16. Hudson
HUDSON
When I get to the garage, Lucian is already there, pulling out two Ducati bikes.
One is yellow, and the other is red. Both look incredible.
These are for us.
For speed.
For the kind of freedom that doesn’t last, but feels intense while it’s there.
He’s buzzing with energy, and something new shows in his expression.
“About time,” he says, pushing off the bike. “I was starting to think you bailed.”
“Get on,” I tell him, swinging my leg over mine. “Before I change my mind.”
It’s a beautiful day. The sky is bright blue, there’s hardly any wind, and the temperature is just right.
A perfect day for riding.
We head out together. The gates open just long enough for us to slip through. Once we’re off the property, we give it everything.
We ride through the neighborhood and hit the highway, then head out toward a favorite stretch of farmland with long, empty roads where we can really fly.
It’s fun, just being out here with my brother.
Lucian takes off first, hitting the throttle hard, reckless like I used to be. I follow and push harder. The engine responds right away, wind tugging at my jacket, and everything blurs as we pick up speed.
This is as close to silence as I ever get.
No thoughts.
No past.
No her.
Just the road, the machine, the burn of speed.
We ride until the sun sinks and the sky softens. The tension in my shoulders finally fades, and I notice I’m not clenching my jaw anymore.
When we finally slow down, it’s unspoken.
We both feel it.
Lucian points to a small pizza place off the main road. It’s the kind of spot that’s been there forever and doesn’t care who walks through the door.
“Food?” he calls over the engine.
I nod.
We pull in and kill the bikes.
Inside, it smells like grease, garlic, and dough that’s baked a little too long. The place is half full, with families and guys watching a game on TV. Nobody pays us much attention.
We take a booth in the corner.
Lucian sits across from me, still buzzing from the ride. He looks relaxed and at ease.
I’m not.
The waitress tries not to stare at the scar on my face but is mostly distracted, blushing at my brother.
Lucian seems completely oblivious.
He orders a Coke, a whole large pizza, and a mountain of fries, like he’s feeding a small village.
When the waitress walks away, I give him a look.
“What?” he asks. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Not that, dumbass. You seriously didn’t notice she was checking you out?”
He glances toward the counter where she’s punching our order into the register.
“Her?” he asks. “Really?”
I let out a short laugh. “Jesus, you’re clueless.”
He watches her for another second.
“She’s cute,” he admits. “Not as cute as the redhead, though.”
I groan and lean my head back against the booth.
“Let it go, dude.”
“No chance.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks, and Lucian flashes her an easy smile.
“Thanks.”
Her whole face turns pink, and she almost runs away from the table.
I point after her.
“See?”
Lucian grins, suddenly looking a little shy.
“You should get her number or something,” I say. “Do kids still do that, or is it all internet bullshit now?”
“Sometimes,” he says. “Or Tinder.”
“They’re what?” I ask.
“Social media.”
I grunt. “I don’t mess with that stuff.”
“You have an Instagram.”
“The team has an Instagram,” I say. “I don’t run it.”
“Do you ever even look at it?”
“No.”
“You should,” he says. “They make you look like a scary hockey god. Women go crazy for you in the comments.”
“Seriously?”
“They all think you’re hot.”
I snort.
“Yikes.”
Lucian stares at me.
“You’re probably the only guy who hears women think he’s attractive and says yikes.”
“Then they’ve got terrible taste. Clearly something’s wrong with them.”
My brother scoffs and leans back, stretching one arm along the seat as he watches me.
“So,” he says casually, “You wanna tell me what that was really about?”
I know exactly what he means.
I just don’t want to tell him.
“What was what?” I ask, even though we both know it’s bullshit.
Lucian exhales through his nose.
“Hudson. What’s the deal with that Eva girl? Why’d you kidnap her? There’s obviously something you’re not telling me.”
Our food arrives before I can answer.
I steal a fry off Lucian’s plate the second the waitress sets it down.
He immediately drags the basket closer to himself.
“No fries without intel.”
I bark out a short laugh and grab a slice of pepperoni pizza instead.
The second I bite into it, molten cheese burns the absolute fuck out of my mouth.
“What the?—”
I drop the slice onto the plate, grab my water, and take a long drink. Then I point at the pizza.
“Don’t touch that,” I tell Lucian. “It’s basically lava.”
The waitress winces.
“Oh God, sorry. I should’ve warned you.”
“Yeah,” I mutter roughly. “You probably should’ve.”
Her eyes go wide with fear. I realize I’m acting like a jerk again.
She leaves, looking like she might go to the back to cry.
“You’re such a dick,” Lucian says.
I shrug.
“Not the worst thing I’ve been called.”
He points a fry at me.
“Spill it.”
I meet his eyes.
It’s clear he’s not dropping this.
“All right,” I mutter. “Fuck it. You asked, so don’t clutch your pearls when I tell you.”
“I won’t.”
I lean back against the booth.
“She’s Jonas Sorenson’s daughter. He runs the Trusted Saints.”
Lucian’s forehead furrows.
“And you said they stole from you. What’d they take?”
“Weapons,” I say. “Expensive ones. Martin wanted them back, so he sent me to find out who took them.”
Lucian nods.
“And?”
“The Saints were trying to sell them to a Russian buyer.”
