by Flite, Nora
Ronin arched his brows, but he didn't move otherwise. “Your sister?”
Shivering, I looked down at my palms, spreading my fingers. “Claudine. She's all I have, and those guys know where she is. If I go back, I... maybe I can find her.”
“You have no idea how any of this works, do you? Okay, so you go back. What stops those men from raping and killing you?”
His blunt words made me cringe. “I don't care. If I can save her, that's all that matters.”
“Martyr is an ugly color on everyone.” Flicking his hair over his shoulder, Ronin considered me for a long minute. “You'd do anything to get back there, huh?”
My heart thumped, control flowing slowly back to my muscles. Gripping my jacket, I leaned forward. “Yes, god, yes. Anything.”
Looking over my head, he nodded at the shower. “Clean yourself up. Just be careful not to faint and drown. It's been fun so far, I'd rather not end the night disposing of a body.”
Baffled, I dropped my jaw. “What? But, aren't you driving me back to the brothel?”
“You might have missed the part where they were shooting at us.” Wrinkling his forehead, Ronin smiled. “I'm betting they probably won't be all that happy to see me again anytime soon.” Turning in the doorway, he twisted just enough to watch me. “So, no. A return trip isn't in the cards.”
With my insides knotting fiercely, I started to stand. “Then why did you ask me if I'd do anything... anything... to get back there?” Why be so cruel? I was swept up in the madness and unfairness of my situation. My sanity was disintegrating like burning tissues.
The light of the room highlighted Ronin from behind; the hallway was dark, welcoming him into its shadows like an old friend. He didn't look back as he spoke, but I thought, if he had, I would have seen the hardness in his face.
“I had to gauge how much of a lying junkie you actually were, to see if I needed to lock you in.” His knuckles squeezed, bloodless. “Now I know. Thanks.”
And then he was gone.
Jumping up, I slammed into the door, jiggled the handle in wild frustration. I was still weak, but my disbelief—my genuine anger—was making me flare with energy. He really did it! He locked me in!
Ronin hadn't believed my story... and he'd locked me in.
Gritting my teeth, I pounded with my fists. “Let me out! Hey! Let me OUT! I'm not lying to you!” All the fury that had been building, all the cold guilt at my own defeat, came pouring out in one go. I screamed, vocal chords shredding by the end. “Let me out, let me fucking out! I need to save my sister!”
I'm all she has, I...
My hands were numb, the skin red and peeling. I couldn't hold myself up, my legs shaking me down to the floor. As my cheek pressed to the wood, I bared my teeth in a soft, desolate sob. This couldn't be happening. Of all the things I'd run into, a damn door would defeat me?
Kneeling, I turned around, hugging myself until my teeth stopped clicking. My insides still trembled, fingers clenching and popping when I opened them. The hot tears came, summoned in spite of my exhaustion.
For Claudine, I would always have tears.
I need to calm down. My heart was ratcheting around, throwing itself heavily into my ribs. I need to take a breath, breathe... just breathe...
Sniffling, I scrubbed at my eyes. Crying wasn't going to help me. I was too hot suddenly, wishing I could just roll into some fresh snow. How had it gotten so warm in here?
I slumped deeper, unzipping my coat as I went. Sweat coated me, old and new. Some was from my trauma, the rest from my exertion. Doing anything felt like a struggle, and I longed to return to my former self; the me that had never met a needle.
With the coat gone, I looked down on the pale flesh of my bare arms. I hadn't seen them since the start, but now, the swollen red pricks caught my eye. Flinching, I ran a fingertip over them, horror sinking in.
I'd known that I'd been drugged, but the physical proof... the scarring... it painted a new reality.
She'll need to sweat it out.
Ronin's words echoed in me. I knew what heroin marks looked like. Claudine had worn such obvious scars, but she'd hidden hers better with time, shooting between her toes to keep the evidence secret.
