Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Dodge
My jaw aches from clenching it so hard, and I have to force my muscles to slacken.
I take a step toward the kid, making sure he knows I’m not messing around.
He’s standing there like he’s ready to scrap, and that kind of posturing is a quick way to end up in the ground.
I keep my voice steady, but there’s enough heat behind it to make him hesitate.
“You came with me because you wanted to stay breathing, Carter,” I remind him, watching him try to puff out his chest. “What you’re doing right now, acting like you're invincible, is a straight ticket to the grave.
You need to get your head right. Think, kid.
This isn't some flick you watched on the couch.
This is the real world, and the people coming for you don't care about your attitude.”
He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and looks away, his shoulders slumped but his jaw still tight. He’s listening, even if he’s annoyed I called him out on his bluff.
“I’m just saying,” he mumbles, barely audible. “I ain't trying to be a corpse. I’m just sick of taking it from everyone.”
“I get that,” I admit, dropping the lecture for a second.
“But there’s a difference between being a fighter and being a target.
Right now, you’re making yourself the biggest target in the room.
If you want to survive, you need to learn when to shut up and when to strike.
” He looks back at me, his eyes searching mine for any sign I’m full of it.
I don’t give him anything. I just hold his eyes until he’s the one who has to look away.
“And your sister’s right, stop talking like a street thug, you’re smarter than that and it makes you sound stupid. ”
He bites his lip, his eyes darting toward the darkness of the yard as if he’s expecting them to jump out of the shadows right then.
I know that feeling. It’s the same itch I’ve had in my own skin for years.
Again, he kicks at a loose plank, it makes a hollow thud that vibrates through the porch floor.
I’m starting to think it’s a nervous tic.
“Whatever,” he grumbles, shoving his hands back into his pockets to hide the shaking. “I'm just tired of them taking everything. I thought if I acted like I didn't care, maybe they'd leave us alone.”
“That's not how it works. You show them you don't care, they just push harder to see what breaks you.
You want to survive this mess? Then you start watching the shadows instead of creating them.
I ain't trying to tear you down, Carter.
I'm trying to make sure you're still standing when the dust settles.”
He finally looks at me, his face a mask of frustration and grudging respect. “So what now? We just wait?”
“We prep,” I answer. “I got stuff you need to know. Things that keep you off the obituary page. If you're really as ready as you claim, then stop posturing and start paying attention. We're doing this my way, or you might as well start digging four graves right now.”
“What stuff do I need to know?” he asks, suddenly interested in acting like a normal human being instead of a ruffian.
I stand up and eat the distance between us.
Getting in his face, I say, “For starters, you learn to disappear. You think you’re being slick walking around like you own the block, but that just puts a target on your back.
You keep your head down and your ears pinned.
You stop trying to be the loud one and start being the person in the corner that nobody remembers.
If you aren't invisible, you're a liability.” Carter kicks at the dirt, looking annoyed, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“And you quit treating that like a toy,” I continue, jerking my chin toward the gun he's still gripping tight in his pocket.
“It's not for show. You never pull it unless you're ready to use it, and you never, ever let folks know you've got it.
It's your last resort, not your first impression.
You break those rules, you're asking for a one way trip to the morgue. You get that?”
He gives a curt nod, his face going pale. The reality is finally sinking in. “I thought knowing how to shoot was enough. I didn't think about all the other junk.”
“That's because you've been watching too many movies,” I tease, leaning back to give him breathing room.
“Real life doesn't come with a soundtrack or a slow motion finish.
It's messy, it's fast, and it ends before you can blink. You want to stay upright? You follow these rules. You stay quiet, you stay hidden, and you always, always look behind you before you step forward.”
“That still doesn’t tell me what it is you think I need to know,” he argues.
“You’re not getting it yet,” I accuse, and I let the irritation show because he needs to understand the stakes.
“This isn't about being paranoid or hiding in a basement. It’s about data. You think you're just some kid, but right now, you're a loose cannon, and loose cannons get everyone killed. You watch the rhythm of the street. You look for the black SUV with tinted glass or the guys who don’t fit the vibe of the neighborhood. If they’re loitering too long, you memorize the plates. You don’t call the cops and you don’t start a scene.
You vanish. You take a side street, you duck into a flood of people, you just disappear into the commotion of the crowd.
That gives you the time to be gone before they even pull into the lot. ”
Carter stares at me with his jaw locked. “So I’m just a stalker then? Watching people like a creep?”
“You’re a scout,” I correct, pushing my point.
“A ghost. You see everything but leave nothing behind. You don't leave prints on the glass, you don't start trouble, and you never look like you're hunting for a fight. You just exist. That’s the difference between being a target and being the one who makes it out alive. You think you're tough because you can pull a trigger, but that’s the easiest part. The hardest part is making sure you never have to.” I let that sink in. He’s fidgety, wanting action, but he's finally paying attention. I need to make sure he knows this isn't a game, it’s a life skill. “And if you're ever in doubt? If you feel that prickle on your neck like someone’s watching you? You don’t wait for a sign. You don’t wait to see if it’s just your nerves.
