24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Drakos
I dreamed about my grandfather again that night. My dreams of him started at Bitter Creek Ranch, the first time they beat me unconscious and threw me into one of those fucking cells.
When I came to, I lay there on the cold concrete floor in my own piss and blood, and wondered idly if I was going to die. After drifting in and out of consciousness for hours, I dreamed about him for the first time. We were sitting across from each other at a picnic table in the park near where I grew up, with a chess game set up between us. I felt warm and didn’t ache everywhere, so I knew right away it wasn’t real.
He patted my hand and studied the board in front of him. “You’re in a bit of a pickle, Drakos, my boy. Can you wake up?”
I looked over at his craggy face and bushy eyebrows. “I don’t think I want to, Grandpa.”
He sighed and sat back. “But you need to, son. If you don’t get up, get moving, and maybe drink some water, you may not make it. Illegitimi non carborundum . Don’t let the bastards grind you down.” It had become my personal motto during those endless months in Bitter Creek.
I woke sometime later in that cell with Xander kneeling over me, offering me water and the animal crackers they usually fed us. Not the good kind with frosting and sprinkles, but the stale, shitty kind that came in industrial-sized bags and tasted like cardboard. They thought it was funny to feed us those disgusting crackers.
Tonight, I dreamed he waited for me in the booth of an old diner like the one we’d eaten at when he took me to New York City for the first time. I looked around absently at the 1950s décor and the servers in pink uniforms. It was a place he would have liked.
“Hello, my boy.” Tonight there wasn’t a chessboard between us, just two cups of coffee and a small silver pitcher of cream.
Smiling, I slid into the booth. “It’s been a while. I miss you.”
He took the toothpick out of his mouth and pointed it at me. “It looks like you found yourself a woman worth keeping. It took you long enough—don’t muck it up.”
My lip quirked, and I leaned back in the booth. “That’s all I seem to be doing lately.”
“Heh. That’s usually what happens in the beginning. Tell me about her.”
So I told him about Sylvie, and he grimaced when I mentioned Bella and her friend stopping by, then grinned when I recounted Sylvie blowing up the motorcycles with a suicide drone.
One of the servers, who resembled Betty White, brought us apple pie and refilled our coffee. We talked for what felt like hours—or maybe just minutes—before Sylvie stirred, pulling me from the dream. I rolled over and held her tight against me, wanting to shield her from the danger I knew was coming.