by Nicole Snow
I smiled, told him not to worry about it, and offered him a really nice tip if we could finish our trip in silence.
It took forever to get back to the hospital. I didn't think about what I was really doing or where I was going until I was in my car, outside Knoxville, and heading northwest.
Deep inside, I already knew. Tonight wasn't just a collection of freak events, happy little Lucy's birth and Firefly's olive branch blurring into the nightmare of ambush, death, and blood.
I'd murdered a man to save myself. Justified, maybe, but it wouldn't be the last time.
If I wanted to survive, I'd have to kill again. Or someone else would do it for me.
All my old fears about Dusty, Huck, or God forbid, innocent kids like my niece getting caught in the middle leapt up, riding me like demons.
Worse, it wouldn't be the end. Dom had a lot of dirty friends to come after me, if he didn't make the trip himself. The asshole who'd ambushed me at the hospital had to know I was there for a reason – and it wouldn't take much work to find out about Firefly, Cora, and the new baby.
Wouldn't need much more than that to learn about Dusty, too.
As long as I remained a fixture in the club's life, in my own family's, I'd be a distraction, a danger, a walking fucking target. If the mafia decided to hit them, or take someone like poor Lucy hostage...
No. I couldn't let that happen. I'd die before it did, and if I wanted to keep living some kind of life, then the time had come to disappear.
I cried for about a hundred miles, driving deep into the night, before I sent the last texts ever on my phone. I told the prospects to head down the highway, find the car, and clean up the mess inside, assuming the police hadn't gotten to it first.
The club had a knack for making things disappear. They'd do the same with the monster I'd dispatched inside the wreck. Maybe Dusty would find his father's knife somewhere inside, returned to its proper owner.
I didn't wait for a reply. My fingers tapped a message to Dusty next, the sweet, strong husband I didn't deserve, and whose life I wouldn't risk one day longer.
D, MY LOVE, DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME. DON'T COME AFTER ME. PATCH THINGS UP WITH HUCK AND LOOK AFTER HIS FAMILY. KILL ANYONE WHO GETS TOO CLOSE.
WE'LL MEET AGAIN SOMEDAY. THIS LIFE OR NEXT. LOVE ALWAYS.
Yeah, always. That word stung a hundred times worse than the whiplash in the wreck. It bored into my heart and wouldn't stop hurting while I sped up, rolled down my window, and threw my phone against the road as hard as I could.
Physical pain was something to hold onto, something tangible, but it always faded in the end. An hour later, crying myself to sleep in the beat up, cramped, no name motel room, all I could think about was how even the pain of tearing myself away from what little happiness I'd had would fade if I lasted long enough.
Nothing worse than the people I loved becoming a distant memory, and the man I adored fading day by day, until it became a struggle to remember his face.
I'd made a sick sort of peace with losing him. But losing his memory, his love, the way he held me and stroked me to sleep during those glorious months when we'd shared a single bed...
They had to go. They had to fade. They had to leave a hole in my heart as big as a grave because if I didn't let go, if I didn't hold onto my own sanity, then nothing would keep the people I loved safe.
Three Months Later
I hadn't cried so hard since my first night away from Dusty. Some days, it just hit me, like being cooped up in this lodge, watching the big, soft flakes rolling down from the mountains.
I'd missed Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day, Dusty's birthday, and who the hell knew how many precious moments with Lucy. Being stuck in this room with a new laptop, a fake identity, and a lot of cheap freelance work humbled and hurt me like a dozen angry fists coming down.
I was somewhere in Montana, careful to avoid the little towns where the Grizzlies MC had a presence. Dust would've told his friends in their ally club to keep an eye out for me by now, and I wouldn't risk getting caught.
The morning sickness made it even harder. Fourteen weeks pregnant, give or take. Every day my body changed a little more like a grim reminder of everything I'd abandoned, everything I had to leave behind.
None was worse than his ring, though.
Once, I made it about forty-eight hours, burying it in my suitcase under my clothes, before the empty space on my finger became a steady, burning torture.