You move. You hit the exit. You don’t fight if you can run, and you blend in to keep yourself safe.
You ain’t a soldier, kid. You’re a survivor.
Learn the difference or don’t bother asking for advice. ”
Carter holds onto that tough guy act for a few more minutes, but he eventually lets it slide.
He shifts back into the confused kid I saw earlier instead of the delinquent he’s trying so hard to be.
We’ve got a solid plan now, though I know I’m gonna need my brothers to help me pull it off.
As soon as morning hits, I’ve got work to do.
I’m calling Glacier first to get my VP in the loop.
Then, I’m ringing up Phoenix. He’s the club’s IT guy, and we need him to work his magic if we’re gonna keep these people hidden.
They need new identities, from birth certificates to social security cards, and these documents have to stand up to any scrutiny.
I won’t settle for cheap forgeries. One slip up and the whole safety net collapses.
These kids deserve a history that looks untouched, a paper trail so perfect it makes them ghosts to anyone searching.
Phoenix is the only guy I trust with this.
He builds entire lives out of nothing, pulling digital records from thin air like a magician.
We’re committed to this now. Failure is off the table.
My brothers are going to bust their humps to make this happen, but they know the stakes.
They owe me this much, and I'd do the same for them without blinking. They've got my back, and I've got theirs. I need to corner Adalynn tomorrow. She’s still withholding details, and I can’t shield them if I'm missing pieces of the puzzle. She needs to spill everything. Unfortunately, I can’t squeeze those answers out of her tonight, though. She’s already whisked Carter inside, and from the sound of it, she's still tearing him a new one for that tough guy routine he tried to pull on the patio.
The static in my skull keeps me from nodding off.
Every time I blink, I see Adalynn’s face, locked in that stubborn mask of survival, and I hear the way Carter talks, trying to sound like a man when he’s still just a boy.
I didn’t plan on this. I came home for peace and quiet, not to babysit a family running from a death sentence.
The smoke from my cigarette curls up into the darkness, blending into the shadows that seem to be closing in.
I drain the bottle and set it on the railing.
It’s going to be a long night. I keep replaying every word of our conversation, searching for a gap in the plan, some mistake I’m bound to make before the sun crests the horizon.
I’m not built for nurturing. I’m built for the club, for the grind, and for the violence that comes with this patch.
Adding these kids to the mix feels like inviting a hurricane into my living room.
Yet, when I think about leaving them to the wolves, the anger burns brighter than the booze ever could.
I’m stuck here, wide awake, staring into the abyss of the yard, knowing full well that tomorrow brings the real test. My gut tells me this is the moment everything changes.
I just have to hope I don’t bleed out before we get to the other side.
My thoughts slow as the haze clears. It feels like ages since any task actually ignites a spark in my chest. Most days, I just move through the motions, acting like the leader my brothers require, but there’s always been an empty gap where real ambition used to live.
I spot potential betrayals everywhere. That’s the default setting in this lifestyle, anticipating the folks closest to you will twist the blade.
Survival becomes a habit, a constant state of defense.
I spent two years barely keeping my head above water, wearing the crown while waiting for the next catastrophe to shatter me.
Saving these siblings, offering them a chance at surviving when everyone else turned away, stirs something ancient inside me that’s been dormant.
It’s no longer just about the brotherhood. It’s about the crusade.
The second the numbness vanishes my instinct whispers that this isn’t merely another headache. I’m finished with floating. I’m done watching from the sidelines of my own life. It’s time to stop waiting for the hammer to fall and start swinging it.
I now have a purpose, one that will hopefully get me up off the ground and start being thankful that I’m still alive to live.
It’s strange feeling this appreciation for breathing, something that felt foreign only yesterday.
I'm no longer just marking time, killing the clock until the inevitable happens. This objective provides a concrete cause, a reason to justify the scars I carry. I’m finished with the souring resentment that rotted me from within.
It’s time to wrap my knuckles around the consequences and see this struggle through to the final round.
My vision clears, fixing on the route in front of me, and for once, the way forward doesn't look like a dead end. I will not miss this opportunity. I owe it to these siblings, and honestly, I owe it to the man I used to be. I won’t let this moment slip away because my path forward no longer feels voidless.
For once it doesn’t lead into another wall.
I’m done letting resentment hollow me out from the inside.
It’s time to face the fallout head-on and fight this battle through to the last round to justify every scar I bear.
I’ll safeguard them and ensure their survival by becoming the catalyst for their triumph.
Under my watch, these siblings are going to thrive instead of just getting by.
I’m their bedrock.
I’m the unshakable force keeping them grounded and guaranteeing their victory.
There’s no more backing down and no more losing ground to the shadows.
I’m their iron shield from here on out. They’re mine to protect, and as long as I’ve got breath in my lungs, no one is laying a finger on them.
This vow is etched into the night as a promise written in the blood I’m willing to shed.
I don’t care what stands in my way or who’s tracking them down.
They belong to me now and I’m bearing this responsibility until the very end.