15. Adrian
In the garage, Raptor held a beer in the middle of what looked like a miniature junkyard. The temperature fluctuated somewhere between the tropical warmth of the house and the numbing cold outside, and natural light blended with a fluorescent bulb hanging directly over a folding chair.
Miscellaneous engine parts encircled him like a pack of ravenous wolves, their leader a bike that might’ve been healthier before it got dismantled. Not that Raptor looked much better—his short brown hair spiked and dirtied from running his hands through it.
It felt just like old times when they’d help Adrian’s father with a particularly challenging project. Or after his death, when they’d pull all-nighters just to take their minds off what happened.
“Sup,” Adrian said, stepping through the familiar mess to rescue his friend. Tattoos curled around Raptor’s neck, disappearing under his grey sweatshirt and returning to flicker their permanent shadows down his forearm, around his wrists, then up weathered fingers.
Raptor responded with a nod and finished off his beer. “Before you ask,” he started, wiping his face with an oil-stained sleeve. “I don’t have answers for you yet. Not solid ones, at least.”
He figured. No answers meant he’d take things into his own hands, simple as that. He’d warned Raptor of his intentions and wasn’t the type to speak twice.
“What year is it?” he asked, motioning to the skeleton of a bike.
Raptor sighed. “She’s an original from sixteen years ago. Man, it takes me back, but some of the parts are a bitch to find. A side project until the damn snow melts.”
“Or a side project for when Riri turns into a hurricane and kicks you out of the house.” He cracked a knowing smile.
Raptor chuckled and shook his head, then pulled out a case of cigars. “Want one?” he asked, words muffled as he stuck a thick roll of paper and tobacco between his lips.
Adrian frowned. “Naw.”
The earthen bitter-sweet scent of the smoke filled the garage, air warmed by the burning chemicals that brought nostalgia and a false security blanket he knew all too well. With a deep sigh, he pulled out a cigarette and tried to rationalize why the things had ever been beneficial.
“You know all this does is kill us, right?”
“Stress will kill ya, too,” Raptor replied through a cloud of smoke and handed him a lighter.
They smoked in silence, hot breath and cold air mingling with unspoken thoughts and a graveyard of memories.
Raptor finally broke their meditation. “Whoever left that dragon tile at the scene was sloppy, at best. Even if they meant it as a signature, they must have been a coward with no intention of claiming the kill.”
That, too, he’d figured out. If it had been a proper hit, the tile would’ve gotten into the hands of someone who knew what it signified, not picked up by some poor kid who wore it like a bad luck charm.
Red Dragon had too much pride for that.
Raptor continued, “Could’ve been a set-up, and that’s the problem.”
“It’s why I went to you first,” Adrian replied. “Forcing bad blood between Royal Flush and Red Dragon is one thing, but why involve my family? Why shoot an innocent girl?” He clenched his fists.
Raptor’s shoulders slumped. “Shit, man, why does the world spin one way and not the other? We’re only humans, and humans do fucked up shit.”
“No.” He took a final drag of the cigarette before stomping it out on the floor. “Murdering innocent people for no reason isn’t just fucked up. It’s unforgivable. I need to know who pulled the trigger. Look them in the eyes.”
Raptor exhaled, the smoke as thick and heavy as the tension in the room. “Problem with that is, half the Dragons from five years ago are retired—or dead.”
“Won’t they care if it was a setup?” Adrian asked. “Either their club was in on it, or their name got used without permission. They’d care about shit like that.”
Raptor scratched his beard, considering the words. “If it just happened, you might have something, but digging up old dirt now will only earn you a can of worms.” He tapped the end of the cigar, ash crumbing to the ground. “Like it or not, you’re affiliated with Royal Flush, and we can’t risk starting a war when things have been smooth for a while. Bad for business.” He took another drag as if that point would end the conversation.
“The last thing I want is to put the family or anyone else in danger,” he said, looking Raptor in the eye. “But I’m not giving up. I’ll find something, even if it takes me another five years to do it.”
Raptor held his stare, steel against gold.
“There are better things to hold on to than death and revenge,” Raptor said at last. “I won’t tell you what to do, but I will warn you—” He sighed, looking away. “I’m grateful for the life I have—my wife, our home, our livelihood, but not a single day passes that I don’t think about what it would be like if I didn’t have to be married to both her and the club. At one time, it seemed like the only way out. But I’m not sure it was for the best anymore.”
