub first.”

  A quick glance at my phone shows it’s already eleven thirty by the time I slip between the sheets. My case is packed, my clothes for tomorrow are laid out, and all I have left to do before we head to the airport early in the morning, is stuff my nightie and toiletries in my bag.

  As much fun as this was, the New York pace is a little too high for me. I can’t wait to get back to Durango and see my boy. I miss him.

  Still, the last thought before I drift off is when I’ll get to see Trunk.

  _______________

  “Have you heard from my brother?” T asks when we sit down in our seats on the flight from Denver to Durango.

  “I tried a few times before we left New York, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. I ended up sending a text instead, but I haven’t heard anything back.” I grab my phone and check again. Nothing. It doesn’t look like he’s even seen my message yet.

  “Weird. I’ve tried too. Maybe he’s on the road.”

  “Could be. He did say he was going to Monticello this weekend.”

  “He’s probably driving then,” Tahlula concludes, tucking her phone away. “He’s usually pretty good about answering, I’m sure that’s what it is.”

  She and Evan start discussing groceries they need to get this afternoon, but my mind is still on Trunk. I’m sure he mentioned going to see Ezrah on Saturday, but it’s always possible he ended up staying the night before returning home. It’s still weird the calls go straight to voicemail. I quickly shoot off another message.

  Me: Haven’t heard. Text me so I know you’re okay.

  Luckily the flight into Durango is only an hour. I only have my carry-on to grab, but we have to wait for Hanna’s stroller to get offloaded.

  I see Luna the moment we walk into the terminal, and I can tell from the tight look on her face something’s wrong. Immediately my stomach starts churning.

  “What’s Luna doing here?” Evan wonders out loud, but I’m already rushing toward her.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as I approach her.

  Instead of answering she glances over my shoulder, and waits for T and Evan to catch up.

  “There was an incident early this morning,” she starts.

  “Trunk…” I whisper. Evan tucks Tahlula close and wraps his free arm around my shoulders.

  “Fire and rescue was called out this morning. A neighbor reported a fire at your brother’s house. When they got there most of the house was engulfed. His truck was parked outside, also on fire.”

  “Trunk?”

  Luna takes a deep breath in before she answers, but in those few seconds I’ve already died a thousand deaths. “They haven’t found him yet, but that could be good news,” she quickly adds, but already Tahlula lets out a keening cry, and I feel Evan’s arm letting me go to tend to his wife.

  “Why are you here?” I manage in an effort to hold panic at bay.

  “Because it was an obvious case of arson. Whoever did it left a fairly prominent calling card burning in the driveway.”

  “What?” T snaps, wiping at her eyes as she lifts her head from Evan’s chest and turns to the agent. “A fucking cross?”

  “Actually, not a cross. It looks more like a large, rudimentary swastika.”

  “Jesus,” Evan hisses.

  “We’re hoping Trunk is hiding, so Ouray is out there with the guys, roaming the woods.”

  “That makes no sense, he would’ve shown up by now,” I suggest.

  “The other possibility is that they took him.”

  “Or hurt him,” T offers.

  “I need to go look,” I tell Luna, dragging my carry-on past her to the exit. The swastika reminded me immediately of Rob and his merry band of crazy nationalists. What if it’s my fault Trunk was targeted? What if this is my motherfucking ex’s doing?

  “Hold up, Jaimie.” She grabs me by the arm. “You can’t go running off.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because about the same time we arrived at Trunk’s house, your mother was banging on your landlord’s door. She and your baby are fine,” she quickly assures me when she reads the fear off my face. “Your garage door, not so much.”

  Luna insists I ride with her, and I don’t object after hearing someone left ‘bitch your MINE’ spray-painted on my garage door. Apparently Evan’s mother, Joan, picked Mom and River up from the Benedetti house across the street.

  Luna wants to bring me to Joan’s place so I can see my baby, but I’m torn, I want to look for Trunk as well.

  “Think, Jaimie: what are you going to do that the club or the cops and the FBI can’t? Best thing you can do for everyone right now is lay low and look after your family.”

  We’ve barely pulled out of the parking spot when Luna’s phone rings.

  “You’re on speaker phone, honey,” she warns her husband.

  “We’ve got him. Heading to Mercy.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Trunk

  “HANG IN THERE, brother.”

  I’m being jostled, and it’s all I can do not to yell out at the excruciating pain shooting through my body. Attempts to open my eyes fail; so I have to go by sound alone. I hear the rustling of footsteps through underbrush and heavy breathing of those carrying me. I can’t see them, but I know it’s my brothers carrying me out of the woods. Ouray’s voice is evidence of that.

  I may have passed out again, because the next things I hear are sirens and the sharp scent of disinfectant penetrates my senses.

