by Parker, Zoey
“Welcome back, slugger,” Henry tipped the shot of whiskey he was holding towards Max before letting the liquid slide effortlessly down the back of his throat. Will was on the barstool beside him, nursing a beer. Both men still looked worn down and beaten, thanks to their night causing chaos at a local bar in Colridge.
“Hey,” Max dropped down onto a vacant stool beside Henry.
“Feeling better?” Henry’s breath stank of liquor. Max wondered how late in the day it was, and how useful his friends hoped to be in any sort of melee if they were already pretty drunk.
“A bit,” Max’ head started to throb once again but, he refused to take the pain medication his nurse had left for him. He needed a clear head if he was going to abandon his pack in Colridge, and save Brittany.
“Me? I’m itching for another round,” Henry dramatically cracked his knuckles to emphasize his point.
“Speak for yourself,” Aaron scoffed, gazing sadly at his beer. “I’m still recovering from the last round.”
“But this is the defining one,” Henry smacked his hand against the dirty bar and grinned maniacally. “This is the one that shows all those Red Riders assholes just who owns this town.”
“Yeah,” Max gave a sad smile. All around him the air was filled with excited chatter about how much blood would be spilled, how many teeth would get knocked out. The entirety of the Kings consisted of men born for violence; they came alive when they were cracking skulls. But more often than not, things went too far.
With a shudder, Max recalled the story he’d heard of the young man who had been disfigured with acid.
“He was Red Riders scum,” they’d declared with a dismissive shrug. “He’d had it coming.”
The perpetrators had lived off that act for years. Each time they came into the bar they were given free drinks and a thunderous round of applause led by Uncle Alex. Alex admired their savagery, liked how they’d helped make his pack infamous and feared. Back then, even Max had admired them, which made him feel shame now. But he was young and impressionable all those years ago, and he wanted to be revered like they were. So each time he went out with the gang, he was overly vicious. He’d bite off men’s ears, crack open their skulls and watch with morbid interest as their precious contents slid out onto the street.
But now things were different. Now there was Brittany and a reason to walk away from all the violence, all the madness.
“I’m bringing my little friend tonight,” Henry grinned. Max didn’t need to ask who his little friend was since he already knew. Henry’s friend was a machete he’d bought during a vacation to Mexico. If kept sharp enough and used correctly, it was capable of decapitating a man with one deadly blow. Not that Henry had ever achieved such a victory, and given his slurred words now, Max doubted he’d be able to pull it off tonight. Which meant that with the machete in hand, he would be capable of grievously maiming, but not killing a man, which in most cases would be worse. Max had heard the stories of men so badly beaten that they spent the rest of their lives eating through a straw or in a vegetative state.
“A fate worse than death,” The Red Riders would mutter amongst themselves whenever it happened.
“Do you think you really need it?” Max countered. People didn’t need to die or spend the rest of their natural born lives in a hospital. The Kings just needed to make a point, to scare the Red Riders out of Colridge.
“Your Uncle has said to leave no man alive,” Aaron explained gravely as he stared sadly into the distance.
“No man alive?” Max coughed out the words in shock. A brawl was one thing. But a massacre? That was something else entirely.
“He said we’re at war,” Henry explained as he raised his hand to order another shot of whiskey.
“Over what, over Colridge?” Max felt outraged.
“Hey man, we’re just the messengers here. You got a problem, take it up with your Uncle.”
Max was silent as he knew that to do so would be suicide.
“And we’re sorry about your girl,” Henry added, not meeting Max’ gaze. “If she gets caught up in shit tonight, just know that we’re sorry.”
“You should never have told him about her,” Max blinked back tears.
“We thought we were looking out for you,” Aaron offered quietly. “You know your Uncle’s policy when it comes to dating.”
“But my job is to look out for her,” Max raged, standing up and moving back from the bar.
“No,” Henry’s voice was suddenly low and threatening. “Your job is to look out for the pack.”
Max’ heart was hammering so loudly in his chest that it was almost deafening. He looked over at Henry and saw the warning look he was giving him. Deflated he dropped back onto his stool, knowing it was more than his life’s worth to make a scene when everyone was in such a volatile mood.
“Warn her if you must,” Henry said quietly, reaching for his fresh drink. “We’ll afford you that, but nothing more. Call her and tell her to get the hell out of Colridge as fast as she can.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Brittany sat in the bedroom she’d grown up in, with her knees drawn up to her chest. The walls, once a vibrant shade of pink had dulled to a rose-tinted hue. She could still remember the summer her Dad had painted her room for her. How even after they’d thrown the windows open wide, the house still smelled of paint for days.
“Do you like it sweetheart?” he’d asked her when he’d finished, his handsome face speckled with pink paint.
