by K. L. Savage
“Tell me where she is,” I growl, on the verge of madness.
“She left. We tried to look for her, but we couldn’t find her, Uncle Zain.”
She left. Willingly.
Today we were supposed to get married.
I let go of Reaper’s cut and he tugs the leather to get the wrinkles out. “What the fuck, Uncle Zain?”
My vision blurs and my world tilts. I let out an agonizing roar. It’s as if my heart has been ripped from my chest. “Where. Is. She?” I scream, punching the wall with my fist and head out the door. “Where is she?!” I shout at the top of my lungs, hitting the walls with my fist as I walk down the hallway. I stomp the floor, sending loud, booming echoes all through the building.
“Where are they? Someone tell me! I have to find her. I have to. We were getting married today. She wouldn’t leave me.” I check the couch, but Oli, Zipper, Felix, and Goldie are lying there.
“I met her. She wanted to leave, Zain,” Oli says as he picks up the TV remote. “She said she was leaving for you.”
No. No. No.
“I have to find her,” I mutter, barely able to get my thoughts in order, they’re racing so fast. I lick the sweat off my top lip and close my eyes, trying to calm down, but it’s pointless. I can’t. I don’t bother unlocking the door. I break the knob and fling it open so hard that the wood cracks when it smacks against the wall.
“Uncle Zain, you need to calm down. We will find her and bring her back.”
“No! I need her now. I need her.” The shout that leaves me is one of desperation and agony… damn it… the agony, it fucking hurts.
Why does it hurt so much when the love has been quick? Don’t things like this take time? When the person leaves after a certain amount of time, isn’t that when it is supposed to be painful? Not like this. I can’t breathe like this.
“Uncle Zain—” Reaper’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” I grit. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I roar the last word with every ounce of air I have left in my lungs, shrugging away his unwelcome compassion. “Why did you let her go? Why?”
“Uncle Zain.” Reaper stares at me with pity, his eyes frowning at the ends.
I don’t want pity.
I want Chloe. I want Jessica.
I want my women.
“You will go…” I begin to try to think of a plan, but I know it’s not going to work. “We need to, I need to… damn it. I need think. Let me think. I just need to…” I wipe my forehead against my shirt to get the sweat off my brows, so it doesn’t get into my eyes.
“Okay, Zain.” Tool yanks my arms behind me. “I think we need to put you somewhere safe.”
“No! Let me go.” I fight him, tugging my arms from his hold. He’s a strong fucker, which surprises me, since I’m so much bigger than him. I shouldn’t be struggling, but I’m tired. I’m not all here right now. I’m lost in my mind. “Let me go. I need to find her. Please, let me find her.” I kick and pull, shouting until my voice is raw, and I can taste blood in my throat. “She made me better.” I struggle against Tool’s hold, but I can’t get out. And then Reaper throws his fist through the air. His knuckles connect with the side of my head, knocking the wind out of me.
They take the moment of weakness and use it their advantage, dragging me across the home.
“Oh, Zain,” I hear Goldie in the distance somewhere.
I shake my head and sweat flings in every direction. I can’t see anything.
Just. Static.
Zipper wraps an arm around Goldie, but no one does anything to stop them. I can hardly lift my head from the dizziness and pressure in my head.
“This is bad. This is bad. This is bad. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.” Oli is stressed. He only counts out loud when he is stressed.
A door opens and my feet thud down each step as Tool drags me. The basement is dark, wet, and reminds me of what the old mental institution looked like.
Small rectangular windows, the grime as thick as alligator skin and flickering lights that we have yet to fix.
The basement is our last project. We didn’t think anyone would be down here. It’s not livable. It smells musty, and I swear there is a scurrying of nails against the cement floor. My feet stumble across a puddle of stagnant water, splashing my ankles.
I’ll need to figure out where the water leak is.
My head bobs as Reaper opens one of the doors to the padded room. The metal that makes them is rusted, and the screws and bolts that makes this a horror show are stripped and ruined. Reaper has to grunt, push, and give it his all to get the rust off the hinges.
