Existential (Fallen Aces MC Book 4)

by Max Henry

  “What the fuck is so funny?” he snaps, shoving me roughly against the pole.

  “A fucking cornfield,” I splutter out as my laughter turns to tears. “Corn. I hate corn.”

  He tucks his fingers into the top of my shirt, his gun pointed at my head with his other hand, and jerks down on the fabric. It rips a little, two more solid yanks getting it started properly. My shoulders hurt where the straps have dug in before the cotton gave way, yet I choose to stare at the sky and silently cry as he literally peels my clothes from my body.

  I don’t have it in me to physically fight him anymore. I’ve tried and failed so many times, that I’m afraid if I fail again I won’t have any strength left in me to endure what he’s about to do.

  “You’re a coward,” I leer at him as he yanks my boots off, gun firmly planted in my gut.

  “Really?” He laughs, short and bitter. “So what does that make Hooch? Pretty sure the guy’s so soft he has a fuckin’ vagina.”

  I shunt my knee toward Digits’ face, yet he reels to the left, avoiding contact. The gun slips down my stomach until he has the business end pointed at the apex of my thighs.

  “Try that again, and I’ll have a much sloppier hole to play with.”

  He continues to undress me, the overcast day providing some respite as the sun comes and goes in bursts. I stare up at the clouds, losing myself in their beauty, fantasizing what it would be like to walk among them … anything to take me away from reality.

  “Turn around and hug the pole.”

  I refuse—my final stand.

  He manhandles me into position instead, the splintered wood stabbing painfully at my chest and stomach, and lancing my arms as he pulls them tightly together.

  I don’t recall how I end up tied in place, how many times he wraps the nylon rope around my wrists and elbows, or what kind of knots he does. I block it all out and choose to watch the beetle that climbs the pole past my face instead, drawing patterns in my mind between the hues of its brown back.

  I find solace in nature, and in the most ugly of experiences, I find she’s at her most beautiful.

  The stalks of corn sway on the breeze that kicks up as Digits’ unwelcome hands rove over my body. I tune into their mesmerizing dance, feeling my own body gently lilt to the same rhythm as I block out the vulgar suggestions and empty threats falling from Digits’ mouth as he takes my body without permission.

  The yellow tufts erupting from the ears change in hue as they move in and out of the sunlight, and in those golden shades I find myself lost in a memory. Golden sands; the first time I’d seen the ocean, a year after leaving home. I was struck by my insignificance in that moment, and it’s all I can do now to remind myself that these moments Digits takes from me, no matter how painful, will only be a fleeting flash of color against life’s backdrop.

  I am me, who I am as a person, not what my body is in this moment.

  He’ll never be able to take that.

  My arms tire, and the splinters dig in as I sag without his brute force holding me up. He’s finished, but I get the feeling the game has just begun. A camera shutter sounds, and I lift my head enough to see him standing to the side with his phone held high to capture me in my freshly ravaged shame.

  “Been nice knowin’ you, Dagne,” he announces cheerily as he packs his loose items back into the bag: a roll of tape, an unused length of rope. “I knew when I first laid eyes on you that you’d been put in my path for a reason.” His hard eyes hold mine, and I find nothing. No emotion. No regret. No recognition of what he’s done. “Now I know why.”

  His boots crunch into the distance as the daylight fades to the warm hues of the afternoon. My clothes lay flat, within grasp if my hands were free, taunting me with their comfort and familiarity. The beetle returns, crawling over my arm as it makes it’s way back down to the earth below, and as I wince through the pain of a dozen new splinters, I sink down to join it.

  Resigned.

  Redundant.

  Ruined.

  FORTY-THREE

  Hooch

  No water. No food. And I hear the weather is only going to get warmer. Wonder how long she’ll last?

  I can’t look away. Yet I can’t look at her. My eyes rove the graphic picture of Dagne, settling on every detail except for the most obvious: her. Somewhere in this picture is the key to where she is. Cornfield. I focus on the color of the dirt, knowing it changes as you travel around the country. I’ve got a wide net, considering they’ve been gone the better part of a day now.

  “What is it?” Crackers jerks his chin to my phone.

  I glance up at my friend, my brother, and can’t find the words. I should pass it over to him and get him to work our contacts for anything we can extract, yet the part of me that likes to make my heart suffer looks down again.

  At her.

  At her naked body, tied to the post like a goddamn piñata waiting to be hit again.

  My shoulders shake, my fist tight around the phone, but the rage needs another outlet. Without anything around me to transfer her pain and suffering to, I take it as my own.

  And I cry, silent tears.

  For the second time since my life fell apart outside Carlos’ compound, I give in and let the emotions out the only way I know how.

  “Hooch, man,” Crackers says quietly as he leans across from where he’s seated on his bike next to me.

  We rode to every known safe house and contact’s residence within an hour of the first location. Without anything else to go on, all we could do was canvas the area and hope that somebody saw them, that somebody had a clue as to where Digits would take her.

  Because I had no idea.

  And all the while, he was doing this to her.

  If I knew it would locate her and bring her peace from what Digits did to her, I’d stab myself in the heart right now and take full responsibility for how I’ve failed her. I had one job, and I was fucking useless at it. One job.

  To find the traveller.

  “How do we do it?” I ask through broken chords. “We can’t do it.”

  Crackers reaches across and eases the phone out of my grasp. We’re lined up outside a convenience store waiting on Murphy to return with something to eat.

  “Fuck, man.” Even his face twists in pain. “Fuckin’ hell, Hooch.”

  “Tell me what to do,” I beg. “How do I bring her home?”

  He slips off the bike, taking the phone with him as he jogs into the store. I raise my hand to the pocket inside my cut and pat around, searching for the tinderbox. Yet it’s not there, and even if it were, what good would it do?

  Would it fill this crack that snakes through the ice in my heart? Would it ease the fire that rages in my soul for how much of a failure I am to those I love? Would it bridge the pain that remains after losing those I love, that grows at the thought of losing another?

  Because I do love this little woman. So fucking much. I just couldn’t tell her in case it scared her away. Ridiculous, right?

  I broke her heart in the hopes it would keep her in mine. I held off from telling her the one thing she needed to hear in case it meant she told me the one thing I didn’t: that she doesn’t feel the same.

  I couldn’t face the thought that she’d leave me, so I tried to deny I had anything to lose to begin with. I made her work to stay, when in reality I was pushing her away.

  And now I’ve not only lost it all, but she’s suffered in the worst way because of my ignorance.

  I should have shot Digits the second he pulled the trigger on Heather. I should have choked the life out of the asshole when Dagne first showed King and I the messages.

  I should have done so much more.

  Always too late.

  Crackers emerges from the store with Murphy trailing behind carrying an arm full of hot food. He strides over to where I sit feeling helpless, and slaps me on the back.

  “Don’t worry, brother. We’ve got a plan. And if that doesn’t work, well, then we make another on
e. And another, all until we find her.” He reaches over to Murphy and snags a hotdog from his hold. “First, you need to eat. No point runnin’ on empty, is there?”

  He thrusts the food at my chest, and I take it, staring down at the sausage and bun and wondering if I’ll ever feel hungry again. Murphy lays the rest of the food out on the seat of his bike, and then starts into his own hotdog while Crackers stands off to the side with his phone. He lifts it to his ear, and I watch him, curious, as I take a bite of the dog.

  “Hey, brother.” His eyes lift to find mine. “We’ve got a bit of a situation down here … Yeah … Who else? … Seems he wanted to hit Hooch where it hurts most … Uh-huh … Well, that’s just it. We’re not sure … He’s sent us an image showing where she is, but with nothing to go off other than that … Nope, no clues. Just the picture … That’s what I was wonderin’ … You think he might be able to? … Sounds good. I’ll forward what we’ve got … Yeah, thanks, brother.”

  Crackers disconnects as I stuff the last of the hotdog into my mouth, oblivious to the fact I’ve been devouring it while listening to him talk.

  “King’s goin’ to get in touch with Ty.” Of course. “He thinks that he might be able to pull some miracle out of his ass using the image, Digits’ carrier details, and known points of interest.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? Digits wasn’t the only tech whiz we know. Only one in the club, sure, but the Butcher Boy, Ty, sure gives him a run for his money.

  “How long you think it’d take?”

  “How long is a piece of string?” He shrugs.

  I ball the empty bag and toss it at the nearby trashcan. “Either of you remember where Digits is from?”

  Crackers looks to Murphy, who shrugs. “Nope.”

  “I’m pretty sure he mentioned something about Dalhart once.”

  “That would make sense,” Murphy says.

  I hold out my fingers, counting out the hours. “We got to the safe house in Vernon at roughly one-thirty this afternoon right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Crackers slips his hotdog out of the bag.

  “And he’d already been there. Beth said Dagne left around nine, right? So that means he would have arrived at the house just before lunch.”

  Both men nod, following my train of thought as I tap out the hours on my fingertips.

  “Even if he left only half an hour before us, that means he would have been able to make it to Dalhart around four-thirty or five.” I check the time on my phone to confirm my thoughts. “An hour ago.”

  “So it’s possible, then,” Crackers says. “He went to his hometown. But why?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. Why would he head back there? Then again, people naturally gravitate to the familiar when they’re feeling overwhelmed. “But if he has, that rules out the possibility that he took that photo of Dagne hours ago to get a head start on us.”

  “It’s recent.” Murphy walks to the bin, tossing his wrappers. “But we’re still four or so hours away.”

  “Be even less if we get movin’.” Like hell I’m about to sit idle while Dagne’s strung up like a used party favor.

  “I’ll call King back,” Crackers says. “He can ask Ty to start lookin’ around Dalhart.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll let Jo Jo know where we’re at,” Murphy adds. “He can round up who’s able bodied so they can set off as soon as we have confirmation.”

  “Sure.” I nod at each of them, immensely thankful for their level heads.

  Now all I have to do is get to Dagne before it’s too late so I can let her know everything I’ve held back the past few weeks. She’s right, she always was. I need to open up, and I needed to trust my brothers.

  If this hasn’t proven her right, then what will? They didn’t judge me like I feared when I admitted I didn’t know what to do. They rallied behind me and gave me strength when I had none.

  They did what any friends would do. What family should do. What I need to do for my woman.

  My woman.

  Gonna make sure of that the second I get her home and cared for. Because I will get her home.

  Ain’t no other option.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Dagne

  Every shiver that rips through my body imbeds the splinters a little further. The more I try not to shake, the harder the convulsions are when they finally break free. The official start of fall isn’t that far away, so even though the days are still relatively warm, the nights are cold.

  Even more so when your clothes are two feet from your body.

  I want to believe that by some miracle I’ll be okay. That in ten, twenty, however many years, I’ll look back on this as some sad anecdote of my life. But the thin thread of hope I held onto frayed and floated away on the dying breeze a long time ago.

  I don’t know how long it’s been. Hours, I’m guessing. But how many more until I can’t take the exposure any longer? I wish I’d paid more attention in science class. The body can last weeks without food, but I know without water or adequate cover the time is drastically reduced.

  Surely the farmer would come by daily? Right? But what if that’s not soon enough?

  I shudder against the pole again, trying my best to ignore the tickle on my shoulder that indicates something pretty damn big crawls over my skin. Ugh. How ridiculous is it? I’m tied up, abused, and I’m still repulsed by a bug.

  I laugh at the ludicrousness of it all, my mad chuckle drifting far on the still night air.

  Closing my eyes and praying for sleep to ease my pain, I frown when something answers my earlier laugh. Maybe? I snap my eyes open again, straining them in the dark to pick up a trace of something, anything.

  What if it’s Digits returned? A new kind of shudder rips through my body.

  There. Again, I catch the faint drift of a voice, possibly movement. My hair falls into my face as I twist my head around the pole to look in the opposite direction. I’ve about given up hope, written myself off as delirious, when the definite flash of orange peeks through the corn.

  Footfalls. Conversation.

  There’s people.

  “Over here,” I try to yell, but all that emerges from my dry throat is a scratchy bark.

  The footfalls quicken, the voices louder.

  I do my best to call out again, but nothing comes. Instead, the words lodge in my arid throat, sending me into a fit of coughing.

  One person breaks through the corn, then two, and then several more before the second ushers them back for privacy. The torchlight slashes over my naked and bruised body, the words uttered ones I recognize well.

  “I’m sorry, Dee.”

  His hands are on my face while somebody else cuts the ropes in rough sawing motions, yet none of it seems real.

  I’ve passed out. Gone under and started to dream. How could they have found me?

  “Stay with me, baby. Focus on what hurts.”

  Why? I want to forget the pain. Giving in is so sweet, so soft, so easy.

  My bounds severed, my body is lifted from the crouched position around the pole. The splinters in my skin, most likely red and swollen already, sting and burn as my flesh makes contact with another.

  “No,” I cry, trying to get the pressure off.

  Hooch sets me down, and I open my eyes to him, fully alert thanks to the pain.

  “Focus on the pain.” This is why: it brings me back to him.

  “Splinters,” I manage to squeak out through hoarse tones.

  The flashlight returns, held by another with heavy riding boots and dark denim legs. Hooch gently lifts each arm, plucking what he can with his thick fingers. I wince and hiss, trying to lessen the ache by reminding myself it has to hurt to get better.

  If only that was what hurt the most.

  The greatest pain, the biggest scar, will never be a visible one. An open, festering wound that I’ll carry in my heart, only to bring it out to the light every time a man touches me in that way, or looks at me with that kind of intention.
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br />   “I can’t get them all,” Hooch says, the pain he feels evident in the waver of his voice. “Jesus, babe. I did this.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I chastise, angered that he’d even think that way. “Don’t.”

  A large blanket is produced from the small group of men waiting off to the side, and I’m bundled in its security before being hoisted into Hooch’s arms again. Everything is a surreal blur as Hooch arranges for somebody else to ride his bike home while he travels in the truck with me. Dog drives, and Hooch settles me across his legs, curled into his chest on the passenger side. It’s awkward, painful, but the most perfect moment ever.

  It’s love, security, and finally an affirmation that to someone, I’m worth everything.

  ***

  Daylight paints the walls when I wake. I have no recollection of the journey home, let alone being brought upstairs to Hooch’s room. Something pulls at my skin, and I glance down to find bandages covering the worst of my cuts and abrasions.

  Yet what covers me across my stomach is the sweetest relief of all.

  Hooch tugs his arm tighter, pulling me gently against his front as he lies beside me, wide awake, fully dressed, just looking.

  “You’ve got painkillers on the nightstand if you need them.”

  It throbs, my most intimate parts burning slightly, but it’s not anything I can’t tolerate for now. I roll to face him, wanting to say how thankful I am that he found me, yet the words don’t come.

  The events of the past day hit me like a ton of bricks, and instead of sharing my gratitude, I cry. I cry because he looks at me as though he adores me, even though I’m ruined. I cry because he has to have seconds when really despite all his faults he deserved it all. I cry because I wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough to out-play Digits.

  But most of all, because I’ll never be the same person I was, no matter how well I recover.

  This was one chapter I never wanted to add to my story. A chapter I’d skipped so many times, narrowly missing filling the pages when some grabby drunk got a little too close in my time travelling alone.