Point of Infinity (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster)

Prologue

KENZIE

Aloud thump on the door, followed by several knocks and shouting, woke me up.

Blinking hard, I sat up straight, still half lost in sleep.

The beanbag chair in the corner was where I crashed most nights anyway.

I rolled off and pushed up to my knees. A sharp scream echoed off the walls, then my mom’s bare feet slapped against the hardwood floors and traveled down the hallway toward me.

“Kenzie,” she whisper-screamed. My door flew open. “Kenzie.”

She ran to the bed and raked the covers onto the floor.

“I’m over here.” I wiped at my eyes, unable to focus yet.

“Brandy.” A slurred booming voice came through my open window. My mom froze.

“Come here. My little chickadee,” the voice continued. Other men whooped and hollered.

That got her moving again. She yanked me up, tearing the collar of my PJs, and hugged me to her. “Hurry. You need to hide.”

She pulled me out of my room and down the hall. Sweat and the sour smell of fear wafted from her. “You remember your secret hiding space?”

“Mom.” I tried to stop her, but with the death grip she had on my wrist, I had no choice but to follow her. I was six.

When we’d moved into this house, I had discovered a small secret door on the landing.

I found it while drawing on the wall and pushed too hard.

The panel popped open. Inside was a small, two-foot square room.

I practiced hiding in there, often ran and hid to delay the punishment I knew I deserved.

My mother often referred to me as a rambunctious child.

I still didn’t know what the word actually meant.

I forgot about the room about the time I had to crawl to get inside.

She felt around the perimeter of the panel, never quite hitting it right.

“Open it.” She frantically hit the wall. “Now.”

I felt along the right side of the panel. The beige paint had begun to chip. Not that the place was new when we moved in, but it had been freshly painted, and eight years later, it needed another refresh. My fingers fell into the familiar dent, and I pressed.

The door popped open.

My mom shoved me inside.

“You stay here until I come and get you.” She pushed the door closed.

“Wait, Mom, no.” I pushed it open and crawled out. “You hide, too.”

The front door exploded with a loud boom. Mom covered my mouth to muffle the scream. Several heavy footsteps shuffled inside.

“Brandy,” the slurred voice sang.

“No.” My mom pressed a kiss to the side of my head and shoved me down. “If they find you, they will take you, and I can’t lose you.” Her nails dug into my chest as she pushed me back in.

I grabbed her hand. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to smile, but I’d seen my mom’s real one before—bright, full of life. This wasn’t it. What stared back at me now was raw, stripped-down fear.

Tears sprang to my eyes.

“No worries, baby.” She kissed me again. “I’ll come and get you when it’s safe.”

She pushed the door closed, casting the tiny room in darkness.

I felt around me. My hand landed on a box of crayons or pencils.

I couldn’t tell in the dark. I left a couple of books and my old sketch pad stacked to the side.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out the round plastic eyes of my childhood stuffed turtle.

I grabbed the plush toy and held it to my chest. Its fur was still soft.

Heavy footsteps stomped on the landing and stopped.

I scooted until my back collided with the wall.

The room was much bigger when I was five and didn’t smell as musty.

A cool breeze skated across the floor and tickled my toes.

I searched in the small space for something to cover up and found a couple of blankets in a box.

I brought the blanket to my nose. It smelled of dust and mildew.

Mom must have forgotten they were in here.

A sneeze escaped, and I covered my mouth.

Thankfully, the footsteps moved on farther up the stairs.

A sickening thud followed by a loud, piercing scream took my breath away.

It sounded like it came from the bottom of the stairs.

I huddled farther into the back of the secret room.

A whimper, then another thump and a scream made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

I heard whispered men’s voices, but I couldn’t fully make out what they were saying.

It continued like this forever. I covered my ears to block out the noise.

My mom fighting to breathe, flesh thumping noises between screams and cries and more whispers.

I didn’t notice my own tears until they dampened my shirt.

I reached up to open the door and save her, but her guttural screams stopped me.

I covered my ears again, but it didn’t help.