Swelling with sorrow, I brushed my wrist, watched my veins flex. This sensation... the good parts, and now, this awful weakness... is this what you go through all the time, Claudine? The visual was too much. I was sticky, and gross, and the need for sleep was weighing on me by the second.
Using the door, I got to my feet. The shower Ronin had pointed to called to me. Eagerly, I filled the bathroom with steam, stripping down in preparation for the scalding water.
In the bright lights of the mirror, I saw myself—and I stopped. The undersides of my eyes were shiny, too purple. My hair was a mess, a few spots clumping together. Turning, I touched gingerly at a wide bruise on my outer thigh. When I did, a fuzzy memory of someone kicking me floated into my mind.
How long was I mixed up with my kidnappers?
Though, to be fair, it wasn't like I was free now. Ronin acted like my savior, but he'd still locked me up in a room and stolen my rights away.
He thinks I'm a liar. That was a sobering thought. It cooled my mood, helped ground me to the present. If Ronin thought I actually wanted to get back to the brothel because it'd get me more drugs, fine. He could think what he wanted. Nothing he thought about me mattered.
All I had to do was escape. Let him judge me if he wanted.
I'll get out of here, I told myself, slipping under the deliciously hot water. I'll get free and find Claudine.
In a way, I hadn't been lying to Ronin.
I really would do anything to get back there.
Chapter Four
Ronin
Flora's outraged screams ricocheted throughout the empty second floor hall. It was a good thing no one else was here, otherwise Roach might have grown a backbone and put up a fuss about us staying. Not that it mattered, we'd have stayed anyways.
He owed me.
I made my way down the main set of stairs and saw him scribbling something in what looked like a guest book. “I hope that's not us,” I called down to him, startling the thin man. “Probably best that I don't show up in any records on this side of the state.”
“Of course...” Roach sighed, placing the pen down and slapping the cover of the book shut. “And what the hell have you gotten into this time?”
“Nothing I can't get myself out of.” I rotated my right arm in big circles and stretched. It was a little sore from the rough ride and catching and hauling Flora. “Where's your bar?”
“The B's stands for bed and breakfast, not bar!”
Laden with disapproving disbelief, my eyeballs automatically ached. “You're joking.”
He fixed an expression that said he was serious.
I chuckled. “Okay, but I know you at least have a little whiskey kicking around. Do me a solid and fetch it for me, will you? It's been a hell of a day.” My pocket vibrated. I checked the number. “And I don't think it's going to get any better.”
I was expecting to eventually get a tongue lashing from Tee, but to have the president of the whole club call... Whiskey or no, this wasn't a call that I had the luxury of being unavailable for.
“Hey pres,” I answered, mustering up as much cheer as I could. Roach started to protest, but I frowned at him and motioned for him to leave.
Poet's voice was calm with confident authority. “You want to explain to me what happened tonight?”
“Not much to say, really.” Verbally shuffling was habitual. Being roundabout and vague was how I navigated all the heavy stuff in my life. “I'm sure Repo must've filled you in on most of it.” I turned my back on Roach as he entered the kitchen.
“Repo wasn't the only person to call me,” Poet replied ominously. “Tell me what happened after he left.”
“I stuck around to play some cards, but they didn't much like that I won. There was a little scuffle, nothing craz
y. Once I took what was rightfully mine, I left. No bodies, though, I promise.”
Poet had a way of sharpening silence to a fine edge. “Just a little scuffle?”
“Yeah, mostly.” As soon as it left my mouth, I knew that it wouldn't be enough. I shook my head and followed up with the other half of the story. “There was also this girl.”
“With you, there always is. Can you grasp just how badly you fucked up tonight?”
“We had our disagreements, yeah, but I'm telling you... Lucky, he's a real asshole. You know how it goes, guys trying to make a name for themselves.” I tried to play the whole thing down as much as possible.
“Why is it that my enforcer was having disagreements in the first place? You were there as back up, that was it.”
I squeezed the phone harder. “I know, but I think the Knights are pushing more than just drugs and whores. At the very least they're running transportation gigs for a human trafficking ring. Maybe it goes deeper than that, and I know which side the Veins fall on when it comes to assholes like these.”
