by April Lust
“Nah,” I finally said when it looked like Bills might take my silence as agreement. “Waste of time. They’re not worth the effort. Besides, I think they’re already here.” I gestured towards the door. The lock was missing. In all honesty, I didn’t know if that had anything to do with the Slayers. Probably not since this place had been abandoned for a long time now and kids and the homeless had probably broken in a long time ago, but it sounded plausible and I could tell Bills bought it.
“Shit,” he muttered, and shoved his piece back into his waistband.
This wasn’t where we usually had meetings, but, then, we didn’t usually have meetings with rival gangs either. Blade and I agreed on this place because it was neutral territory and would remain that way after we split up the city. That way we’d be able to use it for meetings in the future without either side crying foul.
Bills had wanted it on our turf; Blade had wanted it on theirs. In the end, I told them both to stuff it, put on a brave face, and pretended I wasn’t scared of either of them.
I was, though. I most definitely was.
“Let’s not keep them waiting,” I told him, though the sweat on my palms and the rapid fire beating of my heart told me I’d just as soon keep them waiting for all eternity, politics be damned.
We approached the door and as I looked around, I was thinking more and more that I was right. They were already here. The broken windows up above I’d originally thought were black because it was so dark inside, but I realized someone had put something in them to black them out so we couldn’t see inside. And the door was open just a crack, the chain hanging off to the side. Maybe they hadn’t broken it, but I was starting to think they had.
Bills held back just a little, standing off to my right side and maybe a pace or two back. He was there as my backup; in the end this meeting was about me and Blade. We called the shots for our respective groups and whatever Bills or the Slayers thought, it was still our call.
I reached for the door, sweaty palms sliding along the handles, and took a deep breath so I could pause just one last moment. I wasn’t supposed to be afraid, but I was. This wasn’t how I’d wanted my life would go all those years ago, but I had guessed it would. It was pretty damn inevitable, all things considered. Really, I should have been grateful I wasn’t just dead instead of constantly on the verge of it these days.
After that second’s pause, I jerked the door open. I was right; they were already here. Light poured out, dim but noticeable. It was enough that I could see Blade and two of his club members flanking either side of him. It was enough that I could see the warehouse was empty save the table with the map of the city laid out. It was enough that I could see the man, bloodied and hanging by a hook, right in front of me.
“Jesus,” I muttered in a voice that was more like a breath. “What the hell is this?”
Bills’ face was hard and flushed, his hand behind his back, definitely gripping the handle of his piece, ready for the trouble that was already brewing. It took everything I had not to do the same, but they were here first and there were at least three of them here—probably more since they’d had the time to case the place.
A wicked, almost giddy grin spread across Blade’s face. He looked eager and gleeful, and, for the first time, I noticed, as he sat next to the table, his leg was bouncing like a little kid who’d been made to sit for too long. “A present,” he said, clearly pleased with himself. “I hope you like it.”
My eyes quickly glanced over the man. Unremarkable, not someone I recognized. His face was a little eaten up already, his nose broken and blood still leaking from it, though much had dried on his face like thin scabs. His hair was matted and greasy; his chest was bare and had tattoos and scars alike. He was just a man and I couldn’t figure out why the hell Blade would call this a present. “A present,” I repeated in a dull tone, forcing emotion and reaction from it. I didn’t want him to know this seriously worried me. Just who were we getting ourselves involved with?
Blade nodded once, then rose from his chair to stand next to the man. I was at least slightly relieved to see he was still breathing. Patting the man on the shoulder—it caused him to jerk in pain and maybe fear—Blade answered in that same eager voice, “A good faith present. A favor, if you will. Consider it my way of showing you I mean business—that we’re serious when we say we want to coexist.”
I couldn’t help the frown that worked its way across my face. This felt like some sort of riddle, a puzzle I couldn’t solve because I only had half the pieces. “And why would this present of yours matter to us?”
If it were possible, Blade’s grin widened, making him look like some ghastly villain from a comic book or a horror movie. “Because this is the man who made the Preacher kill himself. Isn’t that worth something to you?”
My blood ran cold. I froze and I could feel Bills do the same. Then, when he melted, I thought he might be shaking. With rage? Because that was what I was feeling. Absolute rage. My eyes looked at the man again in an entirely new light. Gone was the relief that he was still breathing. Gone was the disgust with Blade for his cruelty and twisted idea of “good faith.”
In its place was the sense that vengeance was at the tip of my fingers. I had to clench my hands tightly into fists to keep them from jerking up suddenly and, of their own accord, strangling the man in front of us.
We needed him alive. For now.
“I see,” I said, finally managing to choke out a few words. “And how do you know?”
Blade just laughed at me, clearly amused by both mine and Bills’ reactions. “Because he told me.”
That would explain the blood and the broken nose. Clearly he’d already been interrogated to some degree. I was curious; I wanted to know how Blade had gotten his hands on this man and how he’d found this kind of leverage.
Because it was leverage. Maybe it was a show of good faith as he claimed, but, in the end, it meant we owed him a favor.
If this really were the man responsible for the Preacher’s death.
“You understand we’ll need to verify this information.”
Blade shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned and confident. Clearly he believed this man had told him the truth; otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered with the show in the first place. It sent something like adrenaline and power surging through me. A need to destroy something, someone, and I had a feeling I’d get that out of my system tonight one way or the other.
“Do what you’ve gotta do.”
I glanced over at the man again, but couldn’t leave my eyes on him for long. The mere sight of him made me see red. I knew this wasn’t going to be something I could let go. I looked back to Blade. “After he’s awake. We’ll verify it after he’s awake.”
Blade nodded in agreement, then motioned towards the map on the table before them. “Then shall we get on with the meeting?”
I nodded my consent, though I wasn’t sure how much good I’d be at negotiating now. If this really were the man who pushed the Preacher to suicide—assuming it was suicide—I’d have given Blade just about anything he damn well wanted. It made me feel better that the man was still unconscious and that I wasn’t able to interrogate him yet. It meant Blade wouldn’t have all the leverage just yet. It bought us time if nothing else.
The entire time we talked, the man just hung there, this odd piece of bait that had me clenching the edge of the table over and over again. I could tell it was affecting Bills, too. His face had become pale and he was sweating, which was pretty unusual for him. He was cool as a cucumber most days, especially during the more dangerous things the club got involved with. It was the main reason I’d decided to keep him as lieutenant after the Preacher passed and I got saddled with leadership. Having a second in command who was unflappable went a long way.
But Bills was shaken now. I hadn’t pegged him as being the overly emotional type, not even for the sake of the Preacher, but I guess I was wrong.
We spent hours in that damn warehouse going over
the agreement. I told him the places we wouldn’t let go of. Most of them were practical places—like the pier, because so many bought and sold there; the Red District, because where there were prostitutes, there were junkies; and, of course, Fifth and Colt, because that’s where the shop was, our very legitimate and profitable business. That last one was because I wasn’t about to have a bunch of Slayers making waves for the most legitimate portion of our profits. Business was business and they couldn’t have a piece of that one.
I pointed at Minnie’s, a classy joint that was most definitely a hole in the wall. From the outside, it looked like the type of place you cooked meth or paid by the hour for a bed that no one bothered to clean, but, once you walked through the door, it was like stepping into a portal to another world. The owner, Bobbi, made a point of keeping everything clean and up to code. Minnie’s had been her great-grandfather’s and she’d worked hard to keep it in the family. She was a nice, hard working girl and a favorite of the club, but that wasn’t why I was so keen on it.
“Here to Birch,” I told Blade. Bills twitched as I said it, but kept his mouth shut. He was just here as a show of force, not because he got to make solid decisions. Those we’d agreed on before ever arriving and I knew why he looked a little annoyed now. I hadn’t told him about Minnie’s.
Blade examined the map and frowned. “That’s right in the middle,” he complained, pointing to the blue marks which indicated the territory that would become Slayers’ stomping grounds. “If you want the extra space, just take it off the side.” He pointed down Fifth towards Addison. It was a sizable chunk and would tip the scale just slightly in our favor. Another boon from Blade and the Slayers.
But I shook my head. “No. I want Miners to Birch,” I told him firmly, and caught Bills shooting me a look out of the corner of my eye. He looked pissed, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t budging on this one. “Miners to Birch or no deal.”
Blade’s eyebrows rose high up onto his head, revealing lines and wrinkles I hadn’t expected to be there, and for a moment making him looking older than I’d pegged him for. He mulled over my ultimatum—it wasn’t a great loss to him, but I understood why he was hesitant. I would be, too, because he was right. It was right in the middle of his territory, but it couldn’t be helped. He wanted to know what I was up to, expecting some kind of scam, but I wasn’t about to tell him the truth, so I let him think what he wanted.
Ultimately, Blade nodded his head in agreement, then offered his hand to me. “All right. It’s yours.”
I put my hand in his, gripping tightly before easing off to let him go. Except he didn’t release my hand right away. Instead, he used it to pull me slightly closer and lowered his voice as he asked, “What’s so special about Miners to Birch?”
I gritted my teeth. I wouldn’t tell him the details; he didn’t need to know them. But I did tell him, “Sentimental value, you know?”
Blade searched my eyes as though unconvinced, but after a moment, he pulled back and released my hand with a laugh. “Sentimental value,” he repeated, grinning. “Of course, of course. The Sin Reapers always had that about them. Sentimentality, right?” He laughed again.
I frowned, but said nothing. So long as I kept Minnie’s, I didn’t care about the rest.
We finished the meeting, everyone more or less happy with the terms—except for maybe Bills, but he was rarely happy about anything. We each took pictures of the map, just to make sure no one fucked with the drawn lines later, and I let the Slayers take the original copy with them. As they packed up, I looked over to the man who still hung suspended by a hook and a rope from the ceiling. He was finally waking up.
My face tightened and my jaw snapped shut as I ground my teeth together. I turned to Blade and motioned towards the door as I shoved my hands into my pockets. “You guys take off. I think we’re going to linger and see about your…present.”
Blade gave me that same wicked, eager grin and I realized just how mad he was. It terrified me just a little, and I made a mental note not to trust Blade too far. But he nodded to me and said, “You boys enjoy. It’s been a pleasure to do business with you.”
I said nothing as I watched them leave. I let the door close behind them and it wasn’t until I heard their bikes rev and finally peel out of the parking lot that I turned to the hanging man. I put my right hand into my left and pushed until I heard the knuckles crack. “We’ve got some questions for you,” I told him.
The fear in his slowly focusing eyes told me he knew what was coming and he knew it wasn’t going to be good.
Chapter 7
Lucy
I got home late, but I’ll admit I was surprised to find Max’s bike already parked in the garage. Only a couple of lights were on, but I could hear running water as soon as I opened the door.
I’d stayed a while with Mom even after dinner and cleaning up the dishes. We talked about random things, nothing serious, because I couldn’t handle any more of that, and watched old black-and-white movies until Mom finally fell asleep. I kissed her forehead and checked my phone for messages. A trickle of fear had gone through me when I saw there were none. Not even a quick text.
Max’s fine, I’d told myself, but I hadn’t really believed it until I walked through that door.
“Max?” I called, an eerie déjà vu sweeping me. Suddenly, I felt panic and fear swamp me. I almost thought about turning and running, but if this were a repeat of that night, I had to know. I had to know if Max were gone, because that changed everything.
That changed me.
“Here,” he answered after a moment, and as soon as his warm, heady voice filtered out to me, I relaxed. He was fine. I was being paranoid, overreacting. I was always overreacting these days.
The here had come from the kitchen, so I headed in that direction. The house was two stories, but fairly small. Plenty of room for the two of us, but add a third person to the mix and it was tiny. I’d insisted on no more crashers, not even for a night, because there was only one bathroom and I was tired of coming downstairs to find a half-dressed biker snoring on the couch.
The front door opened directly to the living room where there was a TV that rarely got used unless football was on and the aforementioned couch that was thankfully no longer occupied very often. There were a few scattered pictures, mostly of the guys, me and Max, my father, and of the slew of foster families Max had rotated through.
I walked through the living room to the right where the kitchen was, a small thing that barely covered it for the two of us and would never do if we had any sort of company over. Which we didn’t, at least none that weren’t accommodated by grilling outside instead.
The stairs leading to the bedroom on the second floor was adjacent to the kitchen entryway, but I ignored them. Max’s voice had come from the kitchen.
When I walked in, I saw why I’d heard running water. Max had both of his hands submerged beneath the running stream of the faucet, the water running pink as he scrubbed at his knuckles and beneath his fingernails.
I stared at his hands for a moment, realizing the cuts lacing his knuckles weren’t the same ones from before. I could see some of the old blood that had already dried, some he’d missed, and I saw the bright fresh stuff, too.
Max was washing off fresh blood and it sent a tingle down my spine. Something had happened tonight.
“Max?”
He looked up at me, his tense shoulders easing slightly as his eyes found me. There was something in them tonight and I knew whatever had happened had been bad. Really bad.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice soft and sweet in the dark, but the underlying tension didn’t leave as he spoke. “C’mere.”
I did. I went to him as he turned off the faucet and dried off his hands. The towel came away red, just a little, and I watched it as he put it back on the counter. I didn’t want to ask about what happened tonight. I didn’t want to know, but something in me had to. “Max,” I repeated even as his arms opened for me and I steppe
d into them, letting his strength envelop me for a moment in his warmth. He held me for a long, silent moment until I asked, “What happened tonight?”
He didn’t answer right away, instead remaining silent as he held me, but eventually he let me go, stepping back slightly. “Are you happy?” he asked me, an unexpected question, and also not an answer to my question.
My eyebrows rose in surprise and I tried to hide some of what I’d been feeling that night. He didn’t need my worries weighing on him, too, I knew that much; besides, I hadn’t really worked through them myself anyway. But he was looking at me with those dark eyes, all seriousness and intensity, and I couldn’t not tell him the truth. I just couldn’t.
I looked away, trying to find the right words. Ultimately, they came too simply. “No,” I said, and it came out as a whisper. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his shoulders slump and knew I needed to give a better explanation. “I’m tired of the violence. I’m tired of the fear. I want us to be in a better place.” I hoped that was enough to tell him this wasn’t about not wanting him. This was about not wanting the life we were leading.