Glacier

by Violet Blaze

  “Sorry?” he asks, rising to his feet in this fluid, graceful motion that turns my heart to mush. Glacier turns around and looks down at me with this indecipherable look on his face. “Why should you be sorry?”

  “I just realized that inviting a ton of strangers into your bedroom of all places was kind of fucked up. I mean, a person's house—and most especially their room—that's their sanctuary. And I basically brought an invasion in here. Hell, I didn't even ask you if you liked the color yellow.”

  Glacier lifts his head up and studies the walls. They're painted the color of a good spring sunset over the sea, this warm yellow color that brings to mind lazy evenings and quiet seas bathed in gold. It feels good in here, comfortable and homey and lived in.

  “Serenity,” he says when he drops his gaze back to mine, touching my face with fingers that are so gentle, it's impossible to imagine all the violent things they've done. “When you said everything, and I said okay, I meant it. I told you there'd be no boundaries between us. As far as I'm concerned, this house is yours as much as it is mine.”

  My breath catches and I'm leaning in for a kiss when my phone rings; it's Lyric.

  “Shit,” I say as I look up at Glacier and he smiles wickedly at me, turning away and pulling his cut out of the closet. He shrugs it onto his shoulders and I bite my lip as I think about wearing it, about him fucking me in it. I grew up in the club; I know the rules. The only people allowed to touch a man's cut are him … and his old lady. Period. Glacier, he put it on me.

  “Working at the mayor's office again, are we?” he asks as he glances over his shoulder, looking at me with something in his face that really, I can only read as affection. This monster, this torturer of men, the enforcer for the Alpha Wolves MC, he's feeling affectionate towards me. How crazy is that? But in my heart, I knew it. I've always known it. “Setting up for a political career like the president's wife?”

  “I think I want to write books,” I tell him as I breathe out sharp and hard. “I've been thinking for a long time about what I wanted to do someday, the kind of life I'd lead, the job I'd have. I never wanted to go to college and I really didn't want to get involved with the club.” I smile as Glacier turns around and watches me. Everything I say, he listens to as if it's critically important. Not a single fucking person in my life has ever done that for me before. “I knew I wanted you, that much I was sure of. So since I was fifteen I've been trying to figure out what else I wanted to do. I think … after what I wrote today, I know. I can feel it.”

  Glacier steps forward suddenly and wraps me up in his arms, kissing me with this needy heat that curls my toes and draws my hands to his cut, making my fingers tangle in the leather.

  “She's picking me up here,” I whisper, my voice shaking a little when Glacier pulls his lips back from mine. “She'll be here in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fifteen minutes?” he asks, a quiet heated menace to his voice. His lip curls up at the left corner as his hands drop to the button on my jeans. “I can work with fifteen minutes.”

  My response trails off into a moan as he picks me up and throws me onto the bed.

  Fifteen minutes … feels tortuously short when you're wrapped in the arms of the man you love.

  Letting myself have Serenity … that was both a blessing and a curse. I feel her light breaking across the shadows of my heart, melting that layer of ice inside of me. But now that I've felt her presence, let myself fall into the trap of her beautiful, smiling face … I feel like I can't live without her. The next few days are complete misses, the club's demands pulling me into this grueling, relentless race for the backstabbing Saldaña cartel officers, and Serenity's school and work schedule and family tearing her in the opposite direction.

  For now, I put up with it, but I can't handle this for long. Sleeping alone in my bed is fucking torture, and my monster is relentless, pacing, pacing, pacing inside of me, desperately searching for his mistress.

  I shove a stick of gum between my lips and smack it hard between my teeth.

  “That son of a bitch,” Smoky mumbles, completely unused to the bullshit of sitting quiet in the dark for hours, stalking prey. He's the sergeant-at-arms for the club, and he likes things in your face all of the goddamn time. I don't need his fucking help, but here he is anyway, raining on my parade. “What the hell was Landon thinking, turning his back on the club like that? You think it ever occurred to him to come and talk to one of us? See if we could work things out?”

