Chasing Bliss

by Sabrina A. Eubanks

  “Where you goin’, Chase?” J.T. asked. He’d been watching him like a hawk since the night started.

  Chase smiled to himself. J.T. always had his back, and he always cared where his head was at. He looked over at Corey, who had his back to him, trying to talk to some honey. Chase didn’t think either one of his brothers would hold him down like J.T. Cyrus wouldn’t because he didn’t give a shit, and Corey probably wouldn’t because he was so used to Chase holding him down like steel that he probably didn’t even know how. Chase looked back at J.T. “I’m gonna go holler at Cyrus and find out why he ain’t showin’ his face.”

  J.T. shook his head. “I don’t know why you keep lookin’ for somethin’ he ain’t never gonna give you, Chase.”

  Chase stared at him. “I ain’t lookin’ for shit. I just want to know why he’s bein’ rude.”

  J.T. sighed. He looked like he was thinking about saying something slick, but given Chase’s current mood, he wasn’t sure that would be the way to go. “You want me to come with you?”

  “Nah, that’s okay. You stay here with Corey.”

  J.T. nodded. “Don’t be too long, or I’m comin’ up. I got my own qualms about this shit.”

  Chase walked out of the bar area and through an alcove to his right. He went up the spiral staircase to the VIP room, looking everywhere at once. The music in the club was so loud that he couldn’t hear shit, and it was giving him a headache. He turned left and entered the VIP room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that he hadn’t called Bliss, but that would have to wait. Chase had a feeling what he’d been waiting for all night was just around the corner.

  It was off the chain up there, and it was no wonder Cyrus hadn’t brought his ass downstairs. It looked like Cyrus had his whole crew up there partying hard and drinking champagne straight out the bottle. Cyrus and Khalid were holding court in one of the big round booths, smoking trees, with women hanging on their arms and wannabe hustlers hanging on their every word.

  Chase looked around. Everyone in the room seemed to be over their fucking limit—some more than others. There was even a brother in the corner getting a blowjob like he was in his bedroom. Chase walked over to Cyrus’s table and stood there staring at him.

  Cyrus was so high that he didn’t even see him at first, not until Khalid hit him in the shoulder and nodded in Chase’s direction.

  Chase smirked at him and nodded. “Cyrus.”

  Cyrus laughed, grabbed a bottle of champagne off the table, and started pushing his way out of the booth. He finally made it, and Chase stepped back. Cyrus was one drink away from being totally fucked up, and Chase was disgusted.

  “Cyrus, look at you. You twisted back man.”

  Cyrus swigged out the bottle. “Yeah, I am. You give a great party, Smoke, and I’m grateful, but if you want to talk to me, you gotta follow me to the head. I gotta get rid of some of this liquor.”

  Chase was so surprised by the compliment and the thanks that he followed Cyrus into the bathroom without a second thought. He watched Cyrus as he set the champagne on the counter and turned his back to him to use the urinal. “Glad you’re satisfied, Cyrus. You get any weird feelings about tonight?” Chase asked, running his thumb along the scar under his jaw. He shook his head, watching Cyrus, and answered his own question. “Never mind. You’re probably too fucked up to notice.”

  Cyrus flushed the urinal and fixed his clothes. He turned and looked at Chase in exasperation. “Why you gotta say shit like that, Smoke? You always say shit to piss me off. I was tryin’ to be nice. I wasn’t tryina fuck with you. I didn’t bring up the fact that I should be walkin’ a mile in your ass right now for breakin’ my nose—twice—now did I?”

  Chase looked at him grimly. “No, Cyrus, you didn’t.”

  Cyrus washed his hands and retrieved his champagne bottle. He swayed a bit. “Good. Then shut the fuck up.”

  Just as Cyrus was turning the bottle up again, there was a thunderous crash from the VIP room. They both dropped into crouches, sending the champagne bottle crashing to the floor and exploding into shards. Cyrus pulled his gun out as Chase made his way to the door, still in a crouch. He cracked it open and saw that people were screaming, and there was the unmistakable sound and stench of gunfire. “Shit!” Chase muttered.

  Cyrus started for the door, and Chase stood up to his full height. He stood between Cyrus and the door and put his hand on his chest. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll get yourself killed. Gimme your gun…I know you got another one.”

