12. Aria
Aria
My fingers are cold and trembling as I grip the phone to my sweaty palm, but I’m resolute. This has to be done. Two rings, then three, before the line connects.
“Russo.” Marco's voice, smooth and controlled, trickles through my veins like ice water.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to hang up. "Marco, it's me."
Silence stretches for two heartbeats.
“Wifey,” he says in a sinister voice before his tone shifts, becoming razor-sharp. “Where the fuck are you?"
“I-I…it's not important." My free hand twists in the hem of the shirt I’m wearing, one of Hawk's, smelling of him, giving me courage.
"Where are you?!" he again demands. The barely contained rage in his voice makes me flinch.
I glance at the clock—10:17 PM on Halloween night. Outside in the common room, the club is raucous, with loud music, drinking, and dancing. I wish I were out there joining in the revelry, carefree and untroubled.
The MC has become my family in the short time I've known them. I refuse to allow Marco or Uncle Vincent to hurt them.
"I..." I close my eyes. "You win, Marco. Just don't hurt any of the Shadow Reapers."
A sickening chuckle comes through the line. "Well, well, wifey. So you’re at the Shadow Reapers compound after all.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. "No! I-I...I want you to meet me. I'll go with you. I'll do whatever you want if you promise not to hurt them.” I take a deep breath, mustering he courage to utter the next words, “I’ll marry you."
"Tomorrow." His voice drops an octave, thick with twisted satisfaction. "You'll marry me tomorrow, wifey."
I taste bile at the back of my throat. "Y-yes."
I look at the clock again, counting the minutes. This has to be timed perfectly. "Meet me at the old Reynolds place. The one they say is haunted. Tonight at 11 PM."
"You better be there." His breathing quickens, excitement evident. “You won’t get away with your disobedience. My wifey needs to be punished, and when I get hold of you, I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget."
The line goes dead. I drop the phone like it's a hot poker, and wipe my palm against my jeans, concentrating hard on regulating my breathing and slowing my heart rate.
You need to do this, Aria. For Hawk, for your new friends, for the club. And for yourself.
The air in the mansion hangs heavy with dust and decay. Halloween feels especially potent here—like there may be real ghosts lingering in the stillness.
I stand in the darkness of the front parlor with its cobwebs and dusty tarp-covered furniture and stare out the window, waiting.
Minutes tick by like hours. At precisely 10:58 PM, red and blue lights flash briefly outside before going dark. A pair of headlights sweeps across the room through the dirty windows. A car door slams.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I position myself near the grand staircase and duck into the shadows. Invisible from the entrance and far enough away to run if needed.
The front door creaks open, sending chills down my spine.
“Wifey,” Marco appears in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the full moon. Even from where I’m hidden, I can see the cruel smile stretching across his face. "Where are you, my naughty wifey?"
"Trick or treat, wifey." He chuckles, the sound like fingernails on a chalkboard as his words echo through the empty foyer, dripping with a creepy false sweetness. I press myself against the wall, waiting.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are." His voice gets closer. "Trick or treat."
The sound of a gun barrel being cocked slices through the silence.
"Trick, motherfucker.” Marco freezes as Hawk materializes behind him, pressing the muzzle to his temple. "It was a trick,” Hawk growls, his voice deadly calm.
Marco's hand inches toward his holster, but Saint and Blade emerge from the shadows, their own weapons drawn.
"I wouldn't," Saint warns, his usual charm replaced by cold menace.
Marco's eyes dart wildly around the room before landing on me. "You stupid bitch."
Rage bubbles up inside me—rage for the bruises he left on my body, for the fear he planted in my heart, for the life he tried to steal from me. Before I can think, I cross the room and drive my knee into his groin with every ounce of strength I possess.
Marco doubles over with a strangled yelp.
Hawk chuckles approvingly. "That's my girl," he says, pride evident in his voice as he yanks Marco upright.
"You can't do this," Marco gasps, his face contorted with pain. “I’ll have you locked up for this."
“We’re quaking in our boots,” Blade deadpans.
“I am a decorated homicide detective,” Marco chokes out, clearly still hurting from my knee. “You boys are facing decades in the slammer for this.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Saint shoves him forward. “Time to reunite you with your buddy Carducci.”
They drag Marco toward the dining room, his curses echoing through the empty house. Hawk turns to me, his expression softening slightly.
"Wait here, little sparrow. You don't want to see this."
I nod, understanding what comes next. "I'll be in here."
As they disappear down the hallway to where they already have my Uncle Vincent bound and gagged, I sink onto a dusty tarp-covered chair, trying to block out the sounds that follow—the thud of fists hitting flesh, grunts of pain, shouted questions, and broken confessions.
Despite my promise to remain out here, I find myself creeping closer, drawn by some need to hear the truth spoken aloud.
"Russo wanted your niece as payment," Hawk continues, presumably addressing Vincent. "Payment for covering up what you did to my family."
Uncle Vincent's voice, weaker than I remember it, drifts through the doorway. “He’s been obsessed with her since she was a child. Wanted me to give her to him when she was eight years old. Eight! Even I couldn't stomach that."
I press a hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to scream—or to vomit.
"Fuck you," Marco spits.
A sickening crack followed by a howl of pain.
"So you waited until she was eighteen," Saint says, disgust evident in his tone.
"A debt's a debt," Vincent replies, followed by another crack and groan of pain.
The confessions continue—how Vincent arranged the "accident" that killed Hawk's family, how Marco ensured it was ruled a drunk driving incident, how they conspired to steal the contract that should have belonged to Hawk's father.
I stumble back to the parlor as these monsters are laid bare in their cruelty. They took Hawk's family from him. Tried to take my future, my happiness from me.
An eternity passes before Hawk, Saint, Blade, Ghost, and Cipher emerge from the dining room, knuckles bloody, expressions triumphant.
Hawk comes straight to me, gathering me in his arms. "Let's get out of here," he murmurs into my hair.
Noticing my glance toward the dining room, Blade wipes blood from his hands with a handkerchief as he answers my unspoken question. "They'll be unconscious for hours.”
"Let's go," Saint urges. "Clock's ticking."
We head out into the cool October night air. Hawk helps me onto the back of his bike, his touch gentle despite the violence I know those hands just delivered.
Five Harley engines roar to life before racing in formation down the leaf-strewn drive.
A quarter mile away, Hawk gives the signal.
The bikes stop, and Saint retrieves something from inside his cut—a small black box with a single red button.
Hawk snakes his arm around me, drawing me tightly against him. "You played your part perfectly," he whispers before claiming my mouth in a quick but fierce kiss.
When we break apart, Saint raises the detonator. "Adios chicos."
He presses the button.
The explosion shatters the night, a fireball rising where the mansion once stood. The force of it ripples through the air, hot against my face even at this distance. Orange flames lick at the black sky, consuming the past and those who poisoned it.
It’ll be ruled a gas leak. A faulty furnace. As lame an excuse as they gave for the deaths of Hawk’s family members.
A feeling rises inside me. Not joy—I don’t take joy in death, not even theirs—more like peace. Like justice.
Hawk's arm tightens around me. “Happy Halloween, little sparrow."
We allow ourselves one more minute to stare at the inferno before heading back to the clubhouse.