CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE SUN HIT my face early, killing any chance of sleep.
Not that I got much before that—just hours of drifting in and out, cold, uncomfortable, scared.
Gravel bit into my back. Creatures skittered past me in the dark.
At one point, I had to pee in the corner with my jeans around my ankles.
Now I’m curled up at the opposite end of the cage, waiting to see somebody.
Anybody, at this point.
Everything aches. My lips are dry. My mouth is worse. I don’t even remember when I last had water.
By the time there’s stirring and movement in the hangar, the sun’s high enough to blind me.
One engine starts—a cough, a sputter, then the steady growl of a throttle.
Another follows. And another. Soon it’s a chorus: mufflers snarling, speakers and sound systems being tested, voices rising. Today is race day.
Game day—for them. For me, it’s a day of reckoning and fear.
I lean my head against the chain-link, staring at the back of the hangar.
I spent years in that building, but I’ve never seen it from out here.
My eyes trace the dents in the corrugated steel wall just to give them something to do.
The giant double doors are propped wide, and inside it’s a hive of activity, people and bikes moving in and out.
I catch sight of Silas stepping out of the prefab paint booth in the far corner, the one they set up for bikes.
He walks up to a prospect carrying a case of beer, and all I can think is: why doesn’t he bring me something to drink?
I’d take anything. Even a bottle of beer.
If I tilt my head to the right, I can just make out the airstrip—a cracked stretch of asphalt beyond the knot of brush that separates it from the new wooden outbuildings behind the hangar.
The old runway sits empty most of the year, except for this race.
Now, there are flags being staked into the dirt, coolers hauled into place, and a crew threading wires for the sound system.
Still, beneath everything, is the sound of engines growling, low and constant, and only a taste of the noise that’ll shake this place apart by afternoon.
A prospect jogs past me, chest bouncing with a stack of orange cones. I try to call out, but my throat’s too dry. My voice dies before it leaves my mouth and he disappears through the footpath that cuts from the yard through the brush to the strip.
The smell of food cooking draws my attention back to the hangar. My stomach knots, cramping around nothing. I try to swallow but it burns. My tongue’s dry and thick. I’m invisible out here. A caged, abandoned dog.
The next time I hear footsteps on gravel, I sit up fast, throat already working to call out. Maybe someone’s finally come to let me out. Maybe food. Water. Anything.
But it’s the last person I expect.
Heading straight for me, riot of copper hair haloed in the sun and fringe jacket swinging around her, is Rox.
Her eyebrows knot in concern. “Jesus, Max,” she says heavily, reaching the fence and curling her fingers over the wire. Her eyes rake over me. “You look like shit. How long you been out here for?”
“Too long.” It croaks out. My first words in hours.
She kneels down to get at my level. “What happened? Billy told Maze you were being punished, but this seems…extreme.”
I blink at her. Is this the person who ends up coming for me? Rox? She isn’t a perfect savior…but right now, I need anyone.
“I need to get out of here. Wy—Ryan. I don’t know where he is. Did you see him inside?”
She shakes her head. “No, honey. But I can ask Maze to ask around. You want me to do that?”
“Yes.” It comes out desperate. “I need to know where he is.”
“Oh, sweetheart. Okay, I got you.” She stands, already turning back toward the hangar.
“And water,” I manage. “Rox, I need water.”
She glances back. “’Kay, hang in there. You look like you need to take the fucking edge off.”
I watch her go, that wild copper mess of hair bouncing with every step. Then I wait.
And wait.
When she finally returns, she’s got a bottle of water in one hand.
“Catch,” she says, and tosses it over the fence.
It hits the gravel and rolls, and I lunge for it like a starving animal, twisting the cap with shaking hands, and drink until the plastic buckles in my fist. It’s sun-warmed, tastes like plastic and gas, and it’s the best drink of water I’ve ever had in my life.
“Yikes,” Rox says, pitifully. “Poor thing.”
Then she crouches again, one knee pressed to the wire, and holds out her hand. A sky-blue pill gleams on her palm, stamped with an M.
“Take this, babe. It’ll help you float for a while.”