His eyebrows go up.
“No shit.”
“Yeah.”
I shrug.
“I shut the deal down before it happened.”
Lucian is quiet for a second.
Then his eyes narrow.
“Wait. The girl was there?”
“Yeah.”
Lucian studies me.
"So you took her for Martin."
"No."
I hold his gaze.
"I took her for me."
"What were you planning to do with her?"
I look down at my beer.
"Kill her."
His eyes go wide, and he looks around to see if anyone else heard me say that. “You’re kidding, right?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"I wanted Jonas Sorenson to lose something precious," I say finally. "The same way I did. I was eleven when I watched my mother die."
Lucian sinks back against the booth, a half-eaten slice still hanging from his fingers.
"Look, Lucian. You say you're not an idiot and have some idea of what we're doing. I can assure you, it's worse than you think."
He swallows hard.
"If you want to kill her, why haven't you already?" he asks. "Why keep her locked up?"
"Because Martin has plans for her."
I drag a hand over my jaw.
"He's using her for leverage."
The color drains from his face.
"So she really is a prisoner."
"Yeah."
Something shifts behind his eyes.
For the first time, I think he truly understands the kind of place we grew up in.
I hold his gaze.
"We're not good people. You still are. That’s exactly why I want to keep you out of it."
Lucian doesn’t argue.
After a long silence, he finally looks back up at me.
“Will you tell me about your mom?” he asks quietly.
I sit back as tension settles into my shoulders.
I don’t talk about her.
Not like this.
Not out loud.
But Lucian isn’t asking just out of curiosity.
He’s asking because he needs to understand.
And maybe,
Maybe I need him to.
“Our father, Hunter, got my mom pregnant when she was about sixteen, then he bolted.”
He listens attentively.
“She didn’t have anybody,” I continue. “No money. No safety net.”
Lucian’s hands curl slightly on the table.
“She tried,” I say after a moment. “For a while.”
Then I shake my head.
“But trying only gets you so far when the world already thinks you don’t matter. Eventually, the money ran out. You can guess the rest.”
The words hang in the air, harsh and unforgiving.
“That’s how she met Baron Roybal.”
“Who’s that?” Lucian asks quietly.
“Jonas Sorenson’s second-in-command. I was about nine when Baron came around. He paid off her pimp, moved us into a nicer place, and started acting like he was saving her.”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“Said he loved her, and he wanted to marry her.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t last.”
I shake my head.
“At some point, he figured out she’d been with our father. That I was Hunter Cross’s kid.”
My throat tightens a little.
“Something in him snapped after that.”
Lucian’s expression darkens.
“Started hitting her, and me as well. Then he accused her of feeding information about the Saints to the Iron Eagles.”
I pause briefly.
“Eventually, he took it to Jonas.”
Lucian’s voice lowers.
“Jonas Sorenson.”
I nod.
“I remember him coming to our apartment in California.”
The memory returns slowly.
“He questioned my mom for a while. She kept getting confused and couldn’t keep her story straight. I didn’t understand it back then, but I do now. She was high most of the time.”
“I was hiding in her closet while all of this was happening.”
Lucian says nothing.
Neither do I for a second.
“I remember Jonas standing by the door afterward,” I say quietly. “He told Baron to ‘put the bitch down and move on.’ Then he walked out.”
My mouth is dry.
“Baron stayed,” I continue.
Lucian’s forehead furrows slightly.
“What do you mean?”
I stare down at the table before answering.
“He cried.”
Lucian blinks.
“What?”
“He held my mom while he cried,” I say. “He told her he hated her for making him fall in love. Then he put his hands around her throat and didn’t stop.”
Lucian’s voice sounds wrecked.
“Hud…I’m sorry. I never knew.”
“How could you?” I ask. “I never told anyone.”
“Jesus, Hud…”
“I came out,” I say. “Thought I could stop him.”
I shake my head.
“He knocked me across the room like I was nothing. I hit my head. That’s all I remember.”
“And when you woke up?”
“I was in a hospital, nearly comatose from shock,” I say. “Martin was there.”
Lucian leans back slowly, taking it all in.
“I don’t remember much of it, honestly. I don’t even really remember coming to Chicago. You were just a baby then.”
“An orphan,” he says.
I nod. “The best thing to come out of all this is you. I got you, kid. I’m glad we stuck together.”
“Me too,” he agrees.
“I think…” I start, then sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe I was always meant to be a monster.”
“I’ve never thought you were a monster,” he says firmly. “Not once.”
I scoff under my breath, but he keeps talking.
“And I get why you would want revenge. After all that? I get it.”
He leans forward slightly.
“But I can also tell this is bothering you. Martin is hurting her, and you hate it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do,” he says immediately. “And if it’s getting to you this much, then I don’t think you actually want to kill her.”
I stare at him for a long second.
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not,” he says, and suddenly he sounds a lot more mature than he is. “I’m not wrong about this. And you’re not a monster either. You can still do something different. You could help her, and you could let this stuff from your past go.”
I look at him.
For once, I don’t know what to say.
So I look away.
Because something changes inside me.
It’s small and quiet.
But enough to make me hesitate.
And hesitation, in my world, isn’t just dangerous.
It’s deadly.
For both of us.