“I love it,” Brittany had gushed, beaming madly. Her bedroom had looked fit for a princess.
“It sucks,” Zack had scoffed from the doorway, his hair dyed black and hanging across his eyes like a gothic curtain.
Brittany had felt her chin start to wobble before her father enveloped her in his arms, shielding her from her brother’s dark comments. Even back then, when life was good, Zack had seemed distant and angry, as if he always knew the terrible fate which awaited them both.
“You okay?” Zack was once again in her doorway, only now he was a man instead of a boy. Although the same hidden demons seemed to dance behind his tired eyes.
“Yeah,” Brittany straightened against the wall. The narrow bed she was sitting on now seemed too small compared to the double one she had back in Colridge. Thinking of her apartment made her insides twist uncomfortably. What if she never again saw Colridge? Saw Max? As angry as she was at him, she still missed him, still loved him.
“You need to just hang tight here for a while,” Zack explained, casually leaning against the door frame. “At least until things blow over. I am so sorry for this Brittany.”
“How long will that be?”
Her brother shrugged. “Who knows?”
Brittany coughed to push against the tightness she suddenly felt in her throat. She was once again a prisoner in the family home, being held there by her brother’s will.
“I can’t stay here long,” she told him briskly. “I’ve got a job and - ”
“You need to forget all about your old life in Colridge,” Zack snapped. “It’s not safe for you there.”
Brittany blinked back tears. She couldn’t accept that everything her brother was saying was true, that Max was part of some dangerous motorcycle gang. That Max was capable of hurting people, that he may have even hurt the nice girl who worked in the bar in town.
“This is for your own good,” Zack continued. “You’ll thank me one day.”
“Hey, man. You’re out of beer,” Jameson called from the kitchen. Zack leaned back from the door to shout to his friend.
“I’ll run out and pick some more up. Are you okay to stay here?”
Brittany tensed. She knew what her brother wasn’t saying. Jameson was supposed to stay there and keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t go running back to Colridge. But why? What weren’t they telling her?
“I’ll come with you,” she dropped off the bed and dusted herself off.
“No,” Zack swiftly exten
ded his palm towards her, his expression severe. “You stay here, where it’s safe.”
“Zack, you’re being ridiculous - ”
“Brittany, just do as I say. Okay?” an edge had crept into her brother’s voice, which made Brittany slowly sit back down on the bed. She was starting to question who exactly she should be fearing.
“I’ll be back in like twenty minutes,” Zack was reaching into the pockets of his jeans, checking how much cash he had on him. “In the meantime, Jameson is here if you need anything.”
“Am I a prisoner here, Zack? Again? Really?”
“No,” Zack scoffed at the question. “Of course not.”
“But I can’t leave.”
“Brittany,” he sighed and took a step into her room. His face was softer now, as too was his voice. He once again looked took on the role of the concerned brother. “You saw what Max’s club did to Jameson? I’m just trying to keep you safe, you have to be able to see that.”
Brittany nodded.
“Good,” Zack reached forward and ruffled her hair the way he used to do when they were kids. Brittany couldn’t help but smile fondly at the gesture.
“Sit tight, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
Sitting once again on her bed with her back against the wall, Brittany listened to her brother’s departing footsteps, followed by the click of the front door closing, and shortly after that the roar of his motorcycle’s engine as he pulled out of the driveway. Sighing deeply, she tilted her head towards the ceiling. She’d lost count of how many hours she’d lie in her bed and look up at the cracks in the paint, daydreaming about how they might actually be some sort of secret map to a better life. Brittany had been so unhappy in her home after her parents died. And finally, she’d got out, found somewhere she could truly be herself only to have it all taken from her; to once again be back where she started. A solitary tear slid down her cheek and dropped onto her faded duvet. Brittany sniffed and wiped at her face, willing herself to be strong. But she needed Max more than ever, and he wasn’t there. Some strange woman had answered his phone, and now Brittany doubted if he even loved her anymore.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Max wasted no time leaving the bar. He beat a swift retreat through the crowd, ignoring the ache in his head from his fresh stitches. Once he was out on the parking lot, the cool air of the late afternoon hit him like a brick wall. The painkillers in his system made him feel woozy and almost drunk. Slowing, he reached for the exterior wall of the bar to steady himself.
“Come on, hold it together,” he urged himself. He fumbled for his cell phone and dialed Brittany’s number, before pulling it up to his good ear. Inhaling sharply, he listened to each elongated ring and prayed that she’d pick up.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Brittany jumped in surprise as her cell phone started ringing. Cautiously she removed it from her pocket and glanced at the number flashing up on the screen.
Max.
