Chapter 17 Cade
CADE
My eyes are fixed on the yellow lines of the road, focused on my next destination. Allen is nearly in hand; we are one step closer.
“Back there you said I reminded you of your sister. What’s she like?” Andrea asks casually.
“Stubborn. Always in trouble, and with a special talent of testing my patience,” I say flatly.
“Well, she’s lucky to have someone like you to protect her. That’s what a brother is supposed to do.”
I ignore her sentiment. “Does he hurt you?”
She looks away, shrinking into her seat. I notice the bruising on her arms where she has been clutching all night.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, her voice cracking.
“You should report that.” I nod to her arms.
I can tell she’s fighting off tears, her voice cracking when she speaks.
“If I’m being honest… I am terrified of him.” She shakes her head. “I should have never moved here after our dad died.” Tears begin streaming down her face. “A brother is supposed to protect you, to keep you safe.” She cries into her hands, her breathing coming too quick. “I’m so fucking stupid…”
“What did he do?” I ask, my voice calm.
“I don’t know for sure… I was with them at the clubhouse last week—I only had one drink.
But I don’t remember what happened after that.
” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I moved out last week… he said he wanted to apologize to me, so I met up with him. Obviously that was a mistake…” She exhales a large breath.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t want to know.
I just want to get as far away from him as I can. ”
My hands grip the wheel as the pieces begin to fall into place.
We sit in silence for the remainder of the drive due to no fucking radio signal, but I managed to cut the drive time.
“Thanks, Jack.”
I look at her, confused, until I remember I gave her Jack’s name, and nod.
“They mentioned a clubhouse. Where is that, exactly?”
She looks over at me, face mixed with concern and confusion.
“What are you going to do?” she asks in a low voice.
“Nothing. I just wanna talk to them.”
I wait until she’s safely inside her coworker’s house before speeding away. That fucker Allen better still be there.
It doesn’t take me long to find him.
I pull into the lot beside an old gambling hall, throw on my hoodie, and text Jack the update.
I parked a few spots over, the angle perfect.
Now we wait.
After ten minutes, the silence begins to press in too heavily, like the air’s being sucked out of the truck’s cab.
My chest tightens. It’s too still. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet I remember… Before the masks, before the rituals, before the screaming.
I used to have to sit like this, expected to be silent, to be still, obedient, with no control.
When they brought in the boy, I knew what was coming, but I didn’t run.
I watched. I shook. And I never stopped.
I focus on my hands, trying to ground myself, but they blur in front of me.
I grip the wheel, knuckles white. But they don’t feel like mine any longer.
They’re too still. Too steady. Detached.
I blink. Once. Twice.
My mind races as the adrenaline bubbles to the forefront.
Panic rises. A sudden, choking wave that I attempt to ignore.
My ears ring, the world’s colors growing too bright and hazy.
My breaths come in—shallow and sharp. A panic attack…
I throw the truck door open, stumble out, and slam it shut.
The world spins.
Vertigo from hell.
I fight to stay upright, my gaze stuck on the side mirror—eyes unblinking at my distorted reflection. I squeeze my eyes shut and slam my fist into the hood.
“Stop… Fucking stop…”
Flashes of blood and the dagger.
I brace myself against the hood, rubbing my eyes, as I try to focus and breathe.
It doesn’t help.
The corners of my vision blur, a cold sweat running down my back.
I rip open the truck door, grab the cooler, and dump water over my head. The shock helps, but just barely.
I drop to my knees, head bowed, and try to reset my mind.
And then… I feel it.
A warm vibration blooms in my chest.
You’re here.
I don’t know how I can feel you—but I do.
Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe you’re just my mind’s way of coping.
But you…
You made it stop.
I can’t see you. I can’t touch you. And I don’t care.
I might be fucked in the head, but I need this.
I need you.
You slip through my fingers, but I feel you everywhere. You haunt my dreams and crawl under my skin until I can’t think of anything else.
Every time I’m reminded of you, it’s like you’re right here—your touch, your warmth. It drives me mad. In the moment, I feel like I’m drowning. You become the air I breathe, and I’m starving for every breath of you.
I shouldn’t want this. It’s pathetic. Desperate.
But when I feel you—fuck. I can breathe.
I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in anything I can’t touch, can’t see, can’t kill.
And yet here I am, talking to you like a lunatic in the middle of the desert.
Worse than that.
I’m grateful.
My hand finds the pendulum Calli gave me. I rub the chain between my thumb and forefinger, letting the texture anchor me. This isn’t right…
I feel guilty for allowing my own delusions to comfort me. Convincing myself that maybe… it’s okay, as long as it helps.
Climbing back into the truck I sit, wet and still. Minutes stretch as my fingers twitch against the wheel, my gaze fixed on the entrance of the building.
It’s 5:00 a.m. when the doors swing open and a man stumbles out—thrown onto the gravel by two bouncers, who slam the door behind them.
Gray, balding, pinstriped suit. My eyes lock in on him.
That’s my guy. My mind snaps back to the mission at hand.
