Thrash (29 page)

His men let me pass, but I saw it in his eyes as I came forward. He had seen Fire and Steel. He knew who had let them in.

I had never known him to falter. He had shot down Beast in cold blood. But he didn’t bring up his gun against me quickly enough to stop me.

My teeth bared, my insides overheated by all the frustration and fear and rage of the past few weeks, I got right in his face and stabbed him in the gut.

“This is for Sean,” I snarled. “You killed my brother.”

It was as if Bones wanted me to kill me. He spit in my face, defiant to the end. “And your father.”

Suddenly, I was that young boy that Bones had taken in, raised in his father’s absence. The pain of loss and betrayal nearly drowned me. I twisted the knife viciously, making sure no hospital or nurse would be able to stitch the motherfucker back up. I heard the blade crunch through tissue, felt it slice through the meat of muscle and slip through softer flesh.

I was so close, I couldn’t ignore him. The way his eyes glazed over but never left my own. The way his hands gripped my vest but didn’t wound me.

He didn’t seem surprised by my pain.

Then he did the unforgivable. He whispered, “They all died because I failed…”

In that moment, I realized that this selfish, evil son of a bitch had known I would probably betray him. He’d burn the fucking world down to get his way, even though he knew he deserved to die.

The thought was too complex, too twisted. I couldn’t sort it out. I couldn’t do a god damned thing about it and it drove me crazy.

The monster came out, flailing out against its source.

I roared like a wounded animal and smashed Bones in the face with my fist. Damn the blade still in my hand.

Bones went down like a bag of bricks.

One of the men who had trusted me was staring at me in horror, and I slashed at him with my knife, snarling like a dog. He bolted.

I turned and caught a blow to the face. Turf was howling, coming at me for another hit. I shot him twice in the chest, spotted Rage and hurried towards him.

“It’s done! Get the fuck out of here!” I yelled to Rage.

He was making sure the fucker who had tried to kill him did not get back up. But he heard me. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to retreat now. Half of these men had helped Bones. They had left with him, leaving us to rot. They had as good as helped Bones kill Beast, and Troy, and Layla’s kidnapping.

“We can fight or get the fuck out.” If we retreated, we wouldn’t lose anyone. But we wouldn’t. If we showed mercy, if we left loose ends, it would come back to bite us. Like Bones.

He wasn’t a loose end anymore.

We cleaned house. It wasn’t long before what was left of Bones’ men were running away, their leader on the floor, the new “club” turning tail as soon as they realized it was a losing battle.

When they were gone, I looked at the carnage around me, and felt ill. The blood. The bodies. The groaning of those who were still alive, at least for now.

My chest ached with a pain that had nothing to do with the fight. For all the books men wrote, the love we felt, the grand ideals we chased… In spite of our best efforts, we were still this: thrashing animals.

I looked at my own reflection, and I recognized it well. But my soul still
grieved
. Because at the end of the day, that was just how I was. Under the cut and in spite of the gun, I truly believed that I was a rational creature flailing in the face of boiling blood and burdens. I knew life was brutal, but got caught up in dreams that we could be more.

I would always chase after the beauty in art, the joy that Nora gave me, the peace of philosophy and literature. Searching for the logic of life as though it was all a grand game of chess.

But life wasn’t tidy.

Sometimes I wondered how many times I would have to look reality in the face and swallow its bitterest of truths: that, for all our wonder, we were still monsters just waiting to walk free.

38

A haggard voice echoed through the phone: “Nora!”

I was disoriented, but I knew that voice. It was Layla.

She was panting hard into the phone. Her ragged breathing told me that something was wrong. Something had happened.

DeMarcus.

I threw off the sheets and started scrabbling for those old pj pants Thrash had shared with me that day after the amusement park.

“Layla? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“They did it. They went down to the Southside.”

“Thrash?”

“He’s okay. A few nicks.”

I took a deep shuddering breath of relief. “And Bones?”

“Dead.”

Then it was done. They had really done it. “Are you all right?”

I could hear the grief in her voice. It was personal, raw. “It’s Crowe, it’s, he’s –” She stopped, got her breath and then regained her composure. “There was a fight, it went wrong, or right, I don’t know. But a lot of people were hurt, and Crowe’s been killed. We- we had to leave him behind.”

And there it was – the source of her horror.

They had had to leave someone behind.

She let out a sob, and I could tell she needed someone to help her.

I dragged one of Thrash’s old t-shirts over my head and hopped around into my shoes, hurrying to the door. “I’ll be right there. Did you call Emma?”

Silence.

I stopped, my hand on the doorknob of the apartment. “Layla?” I couldn’t tell if she was crying or had gone into shock.

“Sorry, yes. Yes, I called Emma. She’s on her way. Wrath’s okay. He’s hurt, but he’ll be fine. That man has nine lives, I swear.”

“I’ll be along shortly, honey. Just give me a moment.”

I checked for my keys and shoes and purse – and yes, even my phone – before hurrying through the door. I fumbled to lock it and raced downstairs.