  “Fuck you,” Cyrus said. Panic was working its way into his eyes, delayed because he was high.

  Chase snatched his gun out of his hand, without saying anything else. He gave Cyrus a dark look. “I can get you out of here, stupid.”

  A bullet punched through the door near Chase’s right shoulder. It zinged through the air and shattered the mirror.

  “Don’t fuckin’ move! I’ll send somebody back to get you.” Chase went out the door with Cyrus’s nine in his hand, almost duck walking. There was a man directly in front of him, firing into the crowd with his back to Chase. Chase gave him a quick once-over. He didn’t know the guy, and it was time for the shooter to go down. Chase thought of using his razor, but the gun was already in his hand. He walked right up to him, stuck his gun behind his right ear, and pulled the trigger.

  The man’s brains exited through his left temple and splashed his boy, who was standing next to him, reloading.

  “Joe!? Oh shit, man!” was all he had a chance to say before Chase grabbed him in a headlock and pulled him back toward the bathroom. Chase tucked Cyrus’s gun into his waistband and pulled out his razor. He flicked it open and held it in front of his captive’s face.

  The hostage immediately started mewling and trying to fight.

  “I see you know who I am. Wolf send you?”

  He was fighting so hard that he almost broke free.

  Chase tucked his lips in and cut the man’s right ear off with one swipe of the blade. “Stop fightin’, or I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat.. Is Wolf here?”

  “Noooooo! Jesus Christ!”

  “How many of you motherfuckers are here?”

  He developed a case of lockjaw again, and Chase opened his scalp up.

  “Jesus! Ten! There’s ten of us! Please, man!”

  “Fuck you,” Chase said and cut his throat. He pushed him away and let him fall like yesterday’s garbage. Chase didn’t want his face exposed, so when he walked into the VIP room, he snatched a cap off a guy fleeing toward the stairs and put it on his own head. The whole place was a mess. Some people were already shot up, some were still shooting, and others were crushing each other trying to get down the spiral staircase.

  Chase spotted Khalid, who was blazing his gun and bleeding profusely from a shoulder wound. He caught one dude in the head, and the guy went down. Chase made his way over to the fire exit and threw the door open. He started pushing people through, knowing others would follow and free up the stairway.

  When he turned around, Khalid was right next to him. “Where the hell is Cyrus?’

  “In the bathroom.”

  “What’s he doin’? Takin’ a fuckin’ shit?” Khalid asked harshly.

  Chase shrugged and stepped away. “Go figure. I’m checkin’ for Corey. Go get him.” Chase hurried down into the pandemonium that was the main floor. People were running and breaking out. The party was over. Chase got to the middle of the floor and did a 360. Okay. There ain’t any shootin’ going on down here. As soon as he thought it, a shot rang out, followed by a chorus of screams, and Chase turned in time to see J.T. step away from a man going down slow, holding his chest. Chase didn’t see Corey anywhere, so he made his way over to J.T., who’d put some distance between himself and the man on the floor. “Where’s Corey, J.T.?”

  “I’m not real sure, but the cops are most likely on their way. We need to be ghostin’, Chase…NOW!”

  Cyrus came down the stairs with Khalid right behind
him, holding his hurt shoulder.

  “I’m checkin’ the office, and then we’re out. Do a quick search and meet me in the alley.”

  “Done,” J.T. said. He turned on his heel and started scanning for Corey.

  Chase went as unobtrusively as he could to the office. There was no sign of Corey. He exited the club through the door by the kitchen and came out by his bike. Chase heard the blow even before it connected, and he almost turned into it. Something really hard caught him in the side of the head. He staggered and went down to his left knee, fighting the urge to hold his head in his hands. Chase’s hand went instinctively to his razor and flicked it open. The small noise was loud in the relative quiet of the alley.

  “Quick! Put his head out!” someone whispered furiously.

  Two of them? Chase staggered back to his feet and whirled around, not caring if he fell or not, but buying time for him to get his other razor out.

  Someone grabbed him in a bear hug—a big dude—pinning his arms down.