  “You’re gonna be okay.” The soft feminine voice is a surprise, and this time when I try, I manage to open my eyes. “I’m Bella,” the pretty, dark-haired, and vaguely familiar EMT explains. “You’re a bit of a mess, but I’ll take good care of you. We’re on our way to the hospital.”

  I sense someone else and try to turn my head, but that triggers sharp pain all the way down my neck, which appears to be trapped in a brace.

  “I’m right here,” I hear Ouray’s voice right before he moves himself in my line of vision. “Just relax and let Bella do her job.”

  Battling a sudden wave of nausea, I close my eyes.

  “Trunk?” Bella asks. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

  I try, but it’s impossible to pinpoint. My entire body feels like it’s on fire. “Everywhere,” I manage to croak.

  “They worked you over pretty good, my man,” Ouray volunteers.

  “I know. I was there.”

  That earns me a chuckle but his subsequent question is serious. “Can you tell me anything?”r />
  “Just a poke,” I hear Bella say, before feeling the stick of a needle in my arm. “Giving you something for the pain.”

  That would be great.

  “I think two of them. Saw the one. Black clothes, balaclava covering his face. White. I know that much. Went after him. Other guy took me out from behind. Trap.”

  “They say anything?”

  “Finish him.” I may not remember everything, but I remember those words. Don’t think I’ll ever forget. I had just a fraction of a second to think after they were said, but it was enough to fill with a lifetime of regrets. Not the least of which was waiting so long to make my move on Jaimie. It was her face I saw when that boot connected with my head.

  I hear Ouray curse under his breath before he says out loud, “Good news is; they failed. But it sure as fuck wasn’t for lack of trying.”

  Nothing to say to that; except, “Boots. Steel-toed boots, both of them. Baseball bat.” As I feel myself starting to float on whatever shit Bella’s putting in my system, something else occurs to me. “Find my gun?” I can hear my own voice slur the words.

  “What did he say?” I hear Ouray’s voice ask as I float farther away.

  “Something about a gun.”

  Jaimie

  We’re waiting just inside the doors when the ambulance pulls up to the hospital.

  Luna drove straight here from the airport—just a five minute drive—while I called Tahlula. She and Evan were just seconds behind us.

  Ouray is the first to jump out of the back, and my breath catches in my throat when I see the blood covering his front.

  “Oh my God,” T whispers, and I blindly reach for her hand.

  Then they unload the gurney, my heart stops when I see his large, immobile form strapped down. I never even noticed Ouray walking up until he blocks my view of Trunk, pulling me in his arms. I smell leather and smoke, along with the metal scent of what I assume is Trunk’s blood.

  “Looks worse than he is. He was talking earlier.” I try to let the words reassure me, as he steps aside in time for me to see Trunk’s barely recognizable face pass by.

  The next hour and fifteen minutes is spent waiting, Tahlula’s hand still squeezing mine when a doctor finally walks into the now full waiting room. Conversations taking place around us all come to a grinding halt.

  “Family for Titus Rae?”

  “I’m his sister,” Tahlula says getting up and pulling me with her. “We’re his family.”

  The doctor looks around the room, before focusing back on T. “Very well, your brother was brought in with a variety of injuries. The most concerning right now is a high-impact fracture to the back of his skull. We’ll be monitoring him closely in the next twenty-four hours for any signs of bleeding or swelling of the brain. Our next major concern is an open fracture of his right forearm. Both the radius and ulna have been displaced. Because it is an open fracture, this will require surgery immediately to minimize the risk of infection.” The tight squeeze of Tahlula’s hand around mine is almost painful, but I don’t let go as I try to absorb the information. “In addition, he has several broken ribs, a fractured orbital bone, and a broken nose, along with a number of lacerations—some of which will need stitches—and bruises. Those should heal on their own.”

  “Is he already in surgery?” Evan asks.

  “Within the next half hour or so he will be.”

  “Would it be possible to see him before? Not me,” Evan quickly adds. “But I’m sure his sister and fiancée would like a chance.”

  I don’t even flinch at his descriptor for me, I’m simply grateful he’s going to bat for us, but I feel compelled to point something out. “Even if only his sister can see him, that would be helpful.”

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  In the end, we both get to spend a few minutes with him. If not for his familiar large form, it would be hard to recognize him.

  I find a safe spot on the top of his left hand to press a kiss. Not that he feels it—he’s not conscious—but I need that sliver of a connection. Tahlula is bent over, whispering close to his ear, and I hope between the two of us we’ve managed to convey he’s not here alone.

  Somehow that feels important.

  Minutes later, we watch as his bed is wheeled out and follow him into the hallway, where emotions finally get the best of us when he disappears into the elevator.

  _______________

  “Oh, sweetheart, how is he?”

