Chapter 3 Slade
Slade
The assholes locked me in the MC compound.
This was not what I’d been expecting or wanting. I’m not staying here. I can’t. Not with what chases me.
I hadn’t lied to my brothers—I was just passing through. But not to say hello; to say goodbye. I’m living on borrowed time until what hunts me finds me and finishes me off.
It’s been years since I’ve seen my brothers.
I hadn’t embellished what happened with our mom, and for a long time, I hated and resented them.
But after what I endured at my captor’s hands—who I’ve since learned was Antwane Vanderall—and survived in that cabin of hell, I wanted to wipe the slate clean between us, especially if I was going to meet my maker soon.
Plus, if my brothers saw me, knew I was alive, and that I was choosing to abandon them for real this time, they wouldn’t come looking for me again. It would give them closure, and it would keep them safe from the threat the Vanderalls posed.
But even without the threat chasing me, I wouldn’t stay—there’s nothing left for me here. My family is broken, and whatever we once were is gone.
My brothers have changed, as have I. The person I was before Antwane had captured me doesn’t exist anymore. I might recognize my reflection, but the person staring back is someone else entirely.
However, my plan of saying goodbye has gone to shit. Instead of going on my merry way, I’m in a bedroom on the second floor of the MC’s clubhouse.
I’m not locked in here, but there are Prospects standing guard at each end of the hall, blocking my escape. But I have an escape plan; I always do.
Pressing my ear against the bedroom door, I listen to see if the debauchery downstairs in the bar has dwindled. Bikers are notorious for partying late into the night, which is fine, because once they crash, they crash hard, making it easier to leave.
My biggest challenge will be getting past the front gates.
I’ve thought about ditching my ride and scaling a perimeter wall to escape on foot, but the compound is too isolated.
The surrounding properties all belong to members of the Havoc Guardians, and there’s only one road in or out.
Even if I made a run for it on foot, I doubt I’d reach the fields two miles out, where the darkness and trees might finally offer cover.
No, I’ll need my car. Once I’m out of the gates, I’m confident with my driving skills that I’d be able to outmaneuver them if my brothers or Ash give chase, even if they’re on their bikes.
Committed to my plan, I strain my ears to continue listening for noise. When Ash marched us in, we came in through the side door, steering clear of the bar area. There were a few MC members with two Bunnies, but there wasn’t any open fucking happening.
Ash had seen me look at them and said he had implemented some changes since he’d become Prez.
I gave him a deadpan look that said I didn’t give a shit, because I didn’t and also, whatever.
All bikers were the same, just like my sperm-donor.
My dad fucked any woman who showed him interest. He cheated on my mom constantly, even giving her STIs more than once, and he was the reason for what happened to her with the Demon Spawn gang.
Downstairs, Ash had given me that fierce, parental-protective look that had been born when he saved me, but I ignored it. I wouldn’t stay here, not even for him.
Pushing the horrid memories of my past away, I determine that the clubhouse is quiet now. It’s early morning, but still dark outside, which will work well to give me cover.
I step away from the door and head to the bed where my bag sits. Someone had grabbed it from my car, and I’d already gone through it. Of course, the car keys weren’t there. But that won’t stop me—the Jag’s an older model, and I can hot-wire it in under a minute.
With the way I plan to escape, this bag is too bulky, so I’ll leave it behind. That’s fine because all I need is the cash and the fake ID hidden in the lining.
I grab that out of the bag, then go over to the window, sliding it open and leaning out to see what I’m working with.
The clubhouse is more like a commercial building than a house, and the second floor is at least thirty feet off the ground.
The only thing I could use to climb down is a pipe that runs the full height of the building.
It’s too far to reach, but if I climb out onto the window ledge and jump, I could grab it, then climb down.
There are multiple things that could go wrong with my escape plan—top of the list is that I miss the pipe and plummet to the ground, or the pipe gives away and I plummet to the ground.