“I hate to do this to you,” Tool says, pushing me harder than necessary into the room. “You need to cool down.”
I stumble, the pads on the floors still squishy even after so many years. I hit the nearest wall and watch my nephew push the door shut. This time, it’s quicker with Tool’s help. The moans of the hinges remind me of a woman back in the mental institution.
Groaning Gretel.
Apparently, she had too many electroshock therapies, and her speech had turned to complete mush. She could only groan.
And now she haunts me in my own home.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Zain,” Reaper says as he shuts the door, sliding the lock into place. The light comes on next, but I don’t look at the state of the room. I know it’s shit.
I stare at Reaper through the glass circle on the door. That anger hits me again, getting rid of the dizziness I felt from being hit in the face. It’s loud and fucking mean, tearing my soul in half when I see the only family I have left stabbing me in the back. Again.
I’m a pissed off bull and Reaper is my target.
Sprinting toward the door, I bellow an agonizing cry for the walls to remember for a later date, maybe they will sing it back to me. The metal hits my shoulder, but I’m too angry to stop.
“Let me out!” I back away until I’m far enough for decent speed, drop my shoulder, and run again. The door doesn’t budge. There is a pad on the inside of the door softening my blow, but it still hurts. My shoulder throbs.
I lay my palm flat against the door, sparks flying across my skin with energy, fury, and sorrow. I lean my forehead against the glass and roll my head side to side. “Let me out, Reaper. She needs me,” I explain, gasping for breath. “She isn’t safe out there all alone. Please, let me out.”
“I can’t do that, Uncle Zain. You aren’t in control.”
I lift my head and meet his brown eyes through the glass. I’m surprised to see they are full of tears like mine. “Please,” I beg him, curling my fingers into my palm to make a fist. “I need her. I need her so much. Reaper, I’ll do anything.”
“I need you to gather your head,” he replies, clearing his throat. With a shake of his head, his eyes are back to normal. My nephew is gone and in his place is the President of the Ruthless Kings. “You’re a danger to us, to your friends, and if we find her—”
“—I’d never hurt her!” I slam my fists against the door, wishing it was his face. “I love her. I love her like you love Sarah. Please, I need to find her. They can’t survive alone.”
“I’ll keep you updated,” Reaper says.
I rear back and smack the glass with my forehead, but the damn glass doesn’t crack. I keep doing it, damn the pain, while smacking my body against the door. I want it to break. I need something to break.
But the only thing breaking is me.
I’m not sure how long I do that for, but blood trickles down the bridge of my nose, my knuckles bleed, and I’m getting tired. I finally come to a stop, defeated, and watch the raggedy material on the floor soak up the sweat dripping off me in buckets. “Like father, like son,” I mutter between breaths. “You’re just like him.”
“Uncle Zain—”
“—You are giving up on me just like he did! You’re throwing me away because you don’t understand me. You are putting me in a room that I can’t get out of! You’re just like him.” I
sag against the wall, spent and worthless just like I’ve always been.
“No, Uncle Zain, I’m not leaving you in here. It’s temporary—”
“—Everything is temporary, but my madness is forever. I might not be able to count on much, but I can count on that. You’ve never been my nephew. My family. All they ever were was temporary. Get the fuck out,” I say, hitting the door with my sore hand one last time for good measure. “Go another thirty-five years without me. You’ll be fine.”
Everyone always is.
“I’m not leaving,” Reaper says from the other side of the door. His words are broken. He almost sounds like he cares. Or maybe my words hurt him, I don’t know. I don’t want to care.
The pads are soft against the back of my head, which feels nice considering what I’ve done to the front of it. I don’t answer Reaper. I’m too fucking tired. Look around the room now, and I’m surprised to see that it’s still in decent condition. The pads are no longer white, but an off grey from dust.
There is a wheelchair in the corner. It’s rusted, and the leather seat has fallen in. It’s nothing but bones waiting to be turned to damn dust.
