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 if it was needed. 

They had served the cause and earned an easier lifestyle. They still wore their Kuttes, but slowed reflexes and achy bones, as well bad eyesight, had allowed them the slower pace of protecting the compound, rather than being in the thick of the high-intensity and 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 blood stains on their clothing. 

Damn near leaping over the top of the bar counter, I ran toward Dillon. I could see the half-crazy look in his eyes as they settled on me. Moisture filled their depths, then stepping toward me, he pulled me against his chest, his voice emerging in a husky cry. "They didn't make it out, Mar—Dad and Torin didn't fucking make it out."

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

My ears rang 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 said. It came out flat, small.

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

“No,” I repeated. This time it came out sharper.

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

My father. Torin.

The names didn’t connect to faces, they didn’t connect to memory…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.

Something inside my chest caved in, and I shoved away from him.

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.

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

My father. Torin. The two men who had shaped my world. Gone in the same breath.

I dropped to my knees. The ground was solid beneath my palms. Too solid.

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. “Get up,” I whispered to the universe. “Just get up. Walk back through that gate.” But nothing moved.

No engines. No boots. 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.

I rolled onto my side. The spare pillow still smelled like him. Smoke. Leather. Sweat. The faint trace of the soap he pretended not to care about. I pressed my face into it and inhaled until it hurt.

If I breathed deep enough, maybe I could keep him here. Maybe scent counted as proof. Maybe memory could substitute for flesh and bone.

My chest tightened, and for one insane second I almost sat up. Almost walked outside. Almost waited by the gate like a stupid girl who believed engines reversed death. But the yard stayed empty. The dark stayed still, and no matter how long I listened, no bike cut through the silence.

I curled tighter around the pillow, fingers digging into 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 he’d kissed my shoulder…was the last time.