But it’s too late. I saw it. “What was that?” I ask, my heart hammering, inwardly hoping for any kind of innocuous explanation, anything other than what I know the answer has to be.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harlan says. “It’s not your concern.”
I can’t disobey a direct order from Harlan. Physically, I can’t do it. I want to badly. I want to push back on this because I know what those bricks are. I’ve lived in the Red Zone long enough to recognize cocaine when I see it.
So, it isn’t just the prostitute. Harlan is joining the drug trade too.
All this time, living in the Red Zone, I’ve managed to hold myself apart from the crime and depravity that goes on around me. Sure, my patrons at the bar are bottom feeders — drug dealers and pimps and johns and all kinds of people I don’t want to associate with, buying drinks with money that feels dirty to my touch — but I’ve always been able to console myself with the knowledge that I’m staying afloat, above the grime of this part of the city. I may be surrounded by it, but I’m not part of it.
The Hell’s Bears. They’ve been my insulation, always. I was born into this pack, raised by this pack, and I’ve always been very proud to be a member. The day I got my tattoo, the bear paw with the devil horns on the right side of my chest, was the proudest day of my life. Even now, every time I undress for a shower, I pause in front of the mirror to take it in. Being a Hell’s Bear has been the defining aspect of my life and it’s meant everything to me.
And now I’m going to have to watch the Hell’s Bears fall around me and become like the people I’ve held in such contempt all my life. I can’t stand it.
I grab the spaghetti from the fridge and storm out of the kitchen. I know that Harlan knows what I saw, and I know he can tell how I feel about it. He’ll make a move against me soon; I have no doubt —do something to restrain me so I don’t screw up the new direction he has planned for us. But what could I even do? He’s our leader. No one’s going to listen to me.
Are they?
I think back to the conversation in the living room. Clay. Clay seemed unsure about the feasibility of working with prostitutes. True, his concerns seemed more practical than ideological, but I’m not in a position to be picky. If anyone at all is on my side, if anyone even seems like they might be willing to make a stand with me, I need to get to them quickly, before Harlan does. If he senses dissention, he’ll shut us down and we won’t be able to do anything.
And Mike. Mike has been chafing under Harlan’s rule for a long time. He hasn’t made it clear how he feels about this new direction, but just the opportunity to disrupt Harlan’s power might be enough to entice Mike into siding with me. It’s something to build on, anyway.
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m sitting here genuinely thinking about moving against Harlan. It’s the one thing I was sure I would never do. The Hell’s Bears have been my family, and no matter how I feel about Harlan personally, he’s the one who keeps us together. He’s our leader and our father.
But now he’s taking the pack in a direction I can’t follow.
I eat the rest of my spaghetti as quickly as I can. I need to find Clay and Mike. I need to make sure I talk to them before Harlan does. Because if he gets to them before I do, there will be no chance at all.
MIKE IS EASY ENOUGH to find. He likes to spend his evenings in the library alone, reading the many books we’ve amassed over the years. It’s always seemed strange to me that the Hell’s Bears even has a library since Harlan is about the farthest thing from an intellectual I can imagine, but I suppose the books were collected before his time.
Mike looks up when I come in, then goes back to the book in his lap. I close the door behind me and turn the lock, gently sliding the deadbolt into place, trying not to make any noise. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” He doesn’t look up from his book.
“Don’t be pissed at me. I’m not the one who took away your internet usage.”
“I’m not pissed at you. I’m pissed in general.”
That makes sense. I sit in the armchair opposite him. “What are you reading?”
He holds it up so I can see the cover.
“A History of Prostitution in America?”
“If we’re going to get involved, I might as well educate myself,” he says.
“And you’re just fine with that? Getting involved in prostitution?” Maybe I misread Mike. Maybe he won’t be willing to work with me after all.
But when his eyes meet mine, there’s a blaze in them. “Of course, I’m not,” he says. “Did you see that girl? She looked like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. And there was Harlan going on and on about how much better things would be for her with us, talking about her like she wasn’t even there...but I mean, if he was so interested in giving her a better life, why wouldn’t he let her take a shower before he brought us in to see her? She looked terrified.”
I nod. I shouldn’t have doubted Mike. He’s perceptive. He’s kind. He would never partake in something like this if he had a choice. “What if we could put things right?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “How could we do that? Harlan’s already made the call.”
“I know you know you can disobey Harlan if he hasn’t given a direct order,” I say. “We all know it. It’s the worst kept secret loophole in the pack.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we get her out. We take the girl and we go. Have you been told not to do that?”
“No...” he says slowly. “But we’d never be allowed back, not after a move like that.”
“So what? I don’t want to come back. Not if this is what the Hell’s Bears are going to be from now on.”
“You’re going rogue?” Mike looks shocked. I can’t say I blame him. It’s the stuff of Hell’s Bears legend —breaking away from the pack, letting disagreements divide you from the rest of the family. There are notorious members in our history who have done it. I’ve heard cautionary tales about them since childhood. Can I really be about to do the same thing? No one has ever gone rogue alone. No one has ever left the pack by themselves.
I need Mike.
And he knows it. His thoughts are tracking along with mine and I see him reach the conclusion. “Bruno,” he says, “no.”