It was done. Thrash was coming back to the clubhouse. Layla needed me. They would all need an extra hand.

I knew it would be hours before DeMarcus and I could be alone. I didn’t care. I was just glad he was okay.

It didn’t take me long to get there. The streets on this side of town were empty at this hour, and all of the lights flashed red, so I didn’t need to wait for the cycles. I just tapped my brakes then blew through them.

When I got to the clubhouse, the parking lot was so packed that I had to park on the street a block down. You would think there was a party going on, what with the flurry of activity. Fire and Steel had woken up the entire block.

I ran into the building, my eyes searching for one person. DeMarcus. The entire clubhouse had been transformed into a triage unit, with cots and benches and chairs everywhere.

People were administering first aid to those who were in worse condition. Everyone was acting like this was a common thing.

At least they were prepared.

When I finally spotted DeMarcus, a rush of relief left me weak and tingling. The dread that followed almost took me down.

He was lying on a cot, his eyes closed, not moving. I sucked in a breath and hurried forward. All I could think, again and again, was:
she said he was fine. He was fine. He was fine.

As I reached him, I wasn’t sure whether to check his pulse or hit him. He wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving?

“DeMarcus?”

He had a bruised face. His hand was bandaged, and blood had seeped through, but otherwise he seemed to be fine.

“Thrash,” I said louder, shaking him.

He started from whatever still dark place he had been taking refuge in. The way he jerked, suddenly alert, eyes wild, I thought my heart was going to explode.

“DeMarcus? DeMarcus, baby, I’m here.” I took his face in my hands, helping those wide eyes to focus on me. “It’s okay. I’m here.” There was no other way to put it: he fell on me, wrapping himself around me for comfort more than offering any.

I rubbed his back and quietly shushed in his ear until he stopped shaking. Sometimes even strong men faced something that disturbed them. He didn’t need me making a scene of it. He needed a chance to recollect himself. A reminder that there were good things in the world, too…

When he pulled away, he rubbed his brow with the fingers of his free hand and sighed.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“Layla called me.”

The guilt that dragged at his face hurt my heart. “I’m sorry. I should have called you. It’s just… I didn’t…”

I touched his lips with my pointer finger, brushed his cheek with the rest and cupped his jaw. I had never met anyone with post-traumatic stress, but I had heard of it, and I had experienced it to some degree at various points in my life.

I saw the dried blood on his clothes. I knew people were dead. He was haunted by whatever he had seen. It stiffened the muscles all through his face, left his eyes looking hollow and too bright.

I knew I had no way to fully understand what he was experiencing, but I remembered the disorientation and the way time became… cold, distant, strange.

He said he was sorry, I believed him.

“I’m glad you are here,” he muttered, his hand on my thigh. It wasn’t sexual. He was seeking comfort.

I took his hand in mine and brought it to my mouth. I pressed my skin against his, blew my hot breath against his palm to warm it.

I felt him go still. When I looked up into his eyes, it was as though time froze. We were caught up in that moment, and I was suddenly flooded with sensations. Of his kisses when he had been afraid I would not come to see him. Of the need in his eyes as he faced his own demons. The way he had watched me that first time, seeking to understand the way I moved and thought and what I wanted. What I needed…

I remembered the hunger in his body and soul, and the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me. This man genuinely loved and needed me.

It was overwhelming. It was everything and all that mattered.

And when I dipped my head to press my lips to his palm, I felt as though I was setting my soul there for him to hold.

He watched me, wonder in his eyes. His hand reached up, fingering my hair out of habit. When he drew me into his lap, he kissed me gently, then just held me close.

This time I could feel the strength coming back into him. Whatever had frozen inside of him had shifted. DeMarcus was going to be okay.

When he released me
, I placed a light kiss along his jaw and smiled. “What can I do to help?” I asked, looking around.

“Do you know anything about first aid?” he asked, clearing his throat.

I shook my head. I knew nothing. I had never needed to know that kind of thing. I had a scar on my hand from where I had accidentally sliced it open. I had been wrestling with a mangled metal tube of paint, accidentally tearing up my skin along with the tube. I had really needed stitches, but I hadn’t realized it. Somehow, I had managed to wrap the mess up so that it healed.

I had an ugly scar along the inner curve of my palm, but I had survived.

These people needed better odds than I could give them.

“Find Emma,” he suggested. He knew I meant it. ”Ask her what you can do to help. She’ll know.”

“Do you need anything from me?” I asked.

H just squeezed my arm. “Stay with me tonight, when everyone is taken care of. I want to wake up with you again. It’s been too long…”

A swell of joy filled me, and I beamed up at him as he climbed to his feet. “I’m going to see what I can do, too,” he said.

He held out his hand to help me up. I took it, savoring the feel of his hand as we parted ways. I wasn’t afraid. I was going to curl up with him tonight.

I was home.

39

For the first time in my life, I thought about walking out. Just leaving. Take Nora by the hand and lead her out of the club and away forever.

