Chapter 4
Cade
Iwas going to take my bike to meet Bruno, but I have too much energy to sit down.
Deciding to walk, I take in the breeze, letting it flow through my lungs.
I swear I can taste freedom in the wind.
It dances on the tip of my tongue in a pattern I’ve never been familiar with.
There have been brief flashes when I’m toe-to-toe with an opponent, but never something so potent.
If the opportunity to become a pro is enough to fill me with this sensation, then I can’t imagine how much better it can become.
Still, I spend the majority of the walk imagining it. I wonder where I’ll go.
Nevada?
Atlantic City?
New Jersey?
I wonder who I’ll meet… what names will be placed beside mine, shining in bright, white lights—everyone shouting my name. I’m in the middle of picturing all the greats shaking my hand when an obnoxious roar of an engine sounds behind me.
I have a habit of walking in the middle of the deserted highway, so I merge onto the side, waving my arm to signal the driver to pass me. Watching the driver as the van approaches, I give both riders a two-finger salute, waving them hello and farewell before I go back to daydreaming.
I’m about to find my place in the middle of the road when suddenly the car slows to a stop. I slow as well, but then the man in the passenger seat sticks his head out of the window, shouting, “Mind helping us out? We’re a bit lost!”
I hustle to their side. Call it small-town boy chivalry, but I feel compelled to help. Approaching the window, I’m met with smiling faces. “So, where are you looking to go?” I ask, but the answer never comes.
A violent burst of pain erupts at the back of my skull, followed by a shrill ringing in my ears. The world suddenly falls, turning on its side. Something catches me before I hit the ground. The abruptness of it sends my head to the left, leaving a trail of blood to stream diagonally across my face.
Sounds become distinguishable then, and the voices of four men, not two, become painstakingly clear.
“Get him in the fucking back! Do it! Do it now!”
I will my body to fight, but something is restraining my hands and feet. Through the blood in my eyes, I glare at the men before me, attempting to memorize their features through my red and fuzzy haze.
“Bag him,” is all the big one says, and then my vision is taken from me, too.
“Fff-ff—” I can’t get the fucking words out!
I can’t fucking move! I-I-I. Panic begins to take hold of me, overpowering my inability to function.
Body completely out of my control, I flail around on a hard metal floor.
Every crash of my bones against the van’s surface sends my nerves recoiling.
At some point, I think I scream, but it’s hard to be sure when everyone else is shouting, too.
A sentence breaks through the chaos here and there.
A, “fucking get him!” or “shut the fuck up!” Every voice is different, and yet they all blur into one as hands hold me down.
When they struggle to keep me still, a little violence is all they need.
Steel-heeled shoes come trampling down on every part of my body, crushing my bones until I’m sure I feel splinters.
I know I scream then, an agonized, guttural roar riddled with pain. Still, my body tries to flee. So they stomp harder. Their heels dig in deeper, and those hands that hold me down become pipes and rods beating me against my spine.
There’s no fighting.
At this moment, I can only hope that when I close my eyes again, I wake up beside my animals and feel safe knowing this was all a dream.
It wasn’t.
I wake on my knees, arms tied painfully behind my back.
There’s a distinct pressure where my skull meets my spine, a weird sort of fire that centers in only one small area.
Exhausted, my head droops forward on its own, covering the lower half of my face in blood, sweat, snot, and tears.
The hood is gone from over me, but still, I see nothing.
Everything around me is black. I can make out only distant shadows in the void.
Straining my vision, I force my eyes to focus, to make out anything that could tell me where I am. “Hello!” My shout doesn’t come out right at first. It’s hoarse, and I want to say it’s because of pain, but I’ve never been a liar.
It’s fear.
“Hello!” When no one answers my second call, I decide to save my breath and put every ounce of energy I have into undoing these knots and getting the fuck out of here. I start by shimming my arms up and down, testing the strength of the rope wrapped around me.
It takes time, sweat, and maybe a bit of blood before any progress is made, but eventually, I feel some slack. Out of breath and face drenched, I work fast, losing myself in the movements until I’m groaning out in pain.
Huffing out an exhausted sob, I lean forward, my forehead falling softly onto the concrete floor. I’m resting for less than a minute when suddenly, the door ahead of me opens. A faraway light filters in, illuminating the men coming forward in the empty, almost warehouse-like space around me.
Rocking back, I sit on my heels, peering through the shadows to see who’s before me.
With the light shining behind them, I can only make out their lower halves.
All of them wear black, military-style cargo pants, with the bottoms tucked into thick, laced boots.
All of them come strapped with guns, prepared for battle.
All of them but one.