My mom was dying, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

Eventually, the screams stopped, the noise died down, and the entire house went silent. It didn’t last long. Heavy boot-clad feet stomped up the stairs again. I covered my mouth to keep from screaming. They searched every room.

“She’s got to be here.” Furniture was pushed and scraped against the floors. Doors slammed. Glass broke.

“No one else is here,” another voice, not so slurry, said.

“Fuck.” They were in the hallway at the top of the stairs. “Pres told us to find her. He’s going to kill us. We can’t go back empty-handed. We had strict instructions. Find and bring his daughter back.”

“Maybe you should have thought about it before you had your turn fucking his ex-old lady to death.” Another voice chuckled. “His daughter probably ran to the neighbors and is calling the police as we speak.”

My ears perked up.

Daughter.

“Pres said we could have some fun before.” He made a weird strangling sound with his throat. “I have no clue why Pres wants to play father of the year now.”

I never knew my father but had seen pictures of him. I knew he was part of a motorcycle gang. My mom told me he had died before I was born. Why would she lie about that?

“Maybe she wasn’t here, and she’s at a sleepover or something.” The heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs. “She’s got to come home eventually.”

“We’ll wait for her.” Their voices disappeared. The television in the living room came on.

I curled up in a ball and covered myself with the blanket.

It was too much. Nausea made me clutch my stomach.

My brain was on information overload. My mother was down there hurt, or worse, and I was stuck in the hole in the wall for God knows how long.

It was a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. I closed my eyes for a minute.

I needed to think.

My eyes blinked open.

The house was quiet.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was morning or still the same night. Hopeful they had given up, I slid the lock away and pushed the door open to crawl out. I didn’t notice the men sitting at the bottom of the stairs until it was too late.

“Well, there you are.” A man with greasy dark curls and a scraggly beard peered over his shoulder.

“Here the whole time.” He stood up and adjusted his jacket.

It had the emblem of a skull with a snake in the shape of an infinity symbol penetrating the eyes.

The word Infinity in white block letters spanned the top, shoulder to shoulder, and Kings along the bottom.

I’d heard the name somewhere before but couldn’t place it.

With no time to contemplate it, I took off up to the top of the stairs but ran into a wall of two men dressed in all black.

They stopped me in my tracks. I scrambled back, white knuckling the banister.

Black masks covered their faces. My gaze traveled down their bodies, and terror seized my limbs when I spotted the shiny silver guns in their right hands.

My legs wouldn’t cooperate. The men in black looked identical, except one was slightly bigger.

When I reached their eyes, my terror went away.

They both had striking eyes, but where one was gray and kind, the other was more hazel and darker.

His eyes reminded me of something, of a memory, but I couldn’t place it, nor did I have time.

No matter how kind they looked, they were obviously here to do something bad.

All I knew was they looked like two angels of death, but somehow, I knew they weren’t here to hurt me.

“Where the fuck did you guys come from?” The man with the Infinity King jacket started up the stairs, his gun drawn.

He didn’t get far before a gunshot rang out.

The sound ricocheted off the walls and made my legs turn to jelly.

I had no time to react. My guardian angel with the gray eyes jumped down the landing and shielded me in his arms. He cried out, but he covered me and pressed me into the corner.

More gunshots rang out. I covered my ears and prayed for it to be over soon.

The smell of sulfur filled my nostrils.

Time moved slowly, but eventually, the noise stopped.

“Ratchet.” The other guy pulled my shield off me. “You hit?”

“Yeah, fuck.” He growled and slumped down on his butt. “Got me in the forearm.”

I lifted my head, and the two of them sat next to each other, shielding me from the bottom.

“Shit hurts, don’t it?” He pulled a black bandana from his back pocket and wrapped it around the wound.

“Fuck yeah.” He winced. “Be careful.”

“Maybe next time don’t jump in front of the man with the gun firing bullets.”

“Is he dead?” I adjusted onto my knees.

“I’m sorry.” The guy with the gunshot wound chuckled. “Next time I’ll ask him to refrain from shooting until I get out of the way.”

The one with the familiar eyes joined him in a laugh.

Did they forget about me?

“Excuse me!”

They both looked over their shoulders. I fell back on my butt.

