by Evie Monroe
My eyes drifted down to the lifeless form on the ground. From here, I could see a dark red pool of blood growing under Joel’s head.
Holy fucking hell. I shook with a rage I’d never felt before, my veins pulsing under my skin, hot and ready to explode. This was war. I’d fight it as long as it took to bring every one of those assholes down.
But goddammit. As far as Charlotte was concerned, it didn’t matter what happened, from here on out.
I would kill every one of these motherfuckers and avenge her brother’s death.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Charlotte
Back at the clubhouse, I could do absolutely nothing but wait.
The two men I’d been left with, Nix and Jet, seemed nice enough. I could see why Hart called them his brothers; they were all peas in a pod. They kept busy working on some cars in the back of the warehouse, offered me something to drink and told me to make myself at home in front of the old television set in the corner of the vast room.
I tried.
I sat on an old, overstuffed sofa, watching some lame eighties sitcom but not really comprehending any of it. After a few minutes, I wondered if the local news might give me some hint as to what was going on, so I flipped the channel. I half-expected to see a lead story about two motorcycle clubs getting into a shoot-out downtown. Maybe a couple of arrests. But at four in the morning, the news wasn’t running on regular television; I could only find mostly infomercials and re-runs.
Then I checked my phone again. No texts since the last time I checked, ten seconds before. I googled the news online but found nothing of interest.
I got up and paced for the hundredth time toward the door, peering through the blinds on the window. I knew I’d probably hear their bikes before I saw them, since they were loud, but I couldn’t wait. As I looked into the darkness, I saw the reflection in the glass of someone behind me.
“You might want to get away from the door,” a voice said.
I spun around to see the blond guy, Jet, standing there in a dirty t-shirt, wiping his hands on a rag.
“You don’t really think the Fury would risk coming here, do you?” I asked but moved away from the door anyway.
“They have before. They’re a bunch of Grade A assholes. I wouldn’t put anything past them.”
I hugged myself and shivered. He wouldn’t put anything past them? So, in other words, there was no telling how low they’d sink. And now Jojo was with them.
Right then, I swore to God that when he came back, I’d never let him out of my sight again. I didn’t care if the freaking president of the United States called and demanded that he go to the White House; I’d stand between them and tell him no.
I lifted my fingers to my mouth and started to chew on a fingernail as I walked over to see what he and Nix were doing.
They had three cars back there; gorgeous ones. A Mercedes and two hot red sportscars with logos I didn’t recognize because I wasn’t much of a fan of cars. They looked expensive. I wondered if they’d been stolen. Based on what Hart said, I knew the Cobras were involved in some kind of borderline illegal activities, but the less I knew, the better. Besides, even if they were up to no good, Hart was the most trustworthy person I’d ever met.
Even though I was worried about both of them, Hart was used to this—the fighting, the danger. He was probably fine out there. But as much as Jojo liked to talk a good game, he was still that scared little kid.
The other guy, Nix, who was bigger than the other, closed the hood on one of the cars and looked at me. “Relax, sweetheart. Did you get a beer?” He motioned to the fridge.
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“They haven’t been gone that long.”
“Thirty-eight minutes,” I said. I lifted my phone again. No messages. “Did any of them text you?”
Nix fished his phone out of his pocket. I didn’t understand how he could go without looking at it every two seconds—I couldn’t stop. He shook his head. “Not since that last one.”
The last one was thirty-six minutes ago, from Cullen, the president, who said they were on their way to the canning district and would be back soon. So, nothing I didn’t already know. But so much could happen in the space of thirty-six minutes.
I ripped off a fingernail, too close to the quick and it started to bleed. Sucking the blood from the finger, tasting that coppery tang, I looked for my next victim. But all my fingernails were just as bad. I’d had a bit of a manicure prior to tonight, but in only half an hour, I’d totally destroyed it.
I sighed, thinking of the first time I’d ever seen Jojo. I was only six, and I guess my parents were both off the drugs back then because they were together in the hospital. My mother had called me over, asking, “Does big sister want to hold little Joel?”
I’d agreed eagerly. I had one doll at home, my Raggedy Ann, my favorite plaything. I’d put her in the stroller and walk her up and down the halls outside our tiny apartment building. I’d pretend to feed her and burp her and change her diaper, and even then I couldn’t wait to have my own real child.
My mother was beautiful back then. When I thought of her, it was never that last, nightmare day, when she had those dark eyes and her skin was almost green from the drugs. No, it was always the day Jojo was born. She’d even insisted on putting lip-gloss on so she’d look good in the pictures.
We had such a perfect family back then. She was so proud of us. I remember climbing onto the bed, into my mother’s arms, and she’d prop that little bundle in the blue hat into my arms. And at that moment, I fell in love. All those dreams I’d had about having my own baby? He fulfilled them. I didn’t need my doll anymore.
I had my baby brother.
That was the last time we were a family, but I didn’t believe it was the last time Joel and I would ever be happy. My parents didn’t kill our dreams when they drove away from the Circle K that day. We’d made our own happiness without them. It was hard, sometimes short-lived, and maybe it wasn’t the same as if we’d had parents, but we had happiness.
And we’d have plenty more happy times. I was sure of it.
Hart would take care of Joel. He’d continue to take him under his wing and treat him like a brother, and Jojo would flourish. I knew it. Even in the short time my little brother had known Hart, he’d started to change for the better, becoming more of a man, showing an interest in getting a job and taking on responsibility. He’d be fine. Everything would be okay.
I sat back down on the couch as the new morning sun began to filter in through the blinds, a hazy, warm peach, coming up on nearly six o’ clock. If they were much later, I’d have to leave—catch an Uber or maybe get one of his friends to take me back home so I could feed the animals. The poor little creatures had to wonder what had happened to Jojo and me.
I smiled, thinking of our plan to get away to Santa Cruz. Maybe, if things went well, Hart would want to come with us. My silly dream, I knew. Hart had made it clear how much the Cobras meant to him. But I couldn’t help fantasizing how incredible it would be. The three of us could start a new life up there, get an apartment together, ride the rollercoaster every night, and not ever have to worry about bullies with names like Scar and Sludge or whatever.
We could have a future together in Santa Cruz.
As I was sitting there, lost in the daydream, sucking the dried blood off my stinging fingertips, I heard the roar of bikes outside—first very soft, but growing louder and louder by the moment. I jumped up, and as the sound became almost unbearably loud, I scrambled to the door.
It swung open as I reached it, and the men filed in, ripping their helmets off, carrying the scent of motor oil, sweat, and gasoline.
They slogged to the table in their ripped and dirty shirts. Some of them blood-soaked. All of them breathing heavy, yet none of them spoke.
And not one of them looked at me. Why were they avoiding me?
I scanned from one to the next, looking for Hart and Jojo. My heart jammed in my throat a
s Cullen, the president, swept past me. I grabbed his arm. “Where’s Hart?”
He tossed his helmet down on the counter and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He motioned with his chin toward the door.
Hart stood in the doorway, his big frame taking up much of the available space. I could see his chest heaving with every breath through his thin t-shirt. His face was shadowed, so I couldn’t see his expression. But thank God. He was here. He was okay.
“Hart,” I breathed, running to him. I wanted to smack him for not being the first through the door. He’d worried me. “How did—”
But when I got closer and saw his face, I knew something was wrong.
Blood flowed from an awful gash on his forehead, down the side of his face and ear, drenching the collar of his t-shirt. But he didn’t seem to care. His hands, wrapped around his helmet, gripped until his knuckles turned white. His lips twitched, like he wanted to speak, but didn’t have the words. And his eyes were full of something I instantly recognized, because I’d seen it so many times before on so many people who’d failed me and Jojo during our lives.
Regret.
His eyes said it all. They encapsulated all of my worst fears. But I refused to believe it. He was wrong. He had to be wrong.
I nudged him aside, to grab Jojo and shake his bony little shoulders and ask him why the hell he’d been so stupid, letting those assholes have their way with him. I’d tell him that the next time any of them called or came around him, I wanted to speak to them. I’d tell them all to go to hell.
But Hart was the last through the door. Jojo wasn’t behind him.
I froze there, afraid to turn back. Afraid that I’d see them all looking at me and confirming that it was true.
But I had to know.
And the second I turned around, I wish I hadn’t. One of the men—I don’t know who—shook his head. He murmured, “I’m sorry,” so quietly, it sounded like a prayer.
No. This wasn’t happening. This was a nightmare, and I’d wake up. I crossed my arms, hugging myself, but I also started pinching myself, too. Hard. Wake up, wake up, wake up, Charlotte! WAKE UP!
It didn’t do any good. My knees wobbled and threatened to cave under me. My heart just stopped. Everything inside me did the wrong thing.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, saying the one word that had crowded out all the others. “No, no, no . . .”
“Charlotte,” Hart murmured, his eyes not leaving mine.
When I started, I couldn’t stop saying it. But it only got louder, and faster, and now I was screaming it. Screaming and hating, my raw fingernails now claws, ready to tear at anyone who came near me.
Hart made the mistake of trying to comfort me. He put his arms on me but I shook them off. I shoved him, hard, harder than I knew I had in me, and it did more than I expected because he stumbled back, slamming into the door.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I screamed.
Behind me, dead silence. All the men looking on, watching my life coming to an end. They all just stood there like statues. Like stupid fucking statues that I wanted to knock down and destroy, just like they’d destroyed me.
Because these assholes—with their cool bikes and their tough attitudes and their stupid clubs—had taken away everything on this earth that meant something to me.
And I needed to bring him back.
I reached for the door.
“Where are you going?” Hart said suddenly.
“To get Jojo. I knew I couldn’t count on you. Why would you just leave him there like that?” I said bitterly, throwing the door open.
Before I could get myself outside, he put a hand on the door, slamming it shut. “No. Charlotte. We—”
I pummeled his hand, with my fist. “Get. Away. I’ve got to go. I can’t believe you just—”
“He’s gone, Char. Listen to me.” He grabbed me, settling two heavy hands on my shoulders. I wriggled to get away, but I was no match for him. He held me tight and forced me to look up into his eyes. “Joel’s gone. He’s gone.”
I looked up at him. I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. My body rebelled at the news—as if one half of my heart had given up, and now the rest of it was following suit. “You left him.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. I—”
“Where is his body? I want to see him! If he’s dead, I want to see him!” I shouted, wriggling out of his hold. “You left him there? In some dirty fucking alley in the canning district, all alone? Is that what you do to people? Just let them rot like that? That’s sick!”
“The Fury were shooting at us. We had to—”
“I don’t fucking care!” I shouted, shoving his chest hard. “That’s not the way you treat people! He’s a person. He’s my baby brother. And he’s so good. So so so good. He doesn’t . . .” I couldn’t speak anymore. I just sobbed. I tried to speak but all that came out was a strangled sob.
I grabbed onto the door, yanked it open, and this time I managed to escape his reaching hands and run away. Into the outside world, where there was no one, abso-fucking-lutely no one waiting for me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hart
This was a fucking nightmare.
Of course she’d want to see her brother. He meant everything to her. But it was ten of them against the four of us, and we knew they outnumbered us. We’d barely managed to escape that hole with our lives.
Yeah, it felt like shit, leaving the kid. He didn’t deserve to die like that, alone, in that shithole, with no one around him who cared. But there was nothing we could do. I’d go back once the Fury left, but by now, the police were probably swarming the place.
That was why I let her lay into me. I deserved much worse than what she could do to me. I’d promised her, and I’d failed. I let him down, and I’d let her down. I deserved the worst. Not Joel.
When she got done pummeling me, her face ruddy with tears and her hair flying wildly, she tore free, pulling open the door and racing outside.
Behind me, Cullen, nursing a nick from a bullet that grazed his shoulder, said, “Let her go. She just needs time.”
Fuck that. She had no way home and wasn’t thinking straight. She was liable to do something crazy, like launch herself off the pier.
I didn’t think the Fury would come after her now. They’d gotten the best revenge, on all of us. No need to go after the sister, now that Joel was dead. They’d spanked us; no doubt about it. Now, it was our move.
On the way home, the desire to rip their heads off hadn’t softened. It’d only grown, multiplied, festered. But looking at Charlotte, I felt like the biggest fucking piece of shit, ever. But, that wouldn’t bring him back. That wouldn’t make things all right for Charlie. That’s all I wanted. And it wasn’t possible.
I chased after her, the least I could do was stay with her. Try to make sure that she was safe until she could process the news. I found her at the end of the pier, looking out over the ocean. I scratched at my forehead, because the skin felt tight and itchy, and only then did I realize I had a gash from diving under the dumpster to escape the flying bullets. I was bleeding pretty bad, probably needed stitches, but at that moment, nothing else mattered. I crept up behind Charlie and stood next to her, trying to think of something to say. Something to make it better.
Was there anything?
Hell. No. I’d done a lot of shitty things in my life to people, but this was the worst. My throat tightened and for a second I wished I’d let one of the Fury’s bullets get me, instead of Joel. I deserved it more than he did. I should’ve been in that spot, not him.
“Tell me what happened,” she said after a moment, hugging herself in the cool breeze coming off the water. She shivered, covering her pale limbs in goosebumps.
“You really want to know?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Why? It won’t—”
“You don’t get it. I know everything about him. Everything. I think I deserve to know how he died.”
&nbs
p; It was the last thing I wanted to talk about. I exhaled and tried to get the explanation over as soon as possible. My tongue felt weighed down by lead as I spoke.
“We got to the parking lot in one of the abandoned factories in the canning district. The Fury had boxed us in, and Scar was holding Joel. We tried to get him to let him go, but he wouldn’t. Then he shot him and all hell broke loose. There was nothing we could do.”
She swallowed. “Did he . . . say anything before he died?”
I wished I could tell her he had. That his last words were about her and how much he loved her. She needed to hear that right now. Needed to have some little bit of hope to hold onto. But real life isn’t like the movies. I shook my head.
“Did they say why? Was it because they found out he’d been talking to you?”
Her voice was so weak. She was going to go over this until she made herself feel as bad as possible. I muttered, “No. They said they were just playing with him. They were going to kill him, no matter what happened.”
The fucking assholes. If only he’d come to us first. We could’ve made him a Cobra, made him a man, so the Fury never would’ve thought about fucking with him. But he was dead. I had to stop thinking about the what if’s.
She put a hand to her mouth. “Yeah. Well, that kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? We’ve been used all our lives. I knew he wasn’t one of them. He was too good for them. I only wish he knew it, too, and didn’t try to be something he clearly wasn’t.” Her voice faded away, and she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Did he . . . was he scared?”
Yeah, he was. And it wasn’t because he was a pussy little kid, either. Even the strongest of men would’ve been pushed over the edge if they’d been in his shoes. It was a fucking awful way to go, with a barrel of a gun to the back of his head, never knowing when the bullet would come and rip off his skull. I knew if I lived to be a hundred, I’d never forget that image—or him. It was burned in my head. I couldn’t tell her that. “It happened really fast. He didn’t have time to be afraid.”