Chapter Seven
Naomi
Iknow he told me to stay at the house, but Nick is right.
Since Matthew got out of prison, Kolter’s been spending all his time with him.
He almost never makes it home in time for dinner, he’s missed Nick’s last three football games, and he didn’t even make it to the regionals for my chess team.
I know his dad is forcing him to keep his distance; I just can’t understand why.
We were there for him when he basically abandoned him—we’re his real family.
He’s just a bio-dad. It means nothing. He owes him nothing.
Following him was tricky considering I’m fifteen. No license, no car, which means, yes, I resorted to the hot-pink bike my mom got me for my twelfth birthday. I can barely still fit on it, and it obviously doesn’t have a headlight or anything to see at night, but it does the job.
I watch as Kolter pulls into the parking lot of what looks like an abandoned warehouse.
We’re only a few blocks from the house, but I can honestly say I’ve never been to this area before.
Seattle can turn from urban to sketchy in a matter of a hundred feet or so, and I think it’s safe to say we’ve crossed over into the sketchy district.
I tuck myself behind a tree and watch Kolter greet a man at the door. He’s wearing a similar leather vest to Kolter. The only difference is this guy’s vest has a patch with a logo instead of the word “prospect.”
I looked up what it means to prospect a motorcycle club and hated what I found. Maybe that’s why I made the incredibly stupid decision to follow him to what I now understand is some kind of job for the club.
The man that was apparently standing watch outside the warehouse heads for his bike then rides off. Kolter takes up his spot, lighting up a cigarette as he leans against the front door.
I thought he quit years ago. He used to smoke, but when I told him about the dangers of long-term nicotine use, he gave it up like it was nothing. To see that he’s still smoking, just behind my back, hurts something inside me, and I can’t stop myself from saying something.
“So, you’re back to being a smoker?” I call from across the lot.
Kolter’s head whips to the side in alarm before his eyes round. I’m stomping my way towards him, but if I thought I’d be the most upset person in this scenario, I was dead wrong. Anger like I’ve never seen blooms across his face as his heavy boots slam into the pavement towards me.
“Nay? What the fuck are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
I’m frightened by his tone for a moment and swallow roughly as we draw closer. “I just… I wanted to see what you’ve been doing when you’re not at home. Do you just sit out here saturating your lungs with chemicals while you play guard dog?” I say, a little more fire in my tone now.
Finally, we’re only a few feet apart so I pause, but that’s not close enough for him. He doesn’t stop until his steel-toed boots bump into my tennis shoes and his chest hits mine. He looks down at me, those sharp blue eyes I’ve always loved turning hard and sharp like a knife.
“You need to leave. Now.”
“I just don’t understand what’s happening to you. I used to think I knew you better than anyone. You’re my brother,” I argue, though the words taste like ash the instant they leave my mouth.
Kolter makes a face as if he doesn’t like them either before shaking his head. “I’m serious. This isn’t safe—you need to leave before someone sees you.”
He grabs my arm and starts to walk me away, but I pull out of his grip and shake my head.
“If it’s not safe for me, then it isn’t safe for you. I’m not going home until you come with me.”
“Goddamnit, Peaches. Do as I fucking say, or I will make you regret it,” he threatens, violence flashing in his eyes.
I know I should be scared of him—he’s basically threatening me. Deep down, though, I know he’d never hurt me.
I’m about to say as much when a car drives by and a window rolls down. Everything happens so fast. One moment, I’m standing, having it out with Kolter. The next, I’m down on the concrete, his heavy body on top of mine before a loud popping sound echoes through the night.
Looking up, I see Kolter’s drawn a gun and is shooting towards the car as it shoots at him.
He must hit someone because the car swerves and crashes into a telephone poll.
When the passenger door opens, though, two shots are fired simultaneously.
One drops the dark-haired man from the car, a perfect hole penetrating his forehead; the other hits Kolter in the chest.
My brain struggles to process what I’m seeing.
Kolter presses his hand to his chest then pulls it away, staring down at the blood coating his fingers.
“Oh fuck,” he mutters before dropping to the ground.
Panic races through me as I scramble towards him, frantically scanning his body. Oh God, what do I do? What do I do?
Pressure, right? He needs pressure. And a hospital. Badly.