“Hey.” The one with the hazel eyes reached out and placed a hand on my leg. “Be careful. Are you hurt?”

“No.” I shook his hand off my leg, although it offered some comfort. “Who are you guys?”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” The one who took a bullet for me spoke up. He turned to his friend. “Got to check out downstairs.”

When he moved, the two bodies at the bottom of the stairs came into view. It was real. It wasn’t a dream, and if they were real, it meant . . .

I pulled myself up and stumbled down the stairs. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him. “Whoa. Wait a minute, princess.”

“My mom.” I fought against him, but he had a solid hold on me.

The other guy stopped at the entryway to the living room.

“Oh, man.” He rubbed his stomach and looked back at me. Sadness filled those familiar eyes.

“Is she?”

He nodded.

I slumped in Ratchet’s arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in my ear.

I wiped the tears from my eyes. Not yet, I couldn’t break down yet.

“I want to see her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good—”

“Please.”

“Let her see.” Ratchet nodded to his friend. His head dropped, but he stepped out of the way.

Ratchet let me go but grabbed my hand with his good one. He led me into the living room. I peeked around him and saw it. My mother sprawled out on the floor.

Her clothes lay tattered in scraps on her body. Dark discolored bruises had already formed on her arms and legs. A distinct handprint wrapped around her left upper arm. Her eyes were closed, but the only mark on her face was a smear of blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth.

Her face appeared so peaceful.

I dropped to my knees next to her but didn’t touch her. She appeared asleep, but her skin looked pale and clammy. The smell of death surrounded her. I would never get that smell out of my memory.

“We need to get out of here.” The guy with the hazel eyes backed away from us, but the one he called Ratchet squatted next to me.

“Give her a minute.” Blood had soaked his black bandana. It must have been painful, but he was being so kind to me. The other guy passed him a gun.

He set it on the floor next to my mother. He touched my arm. I jerked away and glared at him.

His eyes darted around. And his lips spread into a grimace.

I immediately felt sorry for having pulled away from him. But I didn’t know him, and I wasn’t going with them.

“Ratch, man, come on,” the other guy called from the hallway.

“Mackenzie.”

I turned toward Ratchet. “How do you know my name?”

“The sign over your bed in pink neon.” He smirked and picked up the gun.

I gasped.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He wiped down the gun with his T-shirt.

“Here.” He handed the gun to me. “Put your finger on the trigger.”

I shook my head.

“It’s perfectly safe. The gun’s empty.” He shook it. “Take it.”

I wrapped my hand around the grip. It was heavier than I had imagined.

“In a few minutes, the police are going to come in here. You tell them exactly what happened.” He grabbed my hand and guided my finger to the trigger. He pulled, and the gun clicked and jumped in my hand.

“A group of guys broke in and killed your mother. The two at the bottom of the stairs waited behind, and when you came out of your hiding place on the landing.”—he gestured toward the stairs—“you shot them.”

“But . . .”

“You shot them to protect yourself.” He stood up. “What happened?”

I looked between him and his friend. He looked so hopeful. I didn’t want to disappoint them.

“I shot them to protect myself.” I dropped the gun next to me and stood up.

Sirens rang out from a distance.

“That’s a good girl.” He caressed my cheek. His warm skin took some of the chill out of my heart. It quickly returned when he stepped away.

“We were never here, okay?” The other guy nodded.

I nodded back.

I stood over my mother. Part of me expected her to sit up and give me an explanation.

I loved my mother, but we’d been living in a constant state of impending doom since we left the small town where I was born.

I knew we were on the run, but not from who.

From the logo on the man’s cut, my suspicions were confirmed.

And I had killed them. Now they would be after me, too.

“Don’t worry, princess.” He backed away. “Just tell the police your story, and they will send you far away from here. You’ll be safe.” It was like he read my mind.

He kissed the top of my head and shuffled out the front door, cradling his arm against his chest.

I ran after him, but once I stepped outside, they were gone.

The sirens grew closer.

My legs became weak. I collapsed on the front stoop.

They asked me to keep their secret, but the man who ordered them to hurt my mom was still out there. And I would not be safe until he was dead, too.