Any normal person would feel fear, but I feel nothing. Since my escape from Antwane and his hellish cabin, my emotions are gone. Buried and locked up within the deepest parts of me, because that’s the only thing that keeps the screams of the Numbers from consuming me.
I pat my back pocket, double-checking that I have my cash and fake ID. Then I climb through the small window and crouch on the ledge like a cat. My short, small body has worked to my advantage plenty of times, letting me slip in and out of tight spaces.
The ground below is dark and looks like a bottomless pit. I study it as best I can, trying to ensure that no one is outside on this side of the building. Some might argue that I should stay here, let Ash and my brothers protect and save me from what’s coming.
But fourteen people died because of me. Maybe not by my hand, but they died while Antwane made me watch, then made me accept my penance for living while they died. The memory of Number Fourteen’s death haunts me, as does the lack of memory of Number Thirteen’s death.
Thinking of the Numbers makes my grip slip on the emotions I’ve worked so hard to repress and lock away, and that telltale roar starts up in my head.
I know the swell of fourteen people’s agonized and tortured screams will be next, and my grip on sanity will loosen.
I shove everything back down and renew my promise that no more people will die because of me. Not my brothers, not Ash, and not any of the Havoc Guardians.
Not my ride-or-die best friends—Granger, Camber, Axel, and Sam—who I had left to say goodbye to my brothers and to keep them safe.
Anyone connected to me is at risk.
Antwane Vanderall was a serial killer, and yes, I killed him.
However, his family is richer than God—elite, blue-bloods, and powerful.
As in, connected to the country’s upper echelons of leadership powerful.
In public, they express horror and regret over what was uncovered after I escaped and made an anonymous tip about the cabin and exposed Antwane and his heinous crimes to the world.
But I have proof that his family is hunting me down, determined to make me pay for tarnishing their golden boy and staining their prestigious name.
With their resources, power, and influence, I don’t stand a chance, and anyone who tries to help me will be collateral damage.
My only saving grace is that neither they nor the authorities know who I am.
They only knew there was another person who had been chained to the wall and who had bled and left behind fingerprints—and who most likely killed the serial killer.
But I wasn’t in the system, so the DNA couldn’t be matched to identify me.
A sudden blast of wind hits me, and I grip the window ledge to steady myself. The scent of the ocean fills the air—I’ve always loved that smell, and it reminds me of better, simpler days when my life and I weren’t mere shells of existence.
Pushing those memories away, I rise to stand on the ledge, the thick tread of my boots gripping the surface. I study the distance between the window ledge and the pipe attached to the side of the building.
Given the distance, trying to leap with my body turned away from the pipe will bring certain failure.
My best chance is turning my body on the narrow window ledge and jumping toward the pipe head-on.
However, the ledge is narrow, and even though my body is small, my shoulder will butt up against the building, making my body off-center, and I could tip off the ledge before I even jump.
The other problem is that there’s not much space between the pipe and the building, which will make it harder to wrap my hands around it while leaping like a lemur between branches.
Okay, so maybe this isn’t such a shit-hot plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got. Because I need to get out of here.
My best bet is to turn, jump hard and fast, and hope for the best.
Looking down at the darkness far below, I take a deep breath, pivot on my left foot, plant my right one on the very edge of the ledge, deep bend my knees, then explode into a jump with as much coiled muscle power as possible. And fly through the air.
When my left hand touches the metal, my fingernails bend and break as they hit the rough siding of the building. But my hand closes around the pipe. My body keeps flying past, though, and my grip nearly releases. My shoulder screams in pain at the sudden, violent jerk, but I manage to hold on.
My body swings and hits the building, slamming the pipe into my side, which makes more pain to explode through me. But I’m still here, not a broken pile of flesh and bones on the ground, so there’s that.
The pipe is making an alarming groaning sound, though, so I grip the metal with both hands, brace my boots against it, and climb down.
My hands are sweaty, and my shoulder hurts like a bitch, but when I'm five feet off the ground, I drop and land in a crouch to absorb the impact. I stay crouched, listening and looking around to see if anyone is raising the alarm that I’m escaping. But all is quiet.