  I narrow my eyes and chew my gum, trying not to comment on any of that. Landon. I don't think a lot about my dead friend—if he was my friend at all. Before Serenity, there were only two people in my life I even considered as being possible human connections—Landon and Royal. Landon sold the club's secrets out to the cartel for money, and his wife, a woman I'd come to know over the years, she led him down that path and then abandoned him, leaving him to fuck one of the enemy. Now, with all of that, how am I supposed to believe in having a true relationship with anyone?

  And yet … Serenity is the one thing I've been searching for my whole life. Not my one woman or my one person, but my one everything. The only thing.

  “Landon was an idiot,” I say as I lean my back against a tree and wait for the asshole across the street to come out of the strip club. After all this crap, all this chasing and running and dodging, I've tracked one of the two rogue officers to a seedy dive on the edge of downtown, that last street before city becomes forest again. He's been in there for over two hours now. “He betrayed his brothers for money and he got himself—and his wife—killed in the process. If we can just catch the last two rats in our little maze, then we can be done with this and stop harping on it every chance we get.”

  “I'm not harping,” Smoky grumbles, lighting up a cigarette. “Just a fucking comment. Don't you get bored out here all by yourself all the damn time?”

  I didn't. Until Serenity. Now all I want is her, her, her. All of the damn time.

  “Shut the hell up, Smoky,” I say, my crossbow creaking from its place across my back. Might seem easier to use a gun, but the crossbow is just so quiet and simple and unexpected. As soon as that piece of shit comes out of the bar, I'm going to shoot him in the thigh, knock him over the head and drag him back to my palace of torture.

  “So what the fuck you do to that redhead? The real pretty one with the big tits? Must be into some kinky stuff because you scared her shitless.”

  “I never fucked her,” I say, which is true. I look over at Smoky and there's this urge inside of me, this dark whisper that begs me to tell him about Serenity, claim her within the circle of the club. But I can't. Not yet. Either I wait until she turns eighteen, or I figure something else out. Because if word gets out before I'm ready and somebody—namely Jack—tries to keep me from her, I might just kill him. “I don't know what her problem is,” I say as I hear the sound of raucous laughter spilling out into the night and turn to see our target stumbling from the club with a girl under either arm and a pair of guys trailing behind him. I recognize them both; they're dealers that work for the club.

  “Jesus,” Smoky swears under his breath as I watch the five of them move down the street. “You think he's sweet-talking our dealers?”

  “Probably,” I say with a mild inflection in my voice. “Paying them to dish dirt perhaps?”

  I move through the trees, cringing at Smoky's clunky footsteps behind me. Doesn't really matter, I guess, since the idiots across the street are as loud as a heard of stampeding elephants.

  We follow them for quite a while, pausing as they disappear into an alley that forks right at the end, taking them out of view.

  “There're five of them, Boss,” I say as I hit Royal on my cell, waiting for further instructions. With this new release of emotion inside of me, there's just so much goddamn violence creeping under my skin. I feel like I need orders right now. “Two girls—hookers, maybe—and two of our dealers with Mr. Javier. They all look pretty fucking wasted to me.”


  “Follow them,” Royal says, his voice clear and direct. “Whatever you need to do to get this guy, make it happen. I don't care about extra casualties; this is too important.”

  “Duly noted,” I say as I hang up and shove my phone in my pocket. But not so quickly that I miss the single text from Serenity.

  I miss you, it says and I grit my teeth hard, smacking down on my gum to keep my sudden need and desperation occupied.

  “Let's go,” I tell Smoky, and we sneak down and out of the trees, across the street and into the alley. The whole area smells like stale urine and yesterday's trash. It's pungent and greasy and fucking goddamn disgusting. I splash through old puddles in my boots, picking up speed as I hear a commotion from around the corner. Smoky picks up his pace, keeping even with me as I come to a sudden halt, pressing my back to the wall, glancing around at the gathering happening on the other side of it.

  Fuck.

  There are several extra men here, one of whom I recognize and a few others that I don't.

  Eight total, including the two girls. One of whom is already on her knees, sucking some guy's cock. What the hell?