He staggers to his rusted truck, yelling slurred curses, the engine barely turning over. He drives off—slow and swerving.
He would’ve seen me tailing him if he weren’t so drunk. But watching him try to stay in the lines is almost relaxing.
My focus is broken when red and blues light our vehicles. A highway patrol officer.
Fuuck.
The vehicle pulls in front of me and sounds its siren.
I pull into a gas station and turn my headlights off, letting the night swallow me.
Eventually, the officer drives away with Allen in the back seat, still cursing.
I look up the local station’s location on my phone. The nearest one is in Vegas.
I give them a head start, then follow them into the Mojave.
When I hear the roar of motorcycle engines behind me, I sigh.
Guess we’re doing this.
I pull the truck over to the side of the road and grab my duffel from the back seat, unzipping it. I pull out my serrated blade then shrug on my hoodie, tossing the hood up over my head.
I step out.
Six bikes surround me fast.
I roll my shoulders.
Theo, sobered up just enough to be cocky, pulls a gun and grins when he sees my knife.
“Hasn’t anyone told you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?”
I shrug. “I’ve never needed one.”
I throw the knife.
It hits his eye socket, dead-on. Theo screams, crumples, hits the ground hard.
The others rush me. I dodge two, slipping past their swings, weaving through them like water until I reach Theo.
I yank the knife from his skull—blood sprays, warm on my face—and drive it up into the chin of the closest one. I rip it out as he drops.
Another lunges. I roundhouse kick him square in the jaw. He’s out cold before he hits the dirt.
I slit his throat anyway.
“Three down. Three to go,” I mutter, cracking my neck.
The large bald guy throws his hands up. “Stop! I think—we’re done here…”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my bloody hand and step into the glow of their headlights, slowly walking toward them.
“I’d say that’s fair. Considering your dead friends.” I twirl the blade in my hand. “Answer one question and I’ll let you live.”
They hesitate. I raise my brow.
“Who drugged the girl? Just out of curiosity.”
One of them points straight at the bald man. “Mack. It was Mack!”
I glance over at the snitch. He’s backing up toward his bike, eyes wide.
I purse my lips and nod. “Good to know.”
The knife lands between his eyes. He drops without a sound.
Mack bolts for Theo’s body—goes for the gun. Another guy sprints toward his bike.
I move fast. I’m on him before he can even get the engine started. I grab the back of his neck and slam him down. My boot comes down hard—once, twice, again—until he stops moving.
I turn.
Mack stands ten feet away, holding the gun sideways, one hand shaking.
“Stay the fuck back!” he shouts, voice cracking.
I take a step forward, catching the gleam of the chrome in the headlights. Desert Eagle. I drop my head, slowly shaking it.
The shot rings out into the dead night air, the gun kicking back and whacking the dumbass in the face. My head tilts back and I laugh.
“You missed,” I say flatly, throwing the knife.
It slices clean through his hand. He quickly drops the weapon, screaming as he holds his hand, falling to his knees. I’m on him fast, kicking the gun away, and shove him to the ground with a hand to his throat.
“Desert Eagles have a good kick,” I say, low and calm. “I’d recommend two hands next time.”
I flash a grim smile.
“But you won’t be getting the opportunity. Will you?”
I shouldn’t be enjoying this.
But I am.
I place the blade to his cheek and drag it slowly down to his jaw. Blood beads up along the cut.
“I’d love to take my time with you… but I have too much going on for a side quest.”
I press the knife into his gaping mouth and shove it upward. He gurgles, spasms, then goes still. I check his pockets. No ID. Just a wad of hundreds and a bag of white powder.
Figures.
I nudge the gun back toward his body and walk to the truck, wiping the blade clean and tossing it back into the duffel.
One last glance over my shoulder. Looks like a drug deal gone wrong. I walk over to my truck and strip off my hoodie, toss it in the back seat.
I couldn’t have planned it better myself.
It’s not the chase. Not really. It’s the retribution. Someone getting exactly what they deserve. I climb into the driver’s seat and leave the gruesome scene in the rearview.
This kind of silence doesn’t bother me. It belongs to me. Not like the silence I grew up in—the waiting, the obedience, the quiet before the pain. That kind broke me.
No, this builds me.
The anticipation of the inevitable. Knowing I’m taking my power back one member at a time.
That thought hits low and sharp, a tightening in my chest. A half smile spreads across my face.
And then I feel it.
Soft. Warm. Uninvited.
You.
That same sensation starts creeping back in.
Those phantom hands from the other night.
That gentle touch.
My chest constricts as my body stirs.
I feel myself respond and palm my jeans. “Not now…”
“You know I have a mission to finish…” A smile curves my lips. “But after… after, it’ll be me and you.”
I can feel you pouting, but make no mistake. I will make it up to you.
I blast the radio, static-laced country cutting through the quiet, the only damn station out here. It doesn’t help.
I busy my mind with the scenery, the desert that stretches on either side of me in the dark.
Silent. Empty.
A perfect place to hide a body.