My stomach knots, withdrawal a visceral memory. Wyatt holding a bucket while I heaved my guts out, the cold sweat that constantly clung to me, nights I thought I wouldn’t survive. I sigh and shake my head.
“I can’t.”
Rox tilts her head. “Up to you,” she says with a shrug. “If I were you I’d wanna make this as bearable as I could. It’s good. It’ll dull the edge and fast-forward you through the worst of it.”
God, fast-forwarding through the worst of it sounds appealing right now.
Withdrawal was a nightmare, but what’s worth fighting for anymore?
I’m locked in a cage. I will never escape Billy’s grasp.
Ryder’s dead because of him and now Wyatt probably is too.
I don’t even know if Damian still works at Leathernecks, if there’s anyone there who would even understand my message.
Maybe there’s nothing left for me but this, and in that case, why would I even want to be present for it?
“Floating is better than sinking,” Rox adds, as if she can see me faltering.
Never again, I had promised myself then.
Just this once, I promise myself now.
I reach out and take it, throwing it back and chasing it with the rest of the water.
“Poor Maxie,” Rox murmurs. “I hope it brings you some relief.”
I lean my head back against the fence and we sit in silence a while. Five minutes. Thirty. I don’t know. Time bends.
“I thought you were gone for good,” I say after a while. There’s a slight loosening of the tension holding me together. Conversation starts to seem possible.
Rox shrugs and leans over her crossed knees, picking up a small piece of gravel and turning it over.
“Yeah, sorry we took off so fast. We had to disappear. Maze got too loud, ya know? Pushed weight into Riverton, didn’t bother clearing it first. That’s South Range turf, and they don’t give second warnings.
They burned a trap house and beat the shit out of one of Maze’s runners.
We gotta lay low, but race day’s too sweet to miss.
Everyone’s eyes are on the bikes, not the ghosts. ”
“Well, it’s nice to see you,” I say, even though I’m not sure that’s true. It’s nice that she’s here talking to me, anyway. That she brought me water. Maybe this is all the kindness I can expect anymore. Maybe this is the best of it.
“Billy’s off the leash,” she says. “I’ve never seen him like this. He seems…mean.”
I snort a laugh.
Rox was freedom once. She was also the fast track to blackout. I don’t know which memory I’m reacting to.
“You hungry, babe?” she asks, and my stomach gurgles at just the mention of food.
“Yes,” I answer.
She stands. “The food’s a shitshow in there, but I’ll try to grab something.”
And just like that, I’m alone again. But the water’s in me, and the pill is gently wending its way through my bloodstream, making my cells unfurl like tiny flowers.
The softer I get, the louder and sharper everything around me gets.
The sun creeps higher, the ambient drone of voices and engines gets more pervasive.
The crowd over at the airstrip is growing—spectators, riders, bikes in a constant stream.
But weightlessness creeps in, slow and steady.
It evens things out. The cage feels less like punishment. Maybe I like it in here.
By the time Rox comes back, music’s blaring from the strip. I imagine I can feel it in the ground, in my spine. Like it’s moving through me.
She’s not alone. Maze walks beside her, swinging a fat ring of keys from one hand. His hair is tied back, brown eyes crinkling warmly at the corners when he sees me.
“Hey, baby,” he says, throwing me a wink. “Long time no see.” He glances at the cage. “Didn’t think our reunion would look like this.”
He unlocks the padlock and pulls the gate open with a screech of warped metal. Rox is on me first, arms around my shoulders before I can react. Maze follows, one hand steady at my back, drawing me briefly into his chest.
I’m surprised to feel my arms moving too, folding around them, returning the hug. The pill is settling in, loosening everything—my muscles, my guard, the clenched place in my chest. My head feels lighter. So does the weight of the past.
Some part of me knows better. These are the people who got me strung out and then disappeared. But right now, that part’s buried. Everything feels softer. Like maybe they’re not as dangerous as I remember. Like maybe they never were.
“Billy wants you showered and dressed,” Maze says, twirling the keys once more. “Rox’ll get you cleaned up, find you something to wear, then we’re walking you in before the second set goes off, okay?”
Billy’s name lands in my chest like a stone. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be near him. But I want out of the cage more. And above all else, I need to know where Wyatt is. If he’s okay. If he’s even alive.