Chapter 31 Koa
Koa
The pain hits the second I wake.
Every muscle screams from last night—ribs cracked or bruised, I can’t tell which. My shoulder’s a knot of fire. My knuckles are split open, dried blood crusted between my fingers.
The skin along my arm and rib and hip burns from the road rash, raw and weeping. But it’s the quiet that kills me. The absence of sound except the clock ticking on the trailer wall.
No Lexi. No sign of her here.
I push myself upright, jaw clenched against the pain. Swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. The room spins for a second before settling.
Oxy’s passed out in the chair across from me, a beer bottle half-full in his hand, head tilted back, mouth open.
I grab the bottle, down what’s left—warm and flat—and toss it into the sink. It clatters loud enough to wake him.
“Wake up.”
Oxy groans, barely conscious. “You alive?”
“Barely.”
He cracks one eye open, takes me in, winces. “You look like shit.”
I pull a hoodie over my bruised chest, hissing as the fabric drags across raw skin. “Matches how I feel.”
I grab my phone from the table. Four missed calls. Two from runners, one from a supplier, one unknown number I don’t recognize.
I ignore all of them.
“Call everyone,” I say, shoving the phone in my pocket. “I mean everyone, but not the team. This doesn’t concern college kids.”
Oxy rubs his face, trying to wake up. “So we’re doing this?”
I nod. “This morning. No delays.”
By nine, the trailer’s packed.
Eight men crowd the small space—guys I trust to stay silent and loyal, at least as much as loyalty can be bought in this business. The smell of cigarettes and oil fills the air, mixing with body heat and tension.
No one sits until I do. That’s the rule. That’s how this works.
I drop into the armchair, elbows on my knees, jaw tight. I look each of them in the eye. Make sure they see what I’m feeling.
Rage. Cold, controlled rage.
“You all know the Reapers,” I say. My voice is steady. Calm. “Or you’ve heard the name.”
A few nod. A few shift uneasily, exchanging glances.
“They were supposed to stay out of West Pointe. Mind their business. They knew the line.” I pause, let that sink in. “They crossed it last night.”
No one dares speak. The silence is thick, heavy with unspoken questions.
“They took something of mine,” I continue, each word deliberate. “Someone. And I’m not letting that stand.”
“Who?” one of the older dealers asks—mid-thirties, been in the game longer than most.
My eyes flick to him. Cold. Unblinking. “Not your business.”
Silence again. He nods, drops his gaze.
I lean back, exhaling through my teeth. The movement makes my ribs scream, but I don’t show it.
“This isn’t about product,” I say. “This isn’t about money. This is about territory. If the Reapers think they can walk into my side and take what they want, they’ll learn otherwise.”
A young guy—barely twenty, still has that nervous energy of someone who hasn’t been beaten down yet—mutters, “That’s war, Koa.”
My smile is small. “It is war.”
Oxy shifts against the wall, arms crossed. “You sure you want to do this now? You’re not healed up. You should rest.”
I ignore him. “I want eyes on every highway leading out of town. Anyone wearing masks, anyone driving unmarked vehicles, sedans, anyone asking about me or our connections—get me their location. Don’t engage.”
“What about the drop points?” another dealer asks.
“They hold,” I say firmly. “We continue our shit. Like I said, it’s not about money, it’s not about anything but them crossing the line. Got it?”
That gets a few nods. They understand what I’m saying. It’s not exactly war, just eyes.
The Reapers won’t know shit. They don’t connect with this side of things, not always. They’ll turn a blind eye because they serve a different purpose.
“Someone talk to the South contact,” I add. “Tell him if he wants to stay neutral, he’ll keep his people out of it. I don’t need them transporting what they took from me. And if he’s not going to hear it, he’s next.”
Oxy whistles low. “You’re serious.”
I glare at him. “When am I not?”
I stand, start pacing. My body hurts with every step—ribs grinding, skin’s burning—but I ignore it. Pain keeps me sharp. Reminds me I’m alive.
Oxy speaks again. “You really think they’ll give her back?”
My eyes flicker. Just once. “They won’t have a choice.”
I move to the small table, grab a folded map from the drawer, and spread it out across the surface. Three counties. My routes marked in red, drop points in black, safe houses circled.
I point at the border between West Pointe and Blackridge—the Reapers’ territory.
“They’re here,” I say. “But I know all their spots because this is my home.”
I trace the line with my finger, stopping at a narrow corridor of road that cuts through nothing but trees and abandoned farmland. “Remote, quiet, barely patrolled. They’ll think it’s safe.”
I pause, look up at the men. “It’s not.”
I point out a few more of their places on the map.
I fold it and shove it into my jacket pocket. “Now, just keep your eyes open. I’ll handle the rest.”
Oxy pushes off the wall. “Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re out of your damn mind, man.”
“Maybe.” I pause at the door, glancing back at the men scattered around the trailer. “Anyone asks where I am, you don’t know.”
“And if we get hit?” one of them asks.
My expression is calm, knowing it won’t happen because they won’t want a war with me. “Hit back harder.”
I walk out into the cold morning light—bruised, bleeding, every step agony—but fueled by something worse than pain.
Rage. Pure, focused rage.
Lexi’s voice keeps replaying in my head. Over and over.
He’s not my boyfriend.
Maybe not.
But she’s still mine.
I get in the Charger. The leather’s cold against my back, making me hiss.
Oxy climbs into the passenger seat, quiet now. He knows better than to push when I’m like this.
“Gas?” I ask.
“Full tank this time.”
“Good.” I start the engine. The rumble fills the silence, vibrating through my bones.
The hum of the motor is the only sound as we pull out of the lot. I check the rearview mirror once, seeing the faces of my men fading behind us.
This isn’t business anymore.
It’s personal.
And if the Reapers think they can keep her, they’re already dead.
“What’s the first step?” Oxy asks.
“Going to get her brother before they do.”
His eyebrows rise. “You serious?”
“They took Lexi because of who her father is. You think they won’t go after Axel next?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Shit. You’re right.”
The rehab facility is on the north side of town. Quiet. Private. Expensive enough that most people can’t afford it.
I park in the visitor lot and walk in like I own the place.
The woman at the front desk looks up, starts to smile, then sees my face. The smile falters.
“I’m here for Axel Kane,” I say.
“Are you family?”
“Close enough.” I lean on the counter, ignoring the way my ribs scream. “He’s checking out. Now.”
“Sir, we can’t just—”
“I checked him into this place. Look up his record. I have the rights to his coming and going. Now do it.”
She checks her computer, trying to keep a professional face on. Then she picks up the phone and dials.
Ten minutes later, Axel walks out looking clear-eyed. I realize that I’ve never seen him like this before. The dark circles under his eyes are gone. He looks healthy and also confused.
“Koa? What—”
“We’re leaving.”
A staff member—some guy in khakis and a polo—steps forward. “Mr. Kane needs to complete the program. We don’t recommend—”
“It’s for his safety,” I say flatly.
“He’s safe here,” the guy insists. “This is a secure facility—”
“Not secure enough. Axel.”
Axel shrugs at the guy and follows behind me. The staff member follows, still protesting, but we ignore him.
Outside, Axel asks, “What the hell is going on?”
“Get in the car.”
“Not until you tell me—”
“Your sister’s in trouble. Get. In. The. Car.”
That shuts him up and gets him inside the car.
We drive in silence for the first few minutes. Axel stares out the window, jaw tight.
Finally, I ask, “What do you know about your dad?”
He turns to look at me. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious. Nothing. He left when my mom died. Haven’t seen him since.”
“Does Lexi know anything?”
His expression hardens. “Where is my lovely sister? After all, I’m doing all this shit for her, right?”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Yeah. About that.”
“Where is she?”
“The Reapers have her.”
He’s silent, trying to process it.
“Reapers? Why?” he finally asks.
I don’t know how to answer, so I don’t.
We arrive at the warehouse twenty minutes later.
“Thought you said you’d handle it alone,” Oxy says.
I shake my head. “Need backup in case shit goes south.”
I look at Axel in the rearview mirror. “Stay here.”
“What—”
“Stay. Here.”
I get out, Oxy following close behind.
The warehouse is massive. I fucking hate this place.
I walk in like I own it anyway.
Vincent steps out. My stepdad. The man who owns me in ways I’ll never escape.
He smiles. “Look at what the cat dragged in.”
I don’t smile back.
“I need your help,” I say.
His smile widens. “Do you now?”