  The other girl is screaming and crying, some asshole's hands wrapped in her hair as she fights and struggles against his grip.

  “Hey, baby, we're not gonna hurt you, now are we?” one of the men laughs, one of the ones I don't recognize. “We just want to have a little fun.”

  “Should we take this back to the motel?” one of the others ask as items exchange hands along with some cash. A drug deal, sure. But something else, too.

  The girl thrashes around for a moment and then breaks free, taking off in her heels towards where Smoky and I are standing. Before I can even decide the best course of action here, the Saldaña officer—a man named Francisco Javier—pulls out a pistol and shoots her, sending her sprawling to the pavement with a scream.

  I grit my teeth, my hands curling tight around the crossbow as the monster roars and rages, as some part of me wonders why picking on the weak makes some men feel strong. Personally, I'd much rather try my hand at picking on the other monsters in the world, ones whose darkness is so much filthier than my own.

  “I didn't say you could go anywhere, bitch,” Francisco says, moving over to the girl and kicking her over with his boot. “I ain't done with you yet.” He starts to undo his pants, clearly intending to rape the bleeding woman on the pavement.

  An icy front snaps across my vision and I step around the corner without alerting Smoky, not caring if he follows me or not. Six men? I've dealt with worse odds.

  I don't announce myself, just lift my bow up and fire off a single bolt into Francisco's thigh. He takes it fairly well, stumbling back and lifting his pistol again, firing off a shot that pings against the dumpster I duck behind, Smoky by my side.

  “Fucking Christ, I should've known better than to volunteer to partner with you,” my brother snaps, a semi-automatic in his hands. He makes the smart choice and drops down, crawling underneath the green metal dumpster through the wet refuse on the ground, aiming at calves and shins. Me, I just hand cock my crossbow, load it up with another bolt from my hip quiver, and swing back out into the open.

  I shoot Francisco again, this time through the shoulder of his dominant arm. I need him alive, but hell if I'll have him taking another shot at me. A stray bullet from another one of the men hits me right in the center of my stomach, knocking the air out of me, making me smile cold and wicked as the body armor takes the brunt of the blow. But oh yes, it hurts and it'll leave a monstrous bruise, but I don't mind; I'm about to take my vengeance for that shot.

  I cock my bow again, fire a bolt straight into the chest of the man who shot me—one of the Wolves' dealers. Good riddance. Nobody likes a two-timer. From behind me, Smoky pops out from beneath the dumpster, a bullet hitting one of the mystery men in the face. Before he can fire at the other, I shoot the man with a bolt in the leg and sneak up as he collapses, curb stomping his face into the pavement and knocking him out cold.

  Smoky and I split our attention between the two remaining men—one of them a dealer, the other a possible source of information. My target hits a ladder and starts climbing, his dick still hanging out of his pants as he does. I shoot him right in the fucking ass and stand back as he drops to the cement with a thud, using my bow to hit him in the side of the head and send him straight into blissful blackness.

  When I turn around, the other man is dead and Smoky is cursing under his breath, already on the phone and calling for a cleanup crew.

  “Please don't hurt me!” the unhurt girl whimpers, kneeling over her friend, tears streaming down her face. The stillness of the other woman's body tells me she's already dead, and a wicked shot of … something shoots through me. Guilt? I close my eyes for a moment and open them slowly, letting the ice take over a piece of that warm heart that Serenity freed the other night.

  “Get the fuck out of here and be more careful with you who hang out with. Oh, and don't even bother telling the cops about this,” I say, a sharp edged warning in my voice as she gets to her feet, disappearing in an instant down the alley, her face streaked with black tears of mascara. Not a hooker, I don't think. Too young. I feel almost sick to my stomach. That is, I might if I weren't sitting in a frosty bubble of indifference.

  “They're on the way,” Smoky says as he steps over to me and looks at me with a wary expression on his face. “You sure letting that girl go is a good idea?”

  “You want to shoot an innocent woman in the back like Francisco Javier?” I ask and Smoky just stares at me. “I didn't think so. Besides, somebody has to deliver our message to the rest of the underworld.”