Couldn't sleep that night until it was back in its rightful place. Even then, the empty spot in the bed tormented me, as it did most nights.
I second guessed myself again, dozens of times. Had I really done the right thing?
Thinking about the brutal possibilities if I hadn't skipped town, everything that still might happen if I ever came back, told me yes.
The brain does strange things when it's under constant siege. I thought about the old Edgar Allan Poe Story, “The Pit and the Pendulum,” where a man moved between different tortures until they drove him insane.
My heart knew his agony. My womb knew his pain. My soul ached and burned for my man, my family, my home, everything I've given up.
And now, I had one more innocent bystander to worry about, ever since I'd taken the test about a month ago, and seen the results staring me in the face.
This baby wasn't stopping for anything. The tiny life inside me didn't care about danger, guilt, or death. It only shared my heartbeat and will to survive. It deserved a better chance than the one I'd given myself, before everything fell apart.
I couldn't linger like this in limbo, indefinitely. There was one chance to save my child, even though it would rip my heart's remnants into even smaller pieces.
I'd already put distance between me and the old life, but I needed more. I had to keep going west, zigzagging along the route I planned, until I hit the coast. Just a few more months, and I'd have enough cash to leave. I didn't dare tap into my old credit cards or bank accounts since the first week I'd left Tennessee.
That was just asking for the club or, worse, the Sicilians, to find a loose end leading them straight to me.
I'd effectively surrendered everything I ever worked for. The bitter irony wasn't lost on me.
So, I'd cry a little harder, remembering the man whose ring still brought me bitter comfort, who'd given me a piece of him forever, no matter where I wound up on this ridiculous planet.
I'd start over. Raise our baby with a longing in my heart and tears in my eyes, but I'd never, ever look back.
I wasn't Hannah Grayson, or even Hannah Davis anymore. I was Kerry Simons – the name on my fake license and attached to my new accounts. Hardworking consultant, seemingly normal, soon-to-be single mother.
She'd live her life secretly protecting everyone I cared about. I'd go on hating the bitch for her lies, her mistakes, and her delusions.
12
Halved (Dust)
Four Months Later
Losing a man's wife fucked him up. I drank when I wasn't on the hunt like the world's meanest hound, pouring over every damned clue I could, so fuckin' dogged and determined I gave Bingo a run for his money.
Booze didn't stop the dreams anymore. Neither did the optimistic words from my brothers, or Ma, who told me every day I'd be an idiot to give up.
Nothing shut up Early whenever I closed my eyes. I saw my destiny all over again, the night he'd decided to haunt my evil ass forever.
Why couldn't I see Hannah? Why the fuck not? If it could've been her ghost instead of his, I would've grabbed her, put my lips on hers, and told her what a fuck up I'd been not to follow her to the hospital that night. We could've stopped this shit from ever coming down.
Instead, I got my old man with his beard, his cold black eyes, his evil grin. Same dream, same memory, same reminder I'd wracked up a heavy fuckin' debt to pay. With Hannah leaving, criss-crossing the country where nobody could find her, I knew the bitch called karma had come to collect.
Every time I cl
osed my eyes, I remembered the precise moment everything was destined to go to shit.
“Get the fuck down here, boy. You think hanging around the recruiter's office all day gives you an excuse to roll into this clubhouse an hour late?” Early puffed a thick cigar, shooting me a dirty look.
It was just him in the basement, and none of the other brothers, weird as hell. I wore my cut with the prospect patch over my new Navy shirt, something I decided I better settle into before I shipped off in a couple weeks to the Merchant Marine fleet.
“What's going on, Prez?” I asked slowly, taking the steps into the old storage cellar one at a time. Prez was the closest I'd get to calling this fucker dad. I hadn't used that word since I was twelve, almost half a lifetime ago.
“Your time to become a man, that's what.” He grabbed my wrist as soon as we were down, stretched out my hand, and handed me a silver blade with the club's logo inscribed in the handle. “I ain't letting you ship out overseas 'til you remember what you're coming home to. And Danny, you are coming the fuck home. You'll be holding the gavel someday, making this club bigger and better than I ever did, assuming I can get your damned balls to drop.”