  What the fuck are they doing? They should have just shot me. It woulda worked out better for them than this is going to, Chase thought of his attackers. He grinned—hell, he laughed—and slammed his foot into big boy’s unsuspecting knee.

  The huge man brayed in pain as his knee extended far beyond a healthy range of motion. This caused him to relax his grip, but he still had Chase across the chest.

  Chase brought his own arms up, his hands holding the razors with their blades pointed outward. In one swift motion, he brought his arms down forcefully and dug them deep into big boy’s wrists.

  Blood flew everywhere as the big boy screamed in pain and surprise, “He cut my fuckin’ wrists! You crazy bastard!”

  Chase pushed himself away from him and pivoted to reverse his position. He brought his blade up and caught him in the soft, vulnerable meat just under the shelf of his jaw. Chase drove the blade an inch into the flesh and dragged it down brutally through his jugular. When the man’s dying heart spurted the blood through the hole in his neck in great, gruesome bursts, Chase spun away, missing the worst of the shower as the big man thudded to the pavement.

  His partner was shaken, standing there with his mouth hanging open and his gun shaking in his hand.

  Chase was vaguely aware that he was grinning like a lunatic. He advanced on the dead man’s friend with a razor in each hand. The temporary survivor shook the willies enough to fire his gun, but his aim was shaky, and Chase was already ducking. The bullet ricocheted off the brick wall behind them, and Chase felt a distant hot pain in the back of his left calf. Chase popped back up in front of him like a spring-loaded psychopath. His left hand plunged the razor into the man’s belly and drew it across his body as his right hand slashed his throat. Again Chase twisted out of the spray, but he stumbled and fell in the process. He tried to get to his feet quickly, but the world twirled around him, violently, and spun away. Chase dropped to one knee again and put his throbbing head in his hands.

  After a couple of seconds, he managed to make it to his feet, but he teetered and stumbled dangerously to his right, slamming into the side of his bike and knocking it over off its kickstand. His equilibrium was all fucked up. Something dripped into his eye, and he wiped it away with the heel of his hand. It took him almost a full minute to realize that it wasn’t sweat, but blood: his blood.

  His vision began doubling up. Oh shit! I’m hurt! He was pissed, because getting hurt was usually reserved for his adversaries. What’d that nigga hit me with? Chase crouched against the wall and made himself a smaller target. He looked over at the last guy he’d greased. His intestines were hanging out of his body like some kind of jam-covered party streamers. He saw the gory scene clearly, but when he blinked and looked again, the image doubled, and he knew he was in trouble.

  Two blurry sets of legs turned into the alley, and Chase put his hand on Cyrus’s gun. If it was somebody looking for trouble, they might find it, even if it was in the form of a blast instead of a razor strike.

  “Smoke? You out here?”

  Relief washed over Chase when he recognized his little brother’s voice. He was glad Corey and J.T. were there, but he was even gladder to know that Corey was okay.

  “Corey…” he said. It came out in a whisper that he was sure they couldn’t hear.

  J.T. stepped over the guy whose guts were hanging out. “Look at this shit. He’s gotta be here somewhere. Walk careful. Try not to step in the blood, Corey.”

  “Where you want me to walk, Cyrus? On the fuckin’ wall like Spiderman?”

  Chase pushed himself to his feet and they stopped talking, drawing their hands reflexively to their weapons. “It’s…it’s me,” Chase squeezed out between the waves of pain in his head. “It’s Chase. I’m…I’m here.”

  The two hurried over to him. Corey looked very worried, and J.T. wasn’t exactly the picture of calm. Instinctively, they moved to carry him out, each of them taking one of his arms over his shoulder.

  “Wait a minute,” Chase said, before he paused and tried to gather his thoughts. They seemed to be doubling over like his vision. “Where’s your car, J.T.?”

  “I didn’t bring it. I rode with Corey. Where are you hurt, Chase?”

  Chase reflexively shook his head and was instantly sorry he’d made the simple gesture because Corey and J.T. became four people, then six. His head throbbed, and his knees turned to water. “My head. He hit me in my head. J.T., you gotta take my bike. Get it out of the alley. Corey, you drive.” He hoped he was making sense, but his tongue felt thick. “Take me home. I gotta go.”

