by Jc Emery
Every minute that passes is one minute closer to catastrophe where Rig and Daniel are betraying my family. I know Ruby wants to believe the best of Rig, but I’m not nuts and I’m not a liar.
“Never mind!” I shout. I don’t know what I expected from her, but it wasn’t that.
Now more desperate than anything, I scope out the backyard looking for somebody, anybody that I think will listen to me. Off by the red barn, Jeremy stands beside Rink and Dunce, who have a couple of joints they’re passing around a much larger crowd.
When I approach, Jeremy’s attention is completely on me. I take immediate advantage of that and say loudly, “I need your help. It’s important.”
“With what?” Jeremy snaps. His attitude fucking sucks, and if I didn’t need him so badly right now, I wouldn’t even deal with his shit. But I do. I have no idea where my dad is, and Aunt Ruby was really no help at all.
Walking up to him, I place my hand on his lower back, close to the handgun he keeps tucked there. “It’s important, and it’s private. Please stop being such a dick,” I say quietly. Okay, so that didn’t come out exactly as I had planned.
“Giving the boy his balls back?” Dunce says with a smirk.
I narrow my eyes at him and flip him the bird. He’s a fucking prospect, not a patched brother, and doesn’t have shit over me. Unfortunately, he keeps forgetting his rank.
“Check your attitude, Cheyenne,” he says in a dismissive tone. His eyes cut to the men around him like he’s looking for approval or something. “Need to learn your place, babe.”
Frustration builds, my hands shake at my sides, and I suck in an unsteady breath. Everybody’s being so freaking difficult about helping me, and it’s not something that I can shout out to the masses. Discretion, even with rowdy bikers, is important. I force my hands to steady and take a deep breath, telling myself all the while that I need to play nice.
“It’s about Michael,” I whisper-shout in Jeremy’s ear.
His eyes grow wide and he nods, immediately turning and pulling me aside, out of earshot of everybody else.
“What’s going on?”
“Rig and Daniel are about to take Michael from Ian’s and give him to Scavo,” I say in a frantic rush as low as I can.
“Rig?” Jeremy questions in disbelief. “He’s Detroit’s president.”
“I didn’t want to believe it either, but I know what I heard.”
“Fuck. There’s no way you could be wrong?” He kicks into the dirt below his feet.
“No,” I say firmly. I wouldn’t be here right now if there was a chance I was wrong.
Jeremy nods and pulls out his cell, dials my dad’s number, and brings it up to his ear, waiting for him to answer. He groans, his eyes darting from Ruby and Jim’s house to the tree line that hides Ian’s cabin. His eyes travel across the property, eventually landing on Rig, who stands with a beer to his lips, talking to Uncle Jim near the tiny pond adjacent to the barn.
By the third ring, Jeremy’s clearly lost his patience. With his eyes constantly darting to Rig and Jim, he takes off toward the trees, mindful of his speed. So far it seems as though Rig hasn’t seen us. His attention is elsewhere for the moment, and I can only hope it stays that way.
When Dad answers the phone, Jeremy says quickly, “They’re about to jailbreak Junior.” Pause. “Right now.” Another pause. “Chey overheard Rig and Daniel.” Then he’s off the phone and moving faster to the tree line.
I follow Jeremy, picking up my pace to catch up with him, but my movements are too slow—they catch Rig’s attention. He lowers the beer, gives Jim a nod, and turns his entire body toward me, walking away from their conversation. Rig pulls his phone from his pocket, types a short message, and then shoves it back in his pocket. He takes another drink from the bottle in his hand and then slowly walks back toward the house. Jim eyes him carefully before answering his phone. I can’t tell if he says anything or just listens for the few seconds he’s on the call. Then he hangs up and observes me and Jeremy as we nervously head for the trees.
Jeremy stops, but we’re moving so fast that I don’t notice until it’s too late and I’ve slammed into his back. His eyes are affixed in the direction of the house. He sucks in a breath and mutters, “Shit.”
I track his gaze to the line of men stalking toward us—all heaving muscles, grim expressions, and major firepower. Ryan, Ian, Diesel, Bear, Rink, Dad, Wyatt, Duke, and a few men I don’t know charge forward on Wyatt’s hand signal in the air. It almost looks like something out of a movie, all these dangerous men in full-on warrior mode. Jim stands in his same place he’s been in, his attention focused on Rig. He raises his arm in the air, two fingers above the rest, and he points to Rig, who is now almost past the house and heading for his bike. Duke and Ryan fall back and pause a moment before taking off after him, both have their guns raised and ready to shoot if necessary.
I know what I heard, and I know there’s no mistaking the betrayal. Rig—who I’ve called uncle my entire life—had the nerve to refer to my family as idiots. Anger wells in my heart, spreads through my veins, and ignites a fire in me that I doubt I can control.
“We got this. Stay here, babe,” Jeremy says, and he takes off at full speed, still several hundred yards in front of the angry line of men. I don’t even have my gun on me. It would be suicide to go after him and willingly throw myself into the mix with these men.
Idiots.
The mere reminder of the insult Rig so easily delivered about my family heats my body, propelling me forward. I take off running after Jeremy, through the yard toward the back of the property where Ian lives. Jim and Ruby’s property butts up to two separate roads, but it’s not easy to get to the back road from their house unless your vehicle has four-wheel drive. Ian’s house is more like a cabin, small in nature and made of a fine wood. It sits far enough back from the road and is shrouded in enough redwood trees that it would be hard for a stranger to even know it’s there. It makes an excellent safe house.
So I run, my legs straining and my lungs on fire. Jeremy stumbles up ahead and loses some of his lead. The ground here gets hilly and dips in places you can’t really see. There’s a way to run over it without losing any steam—a lesson I learned from my days under Ryan and Ian’s care—but without knowing to pick your feet up higher and jump from one hill to the next, you’ll risk twisting your ankle thanks to the unpredictable terrain.
I clear the hills in record time, leaving Jeremy in the distance, and dash into the trees without thinking to pause. The thick redwoods make seeing anything or anybody out here difficult at any distance. If I were trying to sneak up on someone, I would hide in the shadows and trunks of the trees, but I’m not.
I’m the distraction.
I just hope the distraction doesn’t get shot at in the process.
The cabin comes into view in the distance. A small lot has been cleared, giving the house maybe a twenty-foot clearance on all sides from the towering redwoods. The cabin sits up about five feet from the dampened earth with a large and inviting front porch and wide steps leading up to the mosaic-glass front door. The roots of the redwoods curve and snake through the dirt under the cabin, which is why it’s raised. These trees are epic in size and have been known to destroy strip malls with their roots sneaking up through the earth, showing us mere humans who’s the more powerful of the two.
I’m so focused on the roots under the cabin and checking their shadows for men who might be hiding that I don’t even see the fallen log before me until my shin’s gotten intimately acquainted with the damn thing. I fall forward into the mix of dirt and moss, the skin of my leg tearing as it drags against the dead tree bark. Instinctively, I cry out but don’t move. If I crawl forward, I’ll lose even more flesh. If I lift it, I’ll spare myself more pain, but it’ll be awkward at best, and I’m not certain I’ll be successful. Giving the lifting method my best shot, I bite down on my bottom lip and fight the pained cries that build in my chest. Pushing up from the earth, I
’ve managed to get my good leg bent and prop up my knee in the damp soil when a large, flat, and hard object shoves me back down.
I twist my head just enough to see a man with olive skin, brown hair, and a black suit towering over me with a gold gun pointed at my head. With a sneer, he says, “Don’t fucking move.”
Leaves crunch, branches snap, and heavy breaths sound behind me. A gun cocks from somewhere at a close distance, the noise of the metal sliding somehow sounding so foreign out here surrounded by all this nature. This should be a peaceful place, not a place for war. Jeremy was right behind me. It has to be him. Sure enough, his voice warms my cooling body despite the anger laced within.
“Let her go!”
“You could kill me, boy,” the man with the gold gun says, “but then your bitch dies, too.”
I focus on Jeremy’s voice and his labored breathing, letting his presence bring me comfort. Anything else and I’ll either cry or start cursing. I never wanted to be one of those girls who gets herself in trouble and has to be saved. I wanted to do the saving. It’s why I got myself expelled from school in my last semester. It’s why I put my freedom on the line with Dad by disappearing and lying about it all the time. It’s what I’ve dedicated the last several months of my life to—helping the club—not being some damsel in distress.
“Tell your men to stand down at the trees. Once we have what we came for, I’ll release her,” the man above me says. In a fantasy world, Jeremy would be such a quick shot that this guy wouldn’t stand a chance. He could shoot him in the head, and I could crawl away from his falling corpse. But realistically, I know if Jeremy takes a shot, I’m dead.
Turning my head to the side, I see Jeremy click the safety on his gun and toss it onto the ground near the man’s feet. His eyes catch mine for half a second, and he gives me the most subtle nod known to man. Or maybe I’m imagining it, because that nod is telling me to grab for the gun. As Jeremy retreats into the woods, walking backward with his arms in the air, he shouts, “Stand down! They got Miss Priss!”
The man presses his foot even harder into my back, his attention focuses in on the gun just on the other side of his feet, and a sinister grin takes over his face. His eyes seem to dance with some kind of sick pleasure that I wish I didn’t see. Bang! A loud and terrifying noise rings out above me. The pressure from the man’s foot disappears as a shadow is cast over me, and a moment later, his inanimate body falls to the forest floor beside me. He lands with his face turned my direction and his torso twisted in an unnatural manner. The gaping bullet wound at his temple serves as a fountain for his blood that soon coats his lifeless features, turning this once cruel man into nothing more than food for the crows when they descend.
“Stand up,” a thick New York accent orders from behind me. I jump in place, so wholly mesmerized and disgusted by the dead man who lies beside me. I scramble to my feet, terrified of delaying, and try to mentally brush off the ache from my battered shin. When I pivot to turn toward the voice, an arm shoots out and pushes me forward and demands that I not turn around. “You will live through this should you choose to heed my advice. I came for only one thing and do not wish war with Forsaken.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I say. Every word is laced with venom, fully intent on pissing him off. There’s a reason this man killed the other guy, though neither are on my side, and that worries me. I barely understand why everything’s gone to hell around here let alone entertaining the idea of more than one organization trying to get their hands on mafia royalty. This shit is probably why Dad and his brothers drinks so much and smoke so much of their own product. Otherwise, I don’t know how they get through any given day.
“Chey!” Dad screams from beyond the trees. Rustling sounds explode, along with the sound of a herd of men trampling the untouched earth.
“Stand down, or she’s dead!” the man screams as loud as I’m thinking he’s capable of.
“It wasn’t me!” I shout. “I’m fine!” Lies. I’m so not fucking fine, but what the hell am I supposed to say? No, please come and kill this psychopath who’s going to kill me before you get here? I’ll pass, thanks.
The sounds stop, and everything is quiet in the forest once more. Dad barks so loud that his voice echoes around me, saying, “We’re gonna get you out safely, baby girl!”
The man pushes me forward with his hand once more. “Take me to the front door.”
I comply, walking slowly and avoiding any more stray pieces of wood I could fall on. As it is, my shin makes walking uncomfortable with the way my jeans have torn and rub against the wound. But I don’t focus on that, or else I might cave and lose my mind right here and now. No, one foot in front of the other and eyes on the ground. Jeremy’s gun is less than five feet away, and I have to get back to it. He wouldn’t have dropped it without being forced to if he didn’t intend for me to grab it.
“Good girl,” the man says in praise of, I suppose, my not fighting him. “That man would have killed you for sport. I’m not that cruel, but I will sacrifice you for the principe if I must.” We come to a block of redwoods that forces us to deviate from our straight path to the house. I choose to go to the right, bringing me closer to Jeremy’s gun, now only about three feet away.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” he says, catching where my attention has drifted. He barely has the words out when another man approaches, disturbing the quiet forest with his heavy footfalls, from someplace behind me. The man behind me spins around at the noise and lets out a relieved sigh.
“What’s with the gunfire?” the newcomer asks with a similar East Coast flair to his speech. I duck down quietly and cringe at the pain that radiates from my shin but am careful to stay as silent as possible. The newcomer’s eyes fall to the dead man only feet away, and he lifts his gun toward the man who killed him. “Tony was right,” he says to the killer. “You’ve turned on your family—and for what? A fucking rat and a prince who doesn’t deserve the legacy he’s been gifted.”
My mind races to process this new information while I slowly lean toward the gun. It’s barely out of reach, and I don’t know if I can get to it without making more noise. I’m a pretty good shot—Dad’s seen to that—but I’m no expert. I’m not Ian, who can accurately hit his target even in motion and without much visibility.
“You forget that Tony doesn’t have the rank to give anybody orders. He’s a fucking soldier running around like a capo or underboss, making decisions he has no goddamn right to make,” the killer says. His voice is calm and smooth, triggering a memory from recent months. The same voice came from the man who stood against my Bug in the school parking lot telling me he needed to speak with my dad. Leo Scavo.
“Tony represents our future.”
“If Tony is our future, then I want none of it.”
“I’ll make sure your mother remembers you as a man of honor,” the man tells Leo as he cocks his gun. Even standing behind Leo, I can see how angry he is. His neck turns red, and his shoulders straighten like he’s preparing for a fight.
If I don’t do something to distract the unnamed man, he’s going to kill Leo, and I’ll be in a worse situation than I already am. Thinking quickly on how to handle the situation, I stretch my arm out for the gun but come up short by no more than three inches. I’m leaning too far to the side and lose my balance, falling on my hip. The rustling of the fallen leaves and twigs beneath me redirects the attention of both men.
The man I don’t know narrows his dark eyes and lowers his gun until I’m staring down the barrel. Leo steps off to the side and moves to cock his gun as discreetly as possible. From his new angle, he’s better equipped to take the other man out. The stranger keeps his gun pointed at my head but turns his body and face toward Leo.
“Prove to me that you’re still a standup guy,” he says to Leo.
I may have grown up with a rowdy motorcycle club and not a mafia family, but a lot of the language is interchangeable. This guy has already called Leo’s loyalty into question
once and got away with it, but doing it twice is no doubt dangerous. With any luck, Leo will take this guy out like he should. If it were my dad, he wouldn’t stand for such an insult.
Sure enough, Leo raises his gun and points it at the guy’s head. “I owe you nothing. Do not forget that.”
The man steps forward, creeping closer to me, and with his attention still on Leo, he smiles. It’s a sick combination of amusement and arrogance that I can’t stomach. He seems to think Leo is the betraying the family because he’s not on board with Tony’s agenda. I may not be privy to even half of what’s going on between the club and the Mancuso crime family, but I know the basics. Tony is the reason Alex had to leave New York. Without his bullshit temper tantrum, nobody ever would have had to know that Alex made the mistake of trusting the wrong person. As far as I can see it, if Leo isn’t onboard with Tony, then he’s not really that much of a threat to us. He told me the man he shot would have taken pleasure in hurting me. Other than keeping the peace—and right now that means keeping me alive—Leo had no reason to kill that man. He could have let him hurt me and then used him to help get to Michael, but he didn’t. He didn’t have to kill him right then—he chose to. Maybe, just maybe, Leo isn’t really the enemy after all.
“Then you’ve made your choice.” The man moves to redirect his gun toward Leo.
I have to act now, or I’ll lose my chance. Reaching for Jeremy’s gun, I lift it quickly, unlock the safety, cock the barrel back, and train it on the man who is set on killing the only person who might be able to stop the bloodshed.
The man’s eyes slide over to me and widen in surprise. Shock registers on his face for just a moment before he masks it with a cool indifference and corrects his aim to Leo’s chest. Leo has been still all this time, seemingly waiting to react to whatever may happen around him. There are three people, and all three of us have a weapon and know how to use it. Unless two of us can manage to form an alliance, these woods are going to get very bloody very fast.