“You have any evidence to support those claims?” The sharpness in his tone made my cell receiver uncomfortably hot.
“It was mostly Lucky's tone and attitude. I think he has a partner, too. It's fucked, Poet. The Knights are goddamned animals, you should see the state of some of these girls. They—”
“His attitude?” Poet roared. “Your wounded pride jeopardized the lives of a hundred of our guys!”
I kept quiet. Few people could shut me up, and the president was one of them.
Remy Poet Daniels was the most dangerous man I'd ever met. For a while, the Steel Veins lost their way. Poet was the man who stepped up and ripped out all the weeds, something now referred to as the 'changing of the guard.' Poet brought this club back to the roots it was founded on. Because of that, I have nothing but respect for the man.
“You're a selfish prick, Ronin. You've never seen nor cared about the bigger picture, and that's why I fucking sent you! Do you have any idea how many guys we cut loose after the old guard was removed? Our membership has been cut down to almost half. We don't have the manpower to support your fucking sad conscience. The Steel Veins can't afford a war with the Knights, at least not right now. For the good of the club we had to call an emergency vote.”
His edge softened considerably, and he added, “I'm sorry, but it was unanimous. You're in the wind.”
My chest tightened at his words. “Remy, I know I fucked up, but don't do this, man. You can't kick me out!”
“You almost castrated the Knights' president.” There was a deliberate pause to let the words sink in. “Severing ties with you was the only way to smooth things over with Lucky. The only way to keep from full on war breaking out.”
“It was one mistake. All I have is this club!”
“No. You lost that the second you let Repo walk out of those doors alone,” Poet growled.
This was a huge deal, I was crushed. I was so caught up playing checkers that I fucked up The Veins' chess game. Remy had every right to be pissed at me, but this was too far!
There was a resigned sigh on the other end of the line. “You know the news will go public the second I let the Knights know, but I'll push that to the end of the week.”
I could hear it in his voice that, although he was pissed at me, this was out of his control. Sure, he wanted to kick the shit out of me, but kick me out of the club? No, he understood what the brotherhood meant to me, even if I was just a nomad.
Remy said, “That should buy you a few days to get some miles under you. Disappear, Ronin. Find a quiet place and lay low for a while. You made a lot of enemies, and without the Veins to back you...”
He let the words drift, but in that space there was no vagueness. Without a club to watch my back, I was fair game for every asshole and old grudge to take a swing at. It might as well have been hunting season, and I was on the menu.
I was completely fucked.
“Yeah, I know.” I couldn't keep the bitter resignation from slipping out.
“We'll try to figure something out on our end, but until then, keep your head down, brother.” Poet's voice held more defeat than hope. Technically, I was no one's brother now, but it still felt good to hear the president call me that. It was his way of telling me that he was pulling for me, even if he couldn't support me publicly.
I folded the phone shut and took the heaviest breath of my life. Standing there, I was unable to think or move. The residuals from the conversation seeped ever deeper into my mind and heart.
My gaze drifted upward, not for any kind of prayer, but to will the ceiling to give way and crush me.
Loneliness gave way to something even more primal. I was extremely good at letting heavy shit slide right off me, usually with a joke and a smile. This time, I couldn't find the levity.
Like the red-tinted fog of dawn over an eerily calm lake, this time, there was no holding back the dormant anger from invading my.
My eyes glassed over. I stepped forward and launched a nearby wooden chair into the door frame that separated the fireplace from the foyer. Two thick, spindly legs broke off, the delicate backrest shattering across the floor.
One call from Remy, and that was it. I was nobody again.
I'd been riding for the Steel Veins since I got back from Afghanistan. All those years, and in the end, it didn't amount for shit. I'd spilled so much God damn blood for this club, both mine and others, and they were just going to hang me out to dry because of a little scuff up from a card game?
A rigged card game. One that I fucking won!
Everything was coming down around me. With a vote from some assholes that I barely knew, the only thing that mattered to me was ripped away!
I threw a punch into the nearest wall. Pulling my dusty hand from the drywall, I expected a shout of protest or a whine from Roach, but he must've fucked off while I was on the phone. That was fine by me, I didn't need his grief right now.
I brushed the plaster off my arm and my now worthless vest. After a moment, I searched Roach's desk. There was a forth of Jim Beam in the bottom drawer. I took the sad bottle and found a table and chair to sit at. Although it wouldn't be nearly enough, the bourbon was at least a good start,
How could they do this to a brother?
That's it, project. It's everyone else's fault, right? My PTSD counselor's unwelcome, vaguely-patronizing drawl was a piss-soaked blanket that I couldn't peel off my mind. As much as I tried to ignore the memories of all the lets-talk-about-our-feelings-and-cry sessions from people that had never seen a day of actual war, some of the truths that bubbled to the surface were just too raw to dismiss.
After leaving the Army, this club was the only thing that has made sense. That feeling of camaraderie, of being part of something bigger. It's what got me into the military in the first place. And now, for the second time, I'd thrown it all away.
I tried to drown that rawness with whiskey, draining the bottle in big, molten sips. I hadn't eaten much, so the blessed numbing started setting in right away.
It didn't take long to finish the bottle, not that I was in a rush, really. Time crawled by. Fortunately, I had my demons and failures to keep me company as I sat alone in the foyer and reflected on my past.
My only solace was the fact that I wouldn't be left in the wind for long. One way or another, this whole fucking mess was temporary. Either I found a way back under the Steel Veins' protection, or someone with a score to settle would catch me with my guard down and that'd be the end of that.
A hard rain loomed above me.
The alcohol drained, I sent the bottle gliding off the table. The tough glass thudded against the floor, still very much intact, before spiraling into the kitchen. I found myself grinding my palm into my forehead, as if I could push the doubt out of my mind manually. There was no escaping the truth of it all. My excuses were see through and stretched thinner than plastic wrap.
What the fuck was I thinking? I scolded myself. I s
hould've walked away with Repo, but no, I was too blinded, like always.
I was so full of shit that the smell of the lies nauseated me. Duty may have brought me to that meeting, but Poet was right. My pride forced me to stay.
Sometimes it was so damn hard to call it like it was. There was no honor in the way I fought for Flora, just self-serving pettiness. I'd saved her for all the wrong reasons. I couldn't let a slight against me go unpunished, and I'd used her as an excuse.
Because of that, both of us would suffer.
“What the fuck, Ronin!” Roach burst into the room from the kitchen and looked over the damages.
“Nah, fuck...” I wiped the water from my eyes before he could see. Fishing out a stack of twenties, I tossed it on his desk. I had no idea how much I gave him, it was probably too much, but I didn't care. It was only money. “Sorry, Roa— Sorry.”
He ran a hand over his thinning hair and grumbled something under his breath. His inspection complete, he walked to his desk with another half empty bottle of Jim Beam. Roach snatched up the money, flipping through it with the dexterity of an aging con man. Begrudgingly satisfied with the amount, he tossed me the bottle.
Within a few seconds I had the cap off, eagerly pulling swigs. I just wanted to drown in a waterfall of bourbon.
He lingered, then sighed and awkwardly asked, “Bad news, huh?”
Roach wasn't a friend, not that I had many to begin with. He was more of a useful associate of the club. Before the Knights of the Only Order set up shop here, another gang ran this area. For whatever reason, they didn't like Roach or the rundown motel he'd owned.
They'd occasionally break in and trash his place. They'd trash him, too, if he was there. I was the one to politely convince them to fuck off and leave him alone. Ever since then, Roach has always hooked me up when I rolled through.
Some time back, Roach's shitty motel burned down. With the insurance money, he bought this little gem. All things considered, Roach was a shifty guy, hence the nickname, but he always came in handy as a set of eyes in an area where the Steel Veins weren’t so welcome.