“You don’t want to be a part of this,” I tell him. “You don’t want to stay here. Come with me. Your life could change. You could stop bagging groceries. You could be more. Or you could stay here with Harlan and become so much less.”
He meets my eyes, his expression helpless, and I know I’ve got him.
CLAY TURNS OUT TO BE even easier to convince. He’s in the garage doing something to one of the bikes. “It was mine Harlan sold,” he says peevishly after I explain the plan. “I can’t ride out until we get it back.”
“So, you’ll take Harlan’s bike,” I say. “Can you get the key?”
Clay looks scandalized. “I can’t take his bike.”
“Has he ever told you not to?”
“No, but...”
“He took your bike. He sold your bike.”
Clay hesitates.
“It’ll be the three of us,” Mike says. He’s become a full supporter of the plan in the past half hour. “We’ll start our own pack. Nobody’s in charge. No more orders. We’ll make decisions as a group. All we have to do is get out of here.”
Clay wipes a bit of grease from his forehead. “When?”
“Tonight,” I say. “I’ll get the girl and we’ll meet here at midnight.”
I’M EXPECTING HER TO resist when I come for her, but she’s limp and docile. I take her by the hand and steer her down to the garage, buckle a helmet on her, help her seat herself on my bike. Clay is already there, and Mike arrives a moment later. He’s got a youthful, excited glow about him. “Where will we go?” he asks.
I’ve thought it through already. “Up into the mountains,” I say. “Out of the Red Zone. If there are more like us, they’ll be up that way.
Maybe we can join forces with another pack.” I don’t tell them the rest, how someday I would like to return and seize power from Harlan, how I hope to find numbers to cooperate with. The Hell’s Bears are everything to me, and I can’t stand to see our reputation tarnished like this. Someday, I will restore us to our former honor.
We wheel our bikes out of the garage and around the corner before starting them up. Hopefully, no one will hear them rumbling to life, or if they do, they won’t suspect that it’s us. Hopefully, our flight won’t be discovered until morning.
Mike leads the way to the highway. I follow after, one arm wrapped around the girl’s waist as she lists against my shoulder. Clay takes the rear. By sunrise, I know, we will be far away. Far away from the only home and the only family I’ve ever known.
God, I hope we’re doing the right thing.
Chapter Five
LANE
I’m up in my room flipping through a magazine when the door is thrown open and Georgianne barges in.
I’m so startled that I can’t even react before she’s on me. She grabs me by the bicep and hauls me to my feet. I struggle to keep up with her as she storms down the hall, dragging me behind her, and I trip on the stairs and bite my lip. “Wait,” I say, my mouth filling up with blood. “Slow down. I can’t.”
She doesn’t respond. For all I can tell, she might not even hear me.
Rick and Faye are already in the living room, both of them looking very somber. Georgianne flings me a chair with a kind of brute force I’ve never felt from her before. My adoptive parents have been dismissive of me, cool toward me, for most of my life and occasionally I’ve felt the sting of annoyance or irritation when I’ve gotten in their way. But this kind of rage is something new. Something is very wrong.
What’s going on? I’m aching to ask the question, desperate to know, but I’m too afraid to speak. They’re looking at me as if they want to murder me with the power of a gaze, and if I say something wrong, things might get even worse.
Instead, I turn my attention to Faye. Unlike her parents, she doesn’t look angry. In fact, she looks almost giddy. That’s just as bad of a sign. Faye loves to see me punished. She loves anything that manifests the fact that she is the favorite around here; that nobody loves me and everybody loves her.
Finally, Georgianne breaks the silence. “So?”
I don’t know what she’s after. I wait.
This seems to anger her further. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” she demands.
“I... I don’t know what you mean...”
Faye laughs nastily. “Drop the act, Lane. You’re caught.”
“Be quiet, Faye,” Rick says. Faye, unused to being told to be quiet, scowls and flops back in her seat but she obeys her father, nonetheless.
“You were seen,” Georgianne says, her voice like frozen vinegar. “The Marshalls saw you and called us. Capering around in the woods naked as a jaybird.” She leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, her gaze penetrating mine. “Who were you with?”
I’m floored. Dumbfounded. I was in the woods naked, of course, and I can feel my face go hot at the realization that Mr. and Mrs. Marshall saw me. They’re not much older than I am, maybe in their late twenties, but I know that Georgianne and Rick have put some kind of story out about me. The Marshalls probably thought that I was high, or maybe having some kind of psychotic break. They probably called out of concern for me.
But who was I with? I wasn’t with anyone. The only reason I was in the woods at all was that my animal self took over. I’d never let another human see me like that.
Of course, my family doesn’t know about the animal. They must think I went to the woods for some kind of sexual tryst. Of course. It fits in perfectly with their narrative of me —the slutty older daughter, the one who gets around, the one who got pregnant and had to be hurried into a secret abortion before the neighbors found out. Of course, I would be having wild sex in the woods.
The thing is, I probably would have wild sex in the woods. I’m definitely not averse to the idea. It sounds kind of fun, actually. And damn it, I’m twenty-three years old. I should have a little more freedom when it comes to things like this. I’m too old for my parents to get angry because they think they caught me with a boy for God’s sake.
