12. Vandal
VANDAL
My head is slow to switch gears. One minute, I’m in middle of the sweetest kiss I think I’ve ever had with thoughts swirling about timing and fate and realizing Daisy’s about to tell me that both are wrong for us.
And now I’m looking out the window because I heard engines. Not the slow growl of fishing boats headed home or the lazy buzz of tourists getting one last ride through the marsh before dark.
These engines are louder, the boats are full, and they’re headed straight for us.
Ice floods my veins.
“Fuck.”
Daisy’s gaze snaps from the window up to me. She’s still flushed from kissing me, her lips swollen, her T-shirt rumpled from my hand. For half a heartbeat, my brain refuses to leave that glorious moment. Her against me, all soft and warm and real.
But then survival crashes through me, and I see Havoc grab Elsie around the waist.
“Take her to the front of the clubhouse,” I yell to Havoc through the open window. “Maren too.” I grab my weapon out of my drawer and check it’s loaded. “We gotta move, Daze. Keys. Now.”
“What—”
“Your fucking car keys, Daisy.”
That gets through to her. Her hands shake as she digs through her purse.
I can hear the engines loