by S. Nelson
“Okay,” she agreed, pulling her hand from mine to root through her purse. Finding her cell, she handed it to me and I input my name and number before giving it back. “I feel better knowing I can reach you.”
She looked like she wanted to say something else, possibly apologize for being so scared, but she remained silent.
“Call me if you need to. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
Uncertainty weighed me down as I walked out of the cabin, and while I had no idea why, I knew the woman standing on the other side of the door had just changed my life forever.
Tripp
The smell of burning flesh assaulted me as soon as I stood at the top of the basement stairs. Pulling my shirt up to cover my nose, I tentatively walked down the steps, curious as to what the hell was goin’ on down there.
“How does that feel, you motherfucker?” I heard Marek shout, the roughness of his voice quite unsettling. I knew Psych’s demise was being carefully cultivated by our leader, but it wasn’t healthy anymore. Not that any type of torture was healthy, but his revenge against Sully’s father was taking a toll on him none of us could have predicted. He was coming apart piece by piece, so quickly I feared there’d be nothing left to the man I followed without question and admired immensely. He was transforming into someone else, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. We just had to wait and see what hell he’d eventually succumb to when this shit was all over.
Stepping into the shrouded darkness of the basement, a single dull overhead light doing its best to illuminate the dank space, I saw Psych still shackled to the wall, hanging limply from the iron restraints above his head. The man was a shell of his former shelf, his dark, shoulder-length hair greasy and limp. He looked like death. Fuck, he even smelled like it.
Marek stood in front of him, a blowtorch in his right hand. The flames lit up the darkened corner of the room, and when the torch touched Psych’s chest, his garbled groans filled the air. I hated the leader of the Savage Reapers as much as anyone else, but what Marek had been doing to him since he’d taken him had become too much. I wanted to slit the guy’s throat and end it already, but I would never steal Psych’s last breath. That was for Marek to do. His final ‘fuck you’ to the man who’d been his biggest enemy. The man whose club had killed his father during a routine run. And the man who’d abused Sully her entire life.
The Knights and the Reapers had been at war for as long as I could remember, going back decades; that alone was justification for killing Psych. But add in all the evildoings that he horrifically subjected his own daughter to, and it was a recipe for . . . exactly what had been going on ever since they’d stolen him from the warehouse where he held Adelaide and Kena hostage.
“Prez.” I walked up behind Marek and placed my hand on his shoulder. He flinched but never turned around. Removing the torch from Psych, he lowered his arm, the flame still on and bright.
“’Bout fuckin’ time you got here, Tripp. What the fuck took you so long?”
“Sorry,” I said, continuing to talk to his back. “Had some stuff I had to take care of.”
“Does that stuff include the new stripper from Indulge?”
What the hell? How does he know about Reece?
I didn’t respond, instead trying to remove the torch from Marek’s hand, a gesture he didn’t appreciate. “I’m not done yet. Step back,” he ordered, raising his arm and bringing the torch so close to Psych’s leg the flame licked the hair before burning through the flesh of his thigh. Psych’s head shot up and at first I thought he’d tried to plead with me, but the sounds coming out of his mouth were nothing more than hallowed moans. Sounds of torment so unnerving I had to turn my back and block out the image in front of me.
After several minutes, Marek finally laid the torch on the metal rolling cart, the clanking sound grabbing my attention. I thought maybe he was done for the evening, that he’d grab his cut he’d laid over the chair in the corner and walk from the room without another word.
How wrong I was.
What happened next flipped my leader’s world upside down, ripping his guts from him, taunting and clouding everything he’d ever known.
Psych’s lips parted and incoherent sounds poured forth. He was trying to say something, but we couldn’t make out what exactly until he cleared his throat, wincing in obvious pain before attempting to speak again.
“What did you say?” Marek shouted, stepping close to the shackled man.
“Family.” One word, mangled or not, we both understood.
“You don’t know the first thing about that fuckin’ word,” Marek spit at him, his fists clenching uncontrollably. The vein in his neck throbbed and I feared for my leader’s life if he didn’t get ahold of himself.
“Maybe you should just ignore him, Prez,” I encouraged. “Nothin’ this piece of shit says is worth listening to.”
“I know.” Even though Marek acknowledged what I’d just said, it didn’t stop him from probing Psych to continue.
“Fuc . . . kin’ fam . . . ily,” Psych spoke again, the two words not making much sense to us.
Gripping the strands of his hair, Marek balled his fist and punched Psych in the face, snapping his head to the side from the jolt. “What are you tryin’ to say? Spit it out already.”
Psych inhaled a shallow breath before opening his mouth once more. “I said—” He coughed, garnering whatever strength he had left before continuing, “Fuckin’ family.” Another short breath. “How does . . . does it feel . . . to fuck . . . your family?” Each word was strained, each syllable rattling the unbearable tension in the air. Psych didn’t make any sense, but he pressed on nonetheless. The evil glint in his eyes proved he knew he’d gotten his captor’s attention. Even in his current state, barely hanging on to life, he reveled in fucking with Marek’s head.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about? You’re not makin’ any sense,” Marek growled, his frustration rubbing off on me.
“Yeah, what the hell are you trying to say, Reaper.” His club’s name tasted like poison on my tongue, but I refused to say his name. Something tangible bristled in the air surrounding all of us, and had I known what it was I would have killed Psych before he parted his lips once more.
Shifting his feet, the clank of the chains binding him to the wall filling the air, Psych lifted his head the best he could and glared at Marek. “Why do you . . . think . . . this war started, boy? Huh?” He dropped his head for a brief moment, doing his best to gain momentum for what was coming next. With a broken jaw, it was hard for him to speak so when he did, he did so slowly, mumbling most of his words.
“Because your fuckin’ club couldn’t stick to your territory and got greedy. The Reapers intercepted a shipment meant for the Knights, and shit popped off. A few of our men, my father’s men, paid the ultimate price. All because of you.”
The lines on Marek’s face deepened, the redness of his eyes intensifying with the stress barreling around inside him.
The prickling unease in the room heightened, drawing us all into its clutches. I moved closer to Marek. It was intentional. My gut told me he was gonna need my support in the next few minutes.
“That’s not why,” Psych said, coughing up blood before spitting it out, the string of saliva hanging from his lips while he spoke again. “It’s because I fuc . . . ked your. . . .” His words trailed off while he succumbed to another coughing fit. Strangled breaths of air tempted his life, but he pressed on. “Mother,” he finally finished.
Marek’s eyes widened as he took a step back. I read his body language; all he wanted to do was decimate whatever was left of Psych’s body, but he restrained himself. Barely. Marek glanced toward me, a silent plea in his gaze before he turned his attention back on the Reaper.
I was now certain that the Knights Corruption leader would be lost in a haze of rage . . . and perpetual agony.
“You’re lyin’!” I shouted in Marek’s defense.
Completely ignoring me
, he continued to focus on the man unraveling in front of us. “I’d say ask your ol’ man, but . . . he’s rottin’ in the ground.” Psych could barely breathe, yet he somehow mustered up enough strength for a sinister laugh. The man was evil incarnate; I was convinced of it now more than ever before.
“You’re just sayin’ this shit to fuck with me because you know I’m gonna snatch your life from you soon, and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.” Marek began pacing, mumbling to himself the entire time.
“I’m not. It’s . . . the truth.” Psych’s chest constricted, more blood spurting from his mouth and hitting the concrete under his feet. “Forcing that bitch wasn’t what fucked with your ol’ man,” he spit out. “It was when she . . . she got kno. . . .” He took a breath. “Knocked up . . . that did it.”
Marek halted all movement and whipped his head toward Psych. I tried to interfere but I was too late. He rushed toward the wall and pressed his forearm across his enemy’s throat, screaming and shouting at him the entire time. I saw the look in Psych’s eyes. He knew he’d gotten to him. He’d managed to pluck at the raveling thread holding Marek together and completely destroy it.
“You worthless piece of shit! You’ll say anything just to goad me. Why? Do you want me to end your pathetic existence? To relieve you of this torture? Because that ain’t gonna happen. So spew all the garbage you want because I know it’s a lie.” Marek took a quick breath. “My mother was only pregnant one time. With me.”
Psych pushed back against Marek’s arm, getting as close to his face as he could. “I know.”
All of a sudden I found it difficult to breathe, my lungs seizing in astonishment. And if I’d felt that way, what the hell was Marek goin’ through?
“You know . . . what . . . that means? Do ya . . . son?” I swore I heard the last piece of Marek’s sanity splinter apart. “I’ll ask ya . . . again.” Psych’s chest convulsed in a short coughing fit, blood dripping off his chin, making him look like a madman. “Do you like . . . fucking family?”
Vehemently shaking his head, Marek released his hold on Psych and backed up, knocking into the rolling cart. “You’re fuckin’ lyin’!” he roared. “You’ll say anything at this point.”
“’fraid it’s true. Son.”
“Stop saying that!” Marek cried out, unraveling further with every second. “No,” he whisper-shouted. “No, it’s not true. You would’ve said something before today. You would’ve tortured my ol’ man with that shit.” Marek’s eyes darkened the longer he engaged Psych.
“You th . . . think I’d ever claim yo . . . you? You’re the fuckin’ enemy. The sh . . . shit under my shoe,” he sputtered, more blood escaping his mouth.
“Shut the hell up, Reaper!” I shouted, stepping closer with a knife gripped tightly in my hand. His eyes flew to the weapon and when I took another step toward him, he grinned. He wanted me to stab him, probably prayed for it, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of killing him. For as much as I wanted Marek to end him right then, I knew he’d do it when he saw fit.
“Tell me . . . somethin’ . . . son,” Psych goaded, “how does it . . . feel knowin’ you were . . . fuckin’—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I yelled, hoping my shouts would drown out his garbled words. But they didn’t. Nothing would stop Psych from having the final word, pushing the president of the Knights into madness.
“Your sister?” Psych finished, grinning like the biggest fool before his head fell in utter exhaustion.
Tripp
Everything happened so fast I didn’t have time to intervene, which was probably for the best, all things considered. I didn’t want to be the one to step in and try to calm Marek down enough to reason with him. Otherwise, I’d probably be the one sucking in my last breath.
In the blink of an eye, Marek grabbed a knife from the cart and barreled toward Psych, the old man’s eyes widening a fraction before the corners of his thin, cracked lips curved into an ominous grin.
“Marek!” I shouted, not quite sure what else I was gonna say after calling out his name. Whatever he did to Psych was justified, but I feared if he killed him now he would never get the answers he needed. But maybe he didn’t care about that. Hell, he didn’t appear as if he cared about anything but snatching Psych’s life and sending him straight to hell. Exactly where he belonged.
His arms were a blur of movements, blood spurting forth from Psych’s body so fast his life source coated the floor in mere seconds, expanding and covering ground so quickly I had to take a step back or the crimson river would have surrounded my boots.
Marek had finally lost it, his hand plunging the knife into the Reaper over and over again, ripping open the thinly veiled skin covering his organs. At one point, soon after he first attacked, Psych’s bowels started to spill from his body. But that didn’t stop Marek. It seemed to only fuel his rage, pushing him beyond the scope of sanity. Surprisingly, Psych was still alive, his short breaths few and far between, his lungs amazingly still functioning. That was until Marek plunged the knife through Psych’s chest, directly into his heart. Twisting the blade ensured our enemy would leave this world in the next few seconds.
When he finally exhaled his last connection to this life, Psych’s entire body went slack, pulling on the chains and testing their hold. Dropping the knife to the floor, Marek finally retreated until his back hit the wall, his eyes on Psych the entire time, as if he weren’t completely convinced he’d died. My eyes followed my prez’s steps. When he finally slid down the wall and hung his head in his hands, his mind, body and soul completely defeated, only then did I glance over at the state of our enemy.