I never thought I’d be able to relate to a wheelchair, but here I am.
“Uncle Zain—”
“—Just go, Reaper,” I snap, the carelessness etched in every word I speak. “I didn’t need anyone for the last thirty-five years, I don’t need anyone now.”
It’s a lie.
There is no way in hell I can go another day like I did at the institution. My life was barren, cold, and alone. Now, it’s full of chaos and love.
I’ve never have had a full life before. It’s always been empty.
I guess this is what happens when a mad man dreams.
He finds himself in the same box he started out in.
“God, you’re pathetic. Will you stop moaning before I put a bullet in your head?” I tell the guy that tried to rape Chloe, me, us, whatever. We don’t even know his name. I don’t care enough to ask.
“I need a hospital,” he sputters through a stream of blood running down his face.
“Yeah, you should have thought of that before you thought you could rape someone for the hell of it,” I say, making a sudden right down the dirt road where I think the Asylum is. I don’t know where else to go. I don’t know what the fuck Chloe was thinking leaving like she did, but she’s always been a little bitch about certain things.
Like fighting for what she wants.
I always have to do it.
The guy next to me moves and I cock the gun. “I’m not afraid to blow your damn brains out, perv. Don’t move.”
He whimpers and curls in on himself and starts to cry. I lift my nose when I smell something pungent.
I roll down the window by cranking the handle near the speaker on the door and gag. “Did you just piss? You did. God, you’re disgusting.” The truck dips and squeaks, and I’m worried a tire is going to break off and send us rolling to our side. Does that happen? I’m pretty sure it happens.
The Asylum is less than a half mile from the road. No real path leading to it besides tire tracks through the desert.
“Please take us back,” I whisper, hoping Chloe didn’t ruin this for us. This is our chance to be accepted and loved. The one thing we have always wanted and have never been able to receive because of how different we are.
He has to take us back.
Please.
We need him.
Four bikes, two trucks, and a Lincoln Continental.
The Asylum is a beacon for me, calling out my name to bring me home. There are areas that are missing chunks of brick since it hasn’t been fixed yet. Some of the windows are still broken or cracked. The roof is new, and the porch hasn’t been stained yet, but I can imagine having sweet tea on a rocking chair, staring out toward the mountains, and holding Zain’s hand.
I hope they don’t change too much of what the Asylum originally looks like. It needs to reflect the people living in it.
Lost.
Stricken.
And undoubtedly beautiful.
I slam the truck into park and turn off the engine, tucking the keys in my pocket so this asshole doesn’t get any ideas. I open the door and slam it shut. I notice blood at the hem of Zain’s shirt, and that just pisses me off more.
I loved this shirt.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I stomp around the front of the truck and yank the passenger’s side door open. The perv falls to ground and sand sticks to his bloody shirt and face. I grab him by his arm and try to drag him, but he is too heavy.
“For a perv, you’re a doughy fuck,” I grunt, moving less than an inch before I give up. “Hey!” I yell at the house, hoping someone hears me, but the door remains shut. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, impatient and hungry. I could go for a steak, maybe some eggs. Oh, yeah. That sounds good. I lift the gun in the air so I can get on with my day and fire, the loud shot piercing the air.
My hostage screams on the ground and curls into a ball.
“Oh, stop. I haven’t shot you.” Yet.
The door slams open and the biker with all the tattoos and a screwdriver behind his ear stands on the front porch. “Well, reckless endangerment came back,” he notes. Then he sees the man on the ground and his shoulders sag. “Who the fuck is that?”
“Oh, him?” I ask, tucking the gun in the waistband of my pants. “That’s the guy that tried to rape Chloe. But have no fear, Jessica is here.” I place my hands on my hips and puff out my chest like a superhero.
“Oh my god, are you—is she—are you both okay?” Tool tries to figure out how to address me. It’s actually kinda cute. I appreciate the effort.