I had just risked it all, bloodied my hands, for my club. I knew I belonged here. I knew I had earned my place here.

And yet, I still wanted to throw it all away.

It was not a rational thought, just a feeling, and I rode it until it began to fade. Running away wouldn’t help. My entire life was here.

Maybe that was the problem.

I’d fallen in love. I wanted something more. Something better. At least something that had a greater chance of lasting.

Fire and Steel was an ideal. The only way to kill it was to kill the men who believed and fought for it. But I was just a man.

For the first time in my life, I was considering what it might mean to become a father. And the freshest memory in my mind was the dying breath of my traitorous father figure. The contrast was stark. Life and meaning in the face of blood and betrayal.

I wanted a future. But wasn’t that what Rage and Wrath and I were trying to build?

“You all right?” Wrath asked as I walked by.

His arm was in a sling. His shoulder had been dislocated in a brawl. He was limping a bit due to the prosthetic, and he had stitches along his left shoulder from the slash of a knife. Otherwise, he was alright.

“Put on a shirt, man.”

Wrath knew we had all had enough shit for one night. I wasn’t the only person wandering the room in search of purpose.

The women knew what they were doing, but those of use with injuries were trying to find our feet, get moving again. We were Fire and Steel, damn it. We didn’t stay down.

His scowl dissolved into a hoarse laugh. “Fuck you!” He shook his head, grabbed a shirt with one hand and slapped me on the back with the other. “Cullen’s looking for you.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

Wrath was dragging the shirt on awkwardly. He pointed me to the back rooms. I smirked when he couldn’t get it on by himself and walked off, but I did nudge Emma on my way past, pointing out that her man could use some help with his stitches.

I’d probably give Wrath shit till the day one of us died, but he was good people.

I headed for the back room and walked into a full blown meeting.

Strike had come, as had the head of the River Serpents. We had worked with Snake before. He wasn’t clean, but he had a sense of honor and he valued his men. There was something to be said for that.

Strike glanced at me as I came in. When he spoke, his voice was calm, collected “Thrash, my brother is healing well, thanks to your sister. I hope that you’ll convey my thanks to her?”

I jerked my head back at the main room. “She’s here. You can tell her yourself.”

Desiree was in the conference room, stitching up our people, again. I knew I’d get an earful if I went to her. And I’d hear it when the time came. But I wasn’t in the mood right now.

“What about the rest of Bones’ crew?” I asked, moving on. “We going after them?”

“They aren’t a threat to us anymore, at least, not directly.”

“They’ll run to Alan,” Strike pointed out.

Rage shrugged. “That’s their choice. As for us? This is over. We’ve made our point. Our traitor has paid for his crime. We have proven our strength, and we’ll keep growing. I was planning to send a message to Alan and his compatriots, if you’re fine with that. Let them know that our quarrel with them is over. We aren’t their friends or their enemies. But we back you. See if that gets their attention.”

Strike nodded. “It might shift the board in my favor.” The families were a constantly changing quagmire of politics, power and alliances. We were known for our loyalty and for keeping our word. Strike was our ally, so our strength reflected well on him, bolstered his position among the families.

“We have your back,” Rage said. “But we’re gonna need a little breathing room.”

We just lost one of our most important veteran members. Crowe.

Strike leaned on the arm of his chair and tilted his head to us. “I hear you. Recover. Bury your dead.”

Speaking of the dead…

“What do we do about Crowe?” Mick asked. He had stayed behind, his oxygen tank too much of a hazard, but the pain of our loss was evident on his face. He was the last original member left.

“We’ll go back for him in an hour,” Rage assured him. “Just us. I already called George. He is going to write Crowe’s death up as a mugging gone wrong”

We all knew this sort of thing was going to cost us. No one wanted to owe the chief of police or the district magistrate. But if we wanted to bury our dead without getting arrested, we’d pay up when the time came.

That was the thing about making it in the real world. It cost favors. And when people called in a favor, you didn’t have much room to take a pass. The only choice you had was whether you would strike a trade to begin with.

“Speaking of favors, you’ll be owing us one as well.” Snake spoke up, looking at us with those hard eyes. “I’m not going to take anything back with me today, but I want your word that when we need you, you will come running.”

“You know the deal, Snake. No drugs, nothing against our code.”

He nodded. “Got one of those myself. We good?”

“We’re good.” Rage looked around the room. “Fire and Steel, you agree to the terms?”

We all said aye.

“You have your answer.”

Snake stood. “My crew and I’ll be headin’ home. We can transport our wounded out.” He stormed out, a hulking bear of a man.

Strike rose to follow him out. “Go collect your dead, Rage. Keep in touch.”

When he stepped out of the room, we all looked around. We’d suffered a great loss today.

Even if this was technically a victory, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

We were tired of dying. We were, all of us, ready to live. But the MC had to be defended, and no matter how upset I was, how much I questioned it and myself, I knew the truth.

I always would be here. I would always know where I belonged.