“I wasn’t with anyone,” I say. “I was alone.”
“Don’t lie to us,” Rick rumbles ominously.
I shrug, trying to project an aura of indifference, even though on the inside I’m trembling. The sight of them enraged like this is so unfamiliar. It’s not something I’m remotely prepared for. “Believe what you want. There was no one else there.”
“Just like no one got you pregnant?” Georgianne’s eyes are dark. “Enough of your lies, now.”
“I’m not lying.”
She reaches out and slaps me hard across the face.
I gasp, my hand flying to my cheek. I’ve never had any illusions about where I stood with Rick and Georgianne. I’ve never believed they loved me. But in twenty-three years, they’ve never harmed me physically. We’re in new territory tonight.
“Was it the same boy?” Georgianne asks. “The same one who knocked you up?”
“Of course, it wasn’t,” Faye says. “That was ages ago. She can’t keep a guy that long, the way she tramps around.”
“Faye, be quiet or get out,” Rick snaps. Then he turns to Georgianne. “She does have a point. It was almost definitely someone new.”
“She had a new guy every other week at school,” Faye says. “And she was definitely putting out. For all of them. Everyone knew it.”
No one tells her to shut up this time. Instead, Georgianne slaps me again, harder this time, I feel the bite of her nail cutting into my cheek and a trickle of blood. I stifle a cry. I’m not going to let these people have the satisfaction of knowing they’re hurting me.
Georgianne grabs my chin and pulls it forward until my face is an inch away from hers. She’s straining my neck. I feel like I’m going to throw up. “We’ll be jokes in this neighborhood,” she says. “Not that you care about that, do you? You don’t care that everyone is going to laugh at your sister and think she’s as insane as you are.”
I’m not insane, I think to myself, clinging to that knowledge. And she is not my sister.
I retreat deep within my mind as Georgianne beats me. She must have had the belt ready when I came in, because there’s no interlude while she takes it off. She beats me a few times across the back of my legs, hard, until I’m sure I must be bleeding. Then she passes the belt to her other hand and goes to work across the front of my legs. Having the belt turned around in her hands means that the buckle is now free to strike me, and it does, singing through the air and stinging my flesh.
I don’t cry out. That’s what she wants. I repeat my mantra in my head. I am not insane, and Faye is not my sister.
Faye is watching this like it’s a television show she might tune away from, like it’s an only mildly interesting form of entertainment. It’s sickening. How can she be so callous? But then, it’s no surprise. A lifetime of living with Faye has taught me that if something isn’t impacting her directly, it’s almost always beneath her notice. Why should she care if I’m being beaten? Nothing bad is happening to her.
A part of me feels I should be surprised to be hit like this, but I’m not. It’s true that Georgianne and Rick have never been violent with me before, but now that it’s happening, it seems as if my life has always been building up to this moment. Their resentment toward me has been building since the day they conceived a flesh and blood daughter and learned they weren’t allowed to return the child they’d adopted for a refund.
I try to stick it out. I try my hardest not to cry. But now Georgianne is striking the same places she’s already hit, places that are already tender, and my legs are trembling. A whimper of pain escapes me as she hits me again. My knees buckle. I fall, my arms coming up to protect my face as she continues to rain blows down
on me.
Finally, finally, her assault ceases. I’m too afraid to uncurl from the ball I’ve worked myself into on the floor. I’m terrified that as soon as I try to get up, she’ll beat me back down. I’m not crying. I’m not. But my breath is jagged and cut by hitches of pain and shock.
There’s the sound of Rick closing his book. “Come on,” he says, as if he didn’t just see me violently beaten. “Dinner out tonight. The Onion Farm.”
There is no question of me being invited. I stay curled on the floor, my hands still shielding my face, as they make their way to the door. I listen for the sound of three car doors closing, an engine starting up and then getting further away. I wait until it fades off into the distance before trying to get up. When I can no longer hear it, I uncurl myself slowly and ease into a sitting position.
My legs are a mess. Blood is flowing from several cuts; I assume where the belt buckle hit me. I can see bruises already starting to form. I struggle to my feet and test my ability to stand. I can do it. That’s good. I retreat to my bedroom and shut the door, but there’s no lock. I can’t keep them out.
What am I going to do? Living with people who didn’t like me very much is one thing, but can I continue to stay here under the constant threat of violence? Now that Georgianne has done this once, I can’t trust that it won’t happen again. And what if it’s Rick next time? He’s bigger, more muscular. I’m sure he could hurt me worse.
There’s only one option. I have to leave and I have to go now. Before they get back from their dinner and have time to put a lock on the outside of my room or something. Now, while they’re not expecting it, is the only time I’ll have a chance.
I don’t own a suitcase —my family has never taken me on vacation, so I’ve never had a need for one —but I do have an old backpack from high school shoved into the bottom of my closet. I fish it out and begin to pack the essentials. Underwear, socks, a few t-shirts. I filch a bar of soap from the linen closet, and I sneak down to the kitchen and grab a box of granola bars and some cans of beans.
The Hidden Omega Page 3