  I move away, my boots splashing through blood, and head back down the alley to meet the boys.

  There are two kinds of people that visit my dungeon: the ones who start off with piss and vinegar, and the ones who cry and weep. Tonight, we've brought back one of each to the cemetery house.

  “You'll fucking pay for this!” Francisco screams as I stand there with a pair of pliers in my hand and wish, really, that I was anywhere but here. For the first time in my life, this is the last place I want to be. Serenity. That's what I want. I want her screams of pleasure instead of a stranger's screams of pain, her wrists tied with silk instead of some cartel fuck's wrists strapped with rope and tape.

  “The clichés,” I say as I smack the pliers into the palm of my hand, “I get really tired of hearing them. If you want to skip right to the chase, then you'll tell me what I want to know. Then I can kill you and we can cut out the whole torture business in between.”

  “Fucking hell,” Royal says as he kicks the other man's chair and snaps him out of a dazed half-sleep. “Get him to tell us where his friend is, so we can tie his ass up and drop him on Agent Shelley's doorstep.”

  “Working on it,” I say as I grit my teeth and give Royal a look.

  “Yeah, well, stay on this. I don't care if it takes all night. Do you need backup?”

  “It'd be nice to have someone upstairs, just in case his buddy decides to make an appearance,” I say as I lean against the stone wall to my right, blood sparkling ruby red across my fingers. Upstairs, there's a clean shower, some towels, and an air mattress that I use when I get stuck here for a while. Never much bothered me before, but now I can't stop thinking of Serenity's words. It's so … sad in here, Saint. It doesn't feel clean and empty because you just like things clean and empty. It feels neglected and lonely …

  “I'll have Mug hang out for a while; call me as soon as you find out something useful.”

  “Yes, Boss,” I say as Royal gives me a look and I glance over at him. “What?”

  “There's a barbecue at Jack's on Friday. You gonna be there?”

  “I attend every barbecue, Royal McBride,” I say cooly, because it's true. I do. I always have. Memories flit through my brain, flashes of Serenity's smile, of her brushing her arm against mine, flirting with me, teasing me, wanting me even then. I did my best to ignore her;
I'm not ignoring her anymore.

  “Just … don't do anything without consulting me, yeah?”

  “Like I would,” I say as Francisco starts to kick and arch his back in a violent, thrashing rage. Tears of frustration trail through the blood on his face, but I literally just saw him shoot an unarmed woman in the back and then attempt to rape her while she lay dying. However much he sobs or begs or cries tonight, I don't much give a fuck. Not that I ever really do, anyway. I don't exactly feel the need to justify the horrid things that I do. Or … I didn't until Serenity finally cracked my shell. Hmm.

  Royal gives me a tight smile and reaches up to squeeze my shoulder in what he perceives to be a comforting gesture. I stare blankly at his hand as it slides off and he turns to walk away, kicking open the door to the wine cellar—the very cellar from my horrid past—and letting it slam shut behind him, leaving me alone in the basement with two monsters that might actually be worse than my own.

  All night long my little torture chamber churns, and in the bright light of day, I have enough information to put at least one man to rest. The unnamed guy turns out to be some low ranking Villarreal asshole up here to scout out the territory, see why the Saldañas were so interested in claiming it from the Wolves. Guess he won't be reporting back to his superiors.

  I stand there on the porch and realize that my hands are shaking slightly, my entire body wired and my spirit twisted up in the darkness of the job. Downstairs, Francisco Javier still sits in one of my chairs, waiting for his own release. But I'm not done with him yet; I just need a break.

  “Fuck.” I slide a hand down my face and check my phone. There are a few random messages from Serenity, most of which include emojis, a few with pictures of her glorious fucking face. I trace a finger over her smile and scroll down to read the last message. At my book club meeting at the café. Can I see you after? Will you be coming to the compound?

  My fist clenches around the phone as I close my eyes and lean against one of the old porch columns. Birds sing from the nearby trees, from the moss covered gravestones across the barbed wire fence on my right. As if waist-high barbed wire ever kept ghosts, monsters, or wicked wild predators away from anything.