Her whole body tumbled off the bed like an uncoiled spring as she hastily closed her bedroom door, being careful not to make too much noise and attract Jameson’s attention. She could picture him on the sofa down the hall, pretending to watch television when he was actually listening out for her like some sort of prison warden.
For a moment, Brittany didn’t know whether to take the call. Her finger lingered over the green button as she bit her lip and battled with indecision. Finally, her heart won out over her head, and she accepted.
“Hi,” she hoped that her voice sounded as brittle and hurt as she felt.
“Hey,” Max sounded huskier than usual. And tired. What was going on with him lately? A pang of fear streaked through Brittany as she considered that maybe her brother was right about him.
“Where are you?” he croaked the question at her.
“I should ask you the same thing!” Brittany retorted contritely, hot tears burning in her eyes. “I called you earlier and some…some woman answered!”
“She was just…a friend,” Max replied vaguely. “I’m sorry if she was rude to you. Where are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“In your apartment?” Max sounded alarmed by this.
“No, home-home. With my brother and his friend.”
“Why are you there?”
Brittany shrugged to herself. “He came to pick me up earlier, insisting I needed to get out of Colridge.”
She heard Max swallow nervously on the other end of the line.
“A bar in Colridge got turned over last night,” she was shaking as she spoke, hoping against hope that Zack was wrong. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
“Brittany - ”
“Don’t even think about lying to me!”
“Yes,” Max sighed in defeat. “I was there. I was involved.”
Brittany clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from sobbing out loud. Max was a monster. She’d fallen in love with a beast. Trembling she scrambled back onto her bed needing to be close to the familiar duvet of her childhood.
“Are you part of some…some gang?” she could barely ask the question.
“Yes,” Max admitted softly. “But Brittany, it’s not like you think.”
“So, you don’t go around cruelly beating on people? You don’t throw acid onto a stranger’s face?”
“No, to the latter,” Max’ voice sounded fragile as though it might break. “Brittany, I’ve done some stuff I’m not proud of, God knows. I made some really bad choices when I was younger. But my uncle scooped me up when I had nothing and no one. When my Mom abandoned me, I didn’t have a big brother to step in and take care of me.”
“You’re making excuses,” Brittany seethed. “And just last night you were making bad choices. You beat up innocent people, Max! How could you!”
“Brittany, I’m sorry,” Max said, dejected. “I’m in too deep with this… lifestyle. And I want out. Truly I do. Even before I met you, I wanted out but you’ve given me something bigger to hope for. You’ve shown me the kind of life I really want.”
Brittany was softly crying. She felt like her world was tumbling around her like a flimsy house of cards.
“My brother was right about you,” she told him tearfully. “You need to stay the hell away from me.”
“Your brother?” Max sounded angry now. “He’s the one who told you I run with Skeleton Kings? I bet he failed to tell you how he knew that.”
“What?” Brittany wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “What do you mean?”
“Your brother rides with a rival gang, Brittany. He’s part of the fucking Red Riders. I imagine running dirty little errands for them, was a way to help him make decent money when you guys were younger. I heard about the guy who got hit with acid, I had nothing to do with that.”
“The Red Riders?” Brittany thought of Zack’s motorcycle, of how he worked long nights and came back with mysterious injuries. It all made sense, and she felt foolish for not having seen it before. She felt like she was drowning in all the lies she was being told by the men who were supposed to love her.
“Tonight your brother is going to return to Colridge to fight against my pack, because now we are at war. And I never wanted you to get caught up in this, Brittany. You have to know that.”
“My brother,” Brittany was shaking her head, not wanting to believe it.
“You need to get out of the house,” Max urged her. “I’ll come and get you. Together we will run away from all of this. Brittany, for you I’d give it all up. Let’s just get on my bike and ride until we run out of gas.”
“I can’t,” Brittany could barely talk through her waterfall of tears. “I can’t leave the house. My brother’s friend is keeping an eye on me. I’m supposed to stay here.”
“My gang knows about your brother,” Max explained grimly. “If things don’t go well tonight they’ll come to your home seeking revenge. You’re not safe there.”
Brittany blinked through her tears. In her heart, she knew
that her home hadn’t been safe since her parents died. The once vibrant room had dulled, taking with it all its magic and Brittany’s childhood dreams.
“I can try and sneak out,” she looked uncertainly at her window. But first she wanted to talk some sense into Zack, to stop him from going to war with the rival gang. If things went badly that night, she could risk losing both Zack and Max and that was just too awful to even contemplate.
“I need some time,” Brittany explained. “If you’re right about my brother then I have to try and stop him.”
“I’m coming for you,” Max promised.
Chapter Seventy-Eight