Adrian hung his head, the words hitting a place he’d hidden from himself for a long while. Fixating on one solution didn’t mean it was right. “You know I’d do anything for the both of you.”
Raptor grinned. “You could take out the trash on Thursdays.”
Adrian scoffed and shook his head. “Should I tell Riri you’re shirking out on the chores?”
“I call it delegating,” Raptor said, and they both laughed.
“Seriously, man, everything good?” he asked.
Raptor nodded. “The woman drives me fucking crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Crazy suits you,” he replied. They both knew full well Riley grounded Raptor. He hadn’t earned the name for nothing—man was a beast on a bike, could and would surpass anything on two wheels—but outside of his element, he needed her to stay sane.
“Crazy would suit you too, little bro,” Raptor said with a sideways glance, a smile curling up one half of his mouth. “One day, you’ll find a woman who’s worth more than all this.” He motioned to the spread of manufactured metal and swirling leftover smoke. “That one person who can see and appreciate even the broken parts of you, who makes you think, damn, that’s why I’m here. ” He threw his hands up. “Life means nothing without her.”
Adrian swallowed and ground out his cigarette.
Yeah, he might know what Raptor was talking about.
Jade eyes peering at him in the moonlight, strawberry sweet lips and a laugh that haunted his best dreams. A woman who saw him as more than a man, who could shine brighter than any star. Bright enough to illuminate his permanent residence of dread and regret.
“Shit,” Raptor said, drawing out the word in a low hum. “What’s her name?”
Fuck. Those heart eyes must’ve returned.
“Too good for a guy like me,” Adrian said. “That’s her name.”
“Ah, yeah.” Raptor chuckled and stood from the chair to clap him on the shoulder. “I used to call Riley that, too.”
???
He shouldn’t need revenge. He knew that.
A week and some change had passed since dinner with Riley and Raptor, and he’d mulled over what to do again and again. Threaded his hands back and forth around that ribbon Riley had sent him home with. Over and over. She told him to use it on someone at the salon and teased that’d be the only place he could find a girlfriend. The pack she’d bought came with plenty of colors—black and pink being her favorites, but he took the purple one.
For a wannabe purple-haired witch, if he ever got to talk to her again.
He didn’t know how to fix himself without getting closure on the past, but the problem with chasing vengeance was that it would inevitably fuck with the future.
So, for the present, he worked. He went to class and rubbed the fading cuts on his knuckles. Came to terms with the fact that the violence connected to the Dragons, indirect or not, had ended his father’s life. Almost ended his, and took his best friend, too.
Daylight passed as he traveled from one place to another. Nighttime stretched between pages of his textbook and breaks like the one he took now, smoking out on the porch as he gazed up at a web of constellations and the dark void that stitched them together.
He crushed a half-used cigarette in an empty sardine can and sighed. Instead of smoke, hot vapor fogged from his lips before disappearing into the chilled air.
The one person who’d been able to move on from all this had been his boss. Vera helped countless others to find peace, but the longer he searched for it, the more elusive it became.
Forcing himself into a domestic life felt like a lie, a disgrace to his father’s legacy of finishing what he started. Someone had stolen it—taken their father’s chance to walk his daughter down the aisle, to attend his son’s graduation, to watch his wife age into a graceful old lady.
No. He couldn’t forget, much less forgive.
Even if he didn’t act on it, he had to know who pulled the trigger. A name, that was all.
He wouldn’t stir up shit and cause trouble for Raptor or Riley. He wouldn’t pick up the pistol in his dresser drawer like he’d planned.
For the first few years, all he’d thought about was an eye for an eye. Three bullets for three lives. He’d roll them around in his palm, the metal heating to the boiling point of his blood as he planned his revenge.
One shot to the knee, so they could never stand straight again.
One shot to the shoulder, so they could never pick up another gun.
Then one shot between the eyes, so they’d be forced to face death themselves.
Except, life was priceless. Taking one could never replace another.
The stars twinkled above him, shining what little light they could on his misery. If all he got was a name, if all he could hold on to was knowing where to place his grief, then he’d do his best to move on.
He turned and walked inside, shutting the porch door and the night sky out along with it. How late was it, anyway? Picking up his phone, he tapped to check how much time had passed but instead saw a message from a new number.
The sender had included their name, but her personality came out plenty in a handful of words. Of course, she’d reach out now, when he needed her kind heart as much as she needed a less-than-chivalrous knight.
His sweet witch, Ivory.