  “Screw home. I’m takin’ you to the hospital,” J.T. said, flatly.

  “No!” Chase said, having a hard time pulling his tongue down from the roof of his mouth. Shit! Am I dying? If he was, he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. “Home,” he said again, and then everything went black.

  Chapter 16

  When Chase failed to call Bliss by eleven thirty, she put her clothes back on and headed to his place. She’d called his cell so many times that his voicemail was full, even though she was sure he’d turned his phone off. Bliss never got Chase’s voicemail more than once, and he usually called her right back. She was so worried about him that she couldn’t be still. When she got to his place, she let herself into his loft with her key and sat at the breakfast bar, watching the elevator, but she didn’t have enough patience to do that for long.

  She got up and went to the bedroom. The shirt he’d been wearing earlier was still on the bed. Bliss took her own blouse off and put on Chase’s shirt. It smelled like him, and she inhaled deeply as she closed her eyes and pulled the collar up. Bliss had only known Chase for three months, but he’d already left an indelible mark on her heart. She loved him strong and hard, and if he left her, it would be the end of her.

  She climbed into his bed with her clothes—and some of his—on. She put her head on his pillow and pulled the covers up. Silent tears ran down her face. Where is he? Why won’t he call me back? She curled into a ball and started praying for him—praying for them.

  She was starting to drift off when she heard the garage door going up, and Bliss was on her feet at once. She ran into the next room and stood by the breakfast bar with her heart slamming in her chest.

  The garage door went back down right away, but it took the elevator so long to get upstairs that she was about to press the button to go down herself, just when the door slid open. Bliss was totally unprepared for what lay behind those doors. It pushed the breath out of her body and made her so lightheaded that she thought she might pass out. She backed up with her hands over her mouth to hold the scream in.

  Corey and J.T. had Chase between them, his arms over their shoulders and hanging back limply. Their arms were under his knees, holding him off the floor in a sitting position. It was obvious he couldn’t walk. His head was lolled back so far that she could clearly see the scar under his jaw, and his face was turned away. He was unconscious, too, but the worst part was all the blood. />
  Most of it was dry, a putrid rusty brown color, but some of it was still bright red and moist. It was like some abstract painter had a bucket of it, dipped his brush, and just started splashing Chase like a goddamned canvas. It looked like he’d been wrestling in it. It was on his shirt, his pants, his gloves…even grimed into the bottoms of his goddamned sneakers! There were chains hanging off his jeans that hadn’t been there earlier, and Bliss wondered briefly what they were.

  Bliss, J.T., and Corey stared at each other silently for a moment before Corey said, “Uh…” for lack of anything else to say. It wasn’t the best thing to utter, but it broke everyone’s paralysis.

  J.T. actually smiled at Bliss. “I’m not gonna fill your head up with bullshit, Bliss. Could you step aside, please, and let us put him in his room? Once we put him down, I’ll come back and talk to you. You got my word on that, girl.”

  Bliss nodded with her hands still over her mouth.

  J.T. smiled again. “Maybe you can make us some coffee? I got a feeling we’ll be up all night.”

  Bliss nodded and stared at Chase as they brought him past her, with Corey avoiding her eyes. He had blood in his hair and down the left side of his face. His eyes were slightly open, revealing the crisp, whiskey-colored irises. The one on the right was surrounded by white, but the one on the left was completely bloodshot. Bliss gasped involuntarily as she watched them take her lover into the bedroom. What happened to him? It was obvious he’d been hit in the head, but all that blood! Was he shot? Is all that blood even his? It can’t be! Oh my God…is he…dead? Damn close to it? Who did this to my Chase? The questions raged on in her head, but she knew it would be a minute before she got any answers. She sat on the sectional and put her face in her hands for a moment to calm herself. She went back to what she’d been doing earlier: praying for him—praying and trying to tamp down her anger. She was angry at him for going to that stupid opening in the first place and for getting hurt like she was afraid he would. She was angry at J.T. and Corey for bringing him home instead of taking him to a hospital, where he so obviously belonged. She stood up, so scared and angry she couldn’t stop shaking. Fuck sitting here, and fuck getting coffee like a good little woman! I’m going back there to see what the hell’s going on, and I am calling a fucking ambulance.