I tasted sour, evil guilt on my tongue. Early didn't ask me a second time, or give me anymore details, just pushed me toward the uneven opening under the clubhouse, a dark little hole I suspected he used to hide the junk he'd been selling outstate.
Tonight, the gap wasn't the pitch black, musty hellhole I'd been expecting. There was a flashlight glowing inside, and it lit the ugly, sweaty face of the man handcuffed inside.
“Ah, Jesus fuckin' Christ. You're really doin' this, Early? Sending a fuckin' kid to cut my throat?” The stranger bared his teeth when he looked up and saw me, revealing a few fresh, bloody gaps in his mouth.
“He'll do you clean, motherfucker,” Early said behind me. “Show some damned gratitude. After what you did to Flap and Donny last week, I oughta feed your own balls down your throat, one tiny piece at a time.”
That shut the man up. I took a long look at our prisoner, noticing the different patches on his cut. DEADHANDS MC, GEORGIA, they said, a rough crew we were running into more often than we liked.
“Go ahead, son. Show me you ain't a pussy. You know what this fucker did, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I meant it, too. “I know.”
The entire club was up in arms about it. Last week, Early sent Flap and old man Don down to Georgia to unload smack. Donny came back bloody and bruised, but he'd brought Flap home in a truck, both his hands missing, ending his Harley riding days forever.
“What're you waiting for?” Prez thundered behind me, annoyed with each second ticking by, while the fuck laid out in front of me continued breathing.
“This ain't right. Him down here in the dark, cuffed like this, dying like a stuck pig. He's helpless.” I watched Early's fist tighten out of the corner of my eye. He'd knocked me on my ass plenty of times, and clenched his rings into a fist a thousand more, before he laid into me or Ma over pure bullshit. “Prez, I know who he is, and what he is. I've got no sympathy. Still, I'm not into gutting this motherfucker like we found him caught in a bear trap.”
“Fuck you, Danny. Should kick myself in the ass for thinking you'd know right from wrong.” We locked eyes, as soon as I turned around.
On the ground, wedged in that little space, the Deads prisoner laughed. His jeering ratcheted up when Early took me by the throat, spun me around, and slammed my head against the wall.
“You know what, Mister Fancy Fuckin' Sailor? I think you need to learn why that point you're making is total horseshit. Tell you what, we're gonna do things your way tonight for once. Here, let me get this fuck outta his cuffs. We'll put him against the wall, give him a blindfold and a cigarette, and I'll hand you my gun to do the job.”
What the fuck had I done? The bastard in the crawlspace twisted, craning his neck to look at me while my old man kneed him in the back, held him down, and jerked his hands up behind his back. I watched the little key slip into the lock, popping his cuffs open.
When I looked into his eyes, I'd expected anger, fear, or at least a mutual fuckin' understanding that I was offering him a chance to die like a man. Quick and easy.
Didn't see any of that shit. I saw nothing. No spark, no gratitude, no making peace with God.
I swallowed. “Dad, watch the fuck –“
Before I realized I'd let dad slip out, the motherfucker kicked my old man in the stomach, sending his head crashing against the edge of the low brick ceiling. Early went down with a grunt, and the freed asshole had his paws on my father's belt, going for his nine.
I fucked up royal. Before he could grab the gun and start shooting, I lunged into the crawlspace, kicking the prisoner in the knees. The fuck went down easy, probably too shaky and weak from being holed up in there for God only knew how long.
I landed on top of him, and we rolled, thrashing around in a space barely bigger than a grave, my knife searching for his face.
Shit, shit. Asshole nearly knocked the blade from my wrists, snarling the entire time.
“You stupid little cocksucker!” he roared, bouncing as hard as he could to hit me in the stomach. “Should've listened to your old man. Ain't no honor among enemies, asshole. You're mine. I'm gonna slit both your throats, kill every last fuckin' one of you, soon as I –“
I threw my whole weight into the next jab, and it found its mark. There was a sickening crunch, a splash of blood. We both went still. Early groaned behind me, halfway knocked outta the crawlspace by the scuffle.
Took forever to catch my breath. Crawling out, I threw the bloody knife in front of me, standing on my knees while my old man leaned into the wall, nursing the world's biggest knot on his forehead.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I screamed, starting to shake. “You knew he'd do that, and you freed him anyway, all just to make a fuckin' point?”
“Fuck you. Didn't have another way to make you understand. I'd do it all over again, too, if I still need to drill it into your head, Danny boy. You're about to set sail to help Uncle Sam with his law and order. Is it really so fuckin' hard for you to see I'm doing the same?”
I wanted to be sick. Law and order was about the last thing he'd done to this club, turning it into a violent, drug peddling slush fund for his retirement, which mostly consisted of special mods on his bikes, imported scotch, and gifts for the girls he fucked behind Ma's back.
“I've killed for this club. It's all I've known. I ain't going anywhere if that's what you're worried about.” I stopped, looking my old man dead in the face. “When I get back and sit at the table again with the brothers, let's get one thing straight. I will never, ever run this shit like you. Fuck your legacy.”
“Calm down, boy. You're really running scared if you think I'm trying to remake you in my fuckin' image. Gave up on that a long time ago.” He stood up straight, walked over, and put his dirty hands on my shoulders, squeezing so hard it hurt. “I'm trying to teach you some common fuckin' sense so you don't end up like the fucker bleeding out behind you.”
As if on cue, I turned my head for a split second, noticing the dark red blood flowing against my boot. The life I'd ended wasn't just going to disappear without a few last ugly reminders.
“It doesn't have to be this way, Prez. You don't have to run shit this way. You could –“
“Danny, shut up. When you're wearing my patch, holding my goddamned gavel, you can turn this shit into a big biker beauty pageant for all I care. Trouble is, you still don't get it.”
“What? What's so fuckin' important you dragged me down here for this?”
Sighing, he spun me around, forcing me to stare into the darkness at the man's corpse again. Early's face came close, his lips pressed against my ear, forcing me to feel his tangled grey beard against my neck.
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, son. That's the only law worth a damn in this life. You kill the motherfuckers who deserve it as quick, as easy, and as painful
as you can, or those motherfuckers kill you worse.” Very slowly, he pulled away, making me shake from the sudden draft against my skin where his beard had been. “Congratulations, Dust. I'm gonna make sure that name gets stitched on your cut before you ship the fuck out. It'll help you remember everything that happened tonight.”
Fuck remembering. Like I could even forget.
The last memory I had that night was standing down there alone, after he'd gone upstairs, yelling after me to clean up the fuckin' mess, and make sure nobody found the dead man's skin and bones.
I busted my ass scrubbing away his blood, bagging up his body for the truck, and hauling him deep into the Smokies alone. Feral tears scorched my face while I dug his grave.
My old man wasn't just a stone cold bastard. For once in his brutish life, the fuck was right.
If I hadn't jumped on the Deads thug when I did, we both would've been toast. I'd tried to show a little mercy, a smidge of honor, and I'd nearly gotten fucked over in the worst way possible.
Never again. Early taught me something that night, and I only resented my new road name because he'd thought of it before I did.
Dust. The final form of every living thing. Meant I'd kill anybody before they fucked with my club, or the ones I loved.
Ashes to ashes wouldn't just rain down to stop it, but they fuckin' had to. Losing brothers, lovers, or family was the only fear I had left, and I vowed that night I'd never let it conquer me.
Except I hadn't conquered shit. I jerked awake in my bed, sprawled out, covering the empty spot where Hannah hadn't slept next to me for several evil months.
Like every morning since she'd left, I punched the emptiness, starting another fucked up day in a rage.
I rode to the clubhouse and sat down in my office, taking in the day's reports left on my desk by Joker. The Veep fed me a lot of info. Held my breath flipping through those pages, wishing and hoping I'd find a lead to Hannah, the Sicilians, anything that would bring her home.