The sight was something out of a fuckin’ horror movie. It looked like Jason Voorhees had destroyed Psych with a machete. His stab wounds were so extensive I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next started. Most of the skin was completely shredded, half of the damage coming from being burned off, the rest from Marek’s uncontrollable rage. Some of Psych’s organs were exposed and hanging from his still form, the image regrettably burned into my memory forever.
“It can’t be true,” Marek whispered. The room was eerily silent, allowing me to hear every disbelieving word he uttered. “He was lyin’,” he continued, speaking to himself more than to me. But I needed to answer and try to bring him back to reality, whatever that might look like now.
“Fuck, Prez,” I comforted, squatting down so we were closer to eye level. “He could have definitely been lying.” What I failed to say was, “And he could have been telling the truth. Sully could really be your sister.”
Dropping onto my ass, I braced myself against the wall and mirrored the leader of the Knights. And that’s how we stayed for at least an hour, both of us trying to come to grips with what Psych had said. Whether or not Marek wanted to admit it or not, the Reaper could have very well been telling the truth, saving his final blow of retaliation for the end.
“It ain’t good, brother,” I exhaled into the phone. I’d called Stone when I didn’t know what else to do. “He’s completely lost it. You need to grab a couple of the men and get over here.” A few choice words from the VP of our club and he fell silent. “Oh, and make sure to bring the cage ’cause Prez is in no shape to ride back on his own.” Finishing the conversation, I hung up and paced in the kitchen, looking inside the fridge a few times, hoping that some alcohol would magically appear each time the light went on.
I tried to persuade Marek to come upstairs, but he refused to budge from the spot he’d glued himself to on the floor. Every now and then he’d glance over at Psych, vehemently curse, and then drop his head again, mumbling incoherently and sounding like a certified crazy person. Maybe he was. Maybe he’d gone off the deep end and split from reality. Looking at him, anyone would agree. Parts of his hair stuck up, his hands gripping the strands in delirium. His eyes were bloodshot. His month-old beard was unkempt, and blood covered his hands and clothes.
He looked like a deranged killer.
Wel
l . . . truth wrapped its ugly hands around that new reality.
I jumped to my feet two hours later when I saw headlights pull up the driveway, the squeak of the garage door solidifying that reinforcements were there. Rushing to meet them, I rounded the van to the driver’s side. “Stone, thank God!” I wasn’t normally one for such exclamations, but the situation I was in surely called for one.
“Where is he?” Ryder patted me on the shoulder as he passed, Trigger and Jagger hot on his heels. Their only priority was getting to their president, but I needed to fill them in on just what they would walk into once they breached the basement door.
“Hold up,” I shouted, following them through the kitchen. Trigger grabbed the handle and just as he tried to yank the door open, I slammed my palm on the wood to make sure I had my say before they went down there. “I’ve seen some nasty shit in my life. I’ve done some nasty shit, but what’s down there is somethin’ else.” The seriousness of my tone left no room for doubt. Only when I had all of their attention did I continue. “Marek lost his shit. For real, and Psych paid the price.”
“Good,” Jagger sneered, his jaw clenching while he waited for something more to come out of my mouth.
“I’m not sayin’ he didn’t deserve every bit of our leader’s fury, but something was said down there that pushed Marek over the edge. And I’m not sure if he can come back from it, especially if it’s fuckin’ true.” I mumbled the end of my statement but I knew damn well every man standing in front of me heard me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Stone rushed forward, grabbing the handle and trying to pull the door open. But I kept it closed, even when our VP gave me a stern, disapproving look.
“I think I should let Marek tell you.” Yeah, I wasn’t about to tell them that our president may have married his own half-sister.
“Then back the hell up and let us down there, nomad,” Trigger gritted out, mirroring everyone else’s look of anger.