“Oh, yeah. We are golden,” I grin.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the perv trying to crawl away and my patience snaps like a thin twig. “So I’m going to need help, Tool.”
He pounds down the steps and slowly walks next to the stranger as he crawls, digging his fingers into the desert. “With what? Want us to torture him? It’s been a while. I think the boys back at the clubhouse would like that,” Tool says, squatting next to the man’s head. Tool kicks the guy to his back and lays a boot on his neck, cutting off his air supply. “My friend Tongue has been dying for some fresh meat.”
“Great. I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, then. I’m going to go see Zain. I have some explaining to do about Chloe’s actions.” I tuck my hands in my back pockets and head toward the steps, thinking about what I’m going to tell Zain. Maybe I won’t tell him anything. I’ll just lay a kiss on him and drop to my knees.
“About Zain…”
Stopping mid-step, foot hanging in the air, I turn around and grab onto the rail.
Tool knocks the perv out in one swift and hard punch, rendering him unconscious. He picks him up and throws him in the back of a truck, carelessly.
“What about him?” I snap when Tool decides to take forever to tell me. I feel myself shrinking back. Chloe wants to take over, but I don’t want to let her. I don’t trust her to stay.
“He went a little crazy when he figured out you left. We had to put him downstairs in one of the padded rooms. He isn’t okay.”
Knowing he isn’t okay sends Chloe pushing against me so strong that I don’t have a chance to fight her off.
“What happened?” I ask Tool, who is kicking dirt over a pool of blood. The truck that stopped for me is here but the man that tried to… I hold a hand over my mouth and gag. “How did I get here?”
“Chloe? I was talking to Jessica?” Tool asks, stunned, then climbs onto the back of a truck.
“You couldn’t tell?” I’m offended. I’m nothing like her.
“She said this man—” he lifts the guy’s bloody head up so I can see him, “—tried to get handsy with you. She kicked his ass and brought you guys back here. I’m taking him to the clubhouse. Zain is downstairs because he flipped his fucking shit when he found out you were gone. There. That catches us up.�
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“Help me!”
“No one is helping you, you sick fuck.” Tool slams the guy’s head into the side of the truck and wipes his hands as if it’s all in a day’s work.
“Zain is locked away? How could you do that to him!” I yell, debating if I want to shoot Tool for throwing Zain in a room like trash. I’m not the killing type. I doubt I could do it, but right now I wish I could.
Tool laughs and jumps down from the truck, his big black leather boots kicking up dust. “Oh, don’t act high and mighty with me. You’re the one who left him, remember?” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Tell Reaper what happened. He’s downstairs with Zain. I’ll be back after I drop this asshole off.”
I don’t wait for Tool to rip out of the parking lot. I spin on my bare foot, something I really need to stop doing, and run up the steps. When I get inside, Goldie is crying, Zipper is holding her, Oli is counting, Felix is swatting the air, and the one in the toga must be Apollo.
“This is bad. Bad. Bad. Bad, Chloe!” Oli yells at me.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, feeling more guilty than they will ever know. “Please, tell me where he is.”
“No. No. No! Not if you leave again. 1, 2, 3. 1,2, 3. 1, 2, 3,” he chants, counting on his fingers.
“I’m not going to leave again. I swear. Please.” But Oli is too stressed out to give me his full attention.
“He is downstairs,” Apollo states, flipping a page of a book. His legs are crossed, and he looks regal and important. “Where I come from, they aren’t afraid to execute people for betrayal. You’ll keep that in mind, won’t you, Chloe?”
As if I can forget a threat like that.
I don’t bother talking to them anymore. I hurry down the hall and see Zain’s door open. Maybe they brought him back upstairs. I skid to a stop and I’m taken aback when I see the destruction. The bed is tossed on the floor, the lamp is broken, there is a hole in the wall.
And blood.
But whose?
Weak in the knees, I nearly collapse, but hold myself up on the wall and use it as a crutch to get to the next door I see.
It’s locked.
“No!” I cry, hating that I don’t know this house like the back of my hand.