Chapter 6

Hours later, I was working the bar, drug-free and feeling better than I had in a long time as I handed out drinks, sandwiches, and fried foods. Most of the members who hadn't gone on the run with the others were older, but not so old they couldn't take care of business at home if needed.

They had served the cause and earned an easier lifestyle. They still wore their Kuttes, but slowed reflexes, achy bones, and bad eyesight had earned them the slower pace of protecting the compound rather than being in the thick of the dangerous runs.

Dad's Charter moved a lot of merchandise, anything from guns to drugs, so in many cases, it was the younger members who made these types of runs.

I had just finished pulling a beer off tap when I heard commotion outside the bar, and as I slid the glass toward Jerky, named so because he loved beef jerky, Dillon and a few of the members pushed into the bar.

My eyes immediately caught the bloodstains on their clothing.

Damn near leaping over the bar, I ran toward Dillon. I could see the half-crazy look in his eyes as they settled on me, then stepping forward, he pulled me against his chest.

"They didn't make it out, Mar…Dad and Torin didn't fucking make it out," he groaned.

The world didn’t tilt, it didn’t spin, it just…stopped.

My ears began ringing so loud I couldn’t hear the rest of whatever Dillon was saying. His arms were around me, holding me upright, but my legs weren’t mine anymore.

“No,” I whispered.

Dillon’s chest heaved against my cheek as his hands tightened in my shirt. “The warehouse went up,” he rasped. “There was nothing left, Mar. Nothing…”

“No,” I repeated, sharper this time.

Around us, the bar had gone silent. No glasses clinking, no chairs scraping. Just breathing, heavy and controlled, the kind men used when they were trying not to break in front of each other.

My dad. Torin.

The names didn’t connect to faces or memories…they floated, meaningless.

“They were supposed to come back,” I whispered.

Dillon pulled back enough to look at me. His eyes were red. Not just wet. Red.

“They didn’t,” he breathed.

My gaze moved past him to the men standing behind him. Men who had left with Dad and Torin.

One had blood smeared across his jaw. Another held his arm against his ribs, while the sleeve of another man's shirt had burned away.

None of them were Dad. None of them were Torin.

“Where are they?” I demanded.

Dillon's face tightened. “Mar…”

“You left them there?” I gasped.

“We couldn't get to them.” His voice cracked as he reached for me. “Jesus Christ, Mar, we tried.”

I slapped his hand away. “Then go back.”

He shook his head. “We can't.”

“You fucking go back!” I shouted.

One of the older members lowered his head, and I hated him for it because grief was already written across his face.

They believed Dillon. I didn't.

“You didn't see them die.” My voice shook as I grabbed the front of Dillon's Kutte. “Tell me you saw them die.”

His jaw clenched.

“Tell me,” I snarled.

“I saw the building go up,” he replied.

I shook my head. “That isn't what I asked. Did you see them die?”

“No,” he admitted quietly.

Relief nearly buckled my knees. “Then they're not dead.”

Dillon groaned. “Don't do that, Mar.”

“You didn't see them die, Dillon,” I protested.

“The roof came down. There was fire everywhere. Nobody could've survived it,” he murmured.

“You don't know that!” I argued. Then, releasing him, I backed away, staring toward the door because Dad could still walk through it pissed as hell, demanding to know why everyone was standing around. Torin could come in behind him. He'd find me immediately.

“Someone call them,” I shouted.

Nobody moved.

My stomach twisted, and turning, I rushed around the bar, snatched my phone from beneath the counter and fumbled twice before managing to unlock it.

“Marlowe,” Dillon murmured.

“Shut up,” I snapped.

I called Dad. One ring. Two. Three.

“Pick up,” I pleaded.

Voicemail.

I hung up and called Torin. One ring.

Answer me.

Two.

“Come on,” I breathed.

Three.

“Torin, pick up,” I cried.

Voicemail.

I stared at his name on the screen, my vision blurring.

There were messages between us. Calls. Proof he existed outside whatever nightmare these men had brought through the door.

Dillon stepped toward me.

“Don't,” I warned.

His face broke. That was when I noticed the blood beneath his fingernails and the black dirt ground into the creases of his skin. The hair along one forearm was singed. He had tried.

Dillon had gone close enough to the fire to burn himself, and he had come home without them.

My phone slipped from my fingers and struck the floor. Something inside my chest collapsed.

I didn’t remember moving, but suddenly I was outside. The yard was a blur of bikes, men, and the smell of smoke still clinging to leather.

Torin had kissed my shoulder.

We’ll talk tomorrow, he’d whispered.

I staggered toward the edge of the compound, toward the trees. Someone called my name. I didn’t answer.

They didn’t make it out, played in a loop in my head.

I bent forward and threw up in the dirt, over and over until there was nothing left.

Two of the men who had shaped my world, gone in the same breath.

I dropped to my knees. If this were real, shouldn’t the earth have cracked open? Shouldn’t something have split apart?

But the sky was still blue. The sun was still up. Men were still moving. Life was still happening.

I pressed my forehead into the dirt. “Come back,” I whispered to the universe. “Just walk back through that gate.”

But nothing moved. No engines. No boots. No Dad. No Torin.

The sound that came out of me then didn’t sound human. It tore loose from somewhere deep and raw and didn’t stop until my throat burned.

Hands eventually found me. Arms pulled me up. Voices murmured words that meant nothing.

Hero. Sacrifice. Territory. None of it mattered.

That night I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling. The compound was too quiet. No footsteps came outside my door. No shadow passed the crack beneath it. No knock reached my ears.

The yard stayed empty. The dark stayed still, and no matter how long I listened, no bikes cut through the silence.

I curled tighter around a pillow, fingers digging into the fabric like it might disappear if I loosened my grip.

Tomorrow was supposed to come. It didn’t, and somewhere between one breath and the next, I understood something terrible. The last time Dad had called my name, the last time Torin had kissed my shoulder…was the last time.