As he approaches, I can see my faded reflection in his polished loafers. His slacks are crisp and clean, not a speck of lint on the obsidian fabric.
The overhead beams kick on, momentarily blinding me.
I blink through the floating orbs of color, and when my vision adjusts and my sight returns, I take in the rest of the polished clothing, finding an equally polished man to match.
Stark silver hair gleams beneath vibrant fluorescents, shining almost as bright as the blue swirling in his gaze.
“Hello, Cade,” he says casually. My name falls off his tongue as if he’s said it a million times before—as if he’s known me all my life.
That comfort brings him close. Not close enough to be within reach, but close enough to have his shadow swallow mine. Sweat forces my hair to stick to my skin, so I glare between the strands, eyeing the predator lurking closer.
“Who are you?”
His smile is blinding, vivid as the beams shining above, viciously sharp and wicked. “I’m the one who’s going to make all your dreams come true.”
There’s a hollow pit in my stomach, a mass that eats its way from my gut to my throat. “Then why am I tied up?”
“I needed to make sure you’d behave.”
With wrists bleeding, I try to squeeze myself out of the bindings. “Behave? What-what’d you think I’d do?”
Slowly, the smile spread across his lips, turning into a slick grin.
“Why don’t we find out?” With a flick of his wrist, the man orders one of the guards to undo my restraints.
The rest of them have their guns trained on me while one slices through the rope.
The silver-haired stranger just stands there, watching.
Once the bindings fall to the ground, I bring my arms to my front, ignoring the numbing pain zipping through my muscles.
Deep wounds circle my bones, the gashes sending blood freely flowing down my flesh.
I’m cradling the open skin, still hunched over on my knees, when spit-shined shoes stop before me.
“Perhaps my scout was wrong. There’s not a fighter in you. I doubt there’s a man in there at all.”
My blood flows faster when it begins to boil.
I don’t let him see that. I don’t let any of them.
Instead, I keep my wrists close to my chest, my head bowed, my gaze fixed on his feet.
I let them all believe that I’m too afraid to fight, and when his foot begins to lift, and everything around me slows, I fly forward, sinking my teeth into his slack-covered calf.
Thick, hot blood pours down my throat, suffocating me.
The scent of iron fills the space, almost as potently as his yelling.
At the start, he tries to shake me off, jerking his leg to and fro, like a sick game of tug-of-war.
Even with my jaw aching and teething threatening to fall out, I latch on tighter, sinking my teeth in deeper until I feel his muscles tearing across my tongue.
I think I was so wrapped up in holding on that I didn’t feel the guards at my back, some attempting to pull me off, the others ramming their guns into my sides.
It’s almost as if they’re nonexistent. But then the silver-haired man joins in.
His free leg shoots forward, jamming his shoe into my stomach.
It took the air from my lungs, but still, I held on.
He aims for the shoulder next and then the jaw.
He kicks and kicks and kicks the same spot beneath my mandible until I have no choice but to cry out, freeing his leg. I fall to the side with my face in my hands, attempting to keep my bones in place. The stomping continues.
“Mr. Marone,” I heard distantly whispered, “you’re going to kill him.”
“I fucking should!” Marone spits, but he finally stops.
Through teary vision, I spot the man named Marone bent at the knees, blood leaking from the cuff of his pants. Spearing his hands through my hair, Marone rips my head back, hatred burning through his eyes. “You want to act like a fucking dog? Fine. I’ll treat you like a fucking dog.”
Another flick of his wrist, and I’m pulled off the ground.
Hands rip me off the floor from underneath my shoulders, yanking them from the sockets to drag me off somewhere beyond the door.
I see the end approaching, and I know the second they pull me out of here, I’m done.
There’s no coming back once I cross that threshold.
Held in an iron grip, with my lower half limp, I use whatever is left of my strength to break free. Dropping my knees, I throw my body forward, surprising the guards enough to let me go. Once free, I take off on my own, sliding on the solid ground until I get my footing.
I don’t run toward the door, terrified of what’s beyond it, so I circle back around, barely dodging the men reaching for their guns.
There has to be another way! There has to be another door!
My panicked thoughts leave me scattered, unsure of what to do.
I’m headed in an unknown direction, toward the back of the warehouse, desperately hoping there’s another way out.
I don’t even make it two feet before a shot fires out, skimming the side of my neck.
I fall, out of pain or terror, I don’t know, but I lie face down on the concrete, knees curling inward while I clasp my hands over my torn skin. Whimpering, I’m blinded with tears. Still, I see clean shoes in my peripheral vision.
“Maybe I will get something good out of you after all.”