  My mom’s concerned voice brings out the tears again. I feel five years old, needing the magical comfort of my mother’s arms. It takes me a while to compose myself while Mom waits patiently on the other end of the line.

  I briefly stepped out of the crowded waiting room, after the surgeon reported on his outcome, to check in with my mother. I hadn’t spoken to her yet.

  “Surgery went well. He has plates in his arm and they’re keeping a close eye out for signs of infection since the bone broke through his skin, but barring that, the doctor thinks it should heal fine.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “No. He’s still in recovery, they’re keeping him sedated for now.” A sob escapes. “Mom, you should see him. He’s so broken.”

  “Bullhickey!” Mom’s vehemence startles me. “That man is far from broken. I don’t even have to see him to believe that. They may have done damage to his body, but I promise you there’s nothing that could break his spirit. Mark my words, sweetheart, Trunk will come through just fine.”

  I take comfort in her words, even though I’d prefer her arms.

  “How’s my boy?”

  “Spoiled with all the attention Joan and Tahlula’s dog are plying him with.” Her words remind me she’s not at the house, and why.

  “What happened at home, Mom?”

  “That can wait, Jaimie.”

  “It’ll only make things worse in my mind, Mom. Just tell me.”

  Her deep sigh tells me she’s not happy about it, but she tells me anyway. I already knew about the words spray-painted on my garage, but I’m shocked to hear there was also a brick thrown through the living room window. That’s what alerted Mom, who’d been upstairs giving River a bath.

  “But I don’t want you to worry about anything. Joan picked me up and took me to her place, and Joe followed us all the way there. He’s got everything under control.”

  “Do you think Rob was responsible for all this, Mom?” I voice the thoughts whirling around in my head. “For the house…for Trunk? It seems too much of a coincidence not to be connected. I don’t think I could live with—”

  “That’s enough,” she snaps. “Whether or not he is has nothing to do with you.”

  “How can you say that? It would have everything to do with me,” I sob.

  “Bullhickey. That’s like saying a victim of abuse is guilty. No one thinks that and you shouldn’t either. You’d be playing right into his hands if you take any responsibility for this on your shoulders. You’re smarter than that.”

  Trunk

  The first thing I notice is the scent of vanilla.

  The next is the throbbing pain that seems to drum through my body from head to toe.

  Then I hear the sniffles and I force my eyes open. When they adjust to the light streaming in from a window, I see Jaimie’s blonde head resting on the mattress beside my hand. I straighten my fingers to touch the silky strands, but the moment they connect her tear-streaked face snaps up.

  “Oh my God, you’re awake.”

  She wraps her fingers around mine and holds on so tight I’m afraid she’ll break them, but I welcome that pain.

  “Hey, Little Mama.” My voice sounds rough and weak.

  “Are you thirsty?” She’s already reaching for the Styrofoam cup with a straw and fits it between my lips. I take a sip, and then another one, the cool water instantly soothing. “Not too much at once,” she says, pulling it away from me.

  “Thanks.” My voice is a little smoother this time.

  “Shit, I need to
call a nurse. Call T. She just went home for a nap. Evan almost had to drag her out of here. Where is that damn button?” I watch as she frantically looks around.

  “It’ll wait.”

  “But I…”

  “It’ll wait. Come here so I can see you.” I wait for her to sit back down; her eyes wide and worried, and I reach for her hand. My other arm is immobile and strapped to my chest. “I’ma be fine, James. Gonna need more than a baseball bat to take a Trunk out.”

  Her fingers close around mine. “They sure tried hard,” she says in a shaky voice as her eyes scan my face, and I realize I probably don’t look too pretty.

  “Tried, but didn’t succeed. Before you know it, I’ll be back home.” I know immediately I’ve said something wrong when her face crumples. “Hey, I will, just you wait.”

  She shakes her head. “There’s not a lot left of your home, Titus. They tried burning it all. I’m so sorry.”

  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sour my gut, but seeing the guilt on her face is worse. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, James. Not like any of this is your fault. Besides, it’s just a house. I always have a bed at the club. Or I can just share yours.” To my surprise new tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to avert her face, but I tug at her hand. “Hey, talk to me.”

  “I don’t know if I should,” she mumbles.

  “You hafta now. Can’t leave me hanging.”

  “You need to stay calm, okay?”

  I immediately tense up. Something tells me I’m not going to like what I hear. “‘Kay.”

  “Um, well, I wasn’t home, but apparently someone kinda left a message for me.”

  “Spit it out, James,” I bite off, struggling to keep my cool, and that doesn’t get any easier when she finally tells me what some motherfucker did to her house.

  I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths in through my nose. I’ve always heard strong emotions can drown out even the worst of pain, but I’ve never actually experienced it until now. Hot rage replaces the painful throbbing as it courses through my veins.

  “You don’t look too calm, honey.”

  “Trying,” I grind out.