Quickly, I press one hand against the hole in his chest as I reach for my phone, only to realize I left it on the charger at home. Stupid, stupid!
I pat around in his pockets and find his phone.
“Kolter? Kolter? You’re gonna be okay. Okay? Stay with me!”
That’s what people on TV say to keep injured people awake, right?
“Peaches,” he rasps. “Go. You need to go.”
“I’m not leaving you!” I retort as I dial the police.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asks.
“Hello! Hi, hello? Help! My friend has been shot.”
I look down to see Kolter shaking his head in disapproval, but when he tries to stand, he winces and lies back down fully.
“Okay, what’s the address of your location?” the operator asks.
“Um, I don’t know. Where are we?” I ask Kolter.
He reaches up with a shake of his head before grabbing his phone out of my hands. Good, he can probably give an address or something.
Instead of talking to the operator, though, he hangs up the call then tosses the phone to the side.
“No cops,” he rasps. “They’ll kill me, kill you.”
“You need help! You’ve been shot!” I argue.
“No, listen!” he snarls with as much heat as he can muster. “You need to get out of here—now. Get out of here and don’t come back ever. I’ll b-be fine. Run!”
“Kolter,” I say, my lower lip wobbling. “Please let me help.”
A tear runs down my face, and he lifts a shaky hand to me, wiping it away with his bloody fingers.
“Help me by keeping yourself safe. Don’t tell anyone what you saw, or they’ll come for you, you hear me?”
I shake my head. “I can’t leave you.”
He lets out an aggravated breath as cop sirens sound in the distance. “Help is coming—I’ll be fine, Peaches. You won’t. Get out of here. NOW!” he snarls.
Shakily, I stand, looking down at him as a numbness spreads through me. But I force myself to run for my bike, one foot after the other—though I pause once I’m back in the saddle.
Kolter’s eyes are still on me, and even from this distance I can see him nodding to me encouragingly.
Tears are pouring down my face now, but I do as he says and pedal home as fast as I can, praying to God the entire way that he’ll live, that God will spare him, that I won’t lose him.
I wake up drenched in a cold sweat, my heart beating out of my chest, my breath ragged as I quickly look around my bedroom. It takes my mind a few moments to fully comprehend where I am, that it was all just a dream.
More like a memory.
I haven’t dreamed of the last night I saw Kolter in well over a year.
It was by far the worst day of my life, and every day that followed for weeks was a new level of hell.
Just like I promised him, I didn’t tell anyone what I saw.
Not even Mom or the boys. I did, however, go looking for him the next morning.
When I got to that old warehouse, the place was empty, the car had been towed and only a few bloodstains remained on the asphalt.
I then went to the three closest hospitals to see if he’d been admitted.
They all had no record of him, but after looking up the county roster, I finally found him in jail.
When I tried to visit, they told me he’d refused to see me.
I tried again for three more days, only to be met with the same response each time; then, on the fourth day, I was told that he’d been released.
He wouldn’t answer my phone calls, though.
Or Nick’s, or Anthony’s or Mom’s. He just…
vanished. He didn’t check in with any of us until three months later, on Christmas, when he called Mom to tell her he was okay and would be living at the clubhouse from now on.
She was upset but told him that he always had a place with us.
After all, he was twenty—what could she really do now that he was an adult?
For years, I tried to get in contact with Kolter. Each rejected call felt like a stab to my heart, until finally… I gave up. The pain was so intense I thought I was going to die, and things didn’t start to get better until I went to college and forced myself to move… forward, I guess.
Now, I’m prepping the salad for dinner. The dinner that Kolter is supposedly coming to, after six years, out of the blue. Except it’s not out of the blue. It can’t be a coincidence that after all these years, he finally decides to reach out after I accidentally sucked him off in a sex club.
Was it an accident, though? I mean, it certainly was on my part. But he didn’t seem nearly as shocked as I was. In fact, I think he knew it was me the whole time. Why else would he have called out my nickname mid-climax?
That thought is far more intriguing than it should be, and it adds a whole host of nerves to this equation.
The doorbell rings, and I don’t know who jumps out of their skin more, me or Nick. Despite the fact he’s seen Kolter multiple times over the years, he seems even more excited about this dinner than me.
Nick bounds towards the door and throws it open. “What are you ringing the doorbell like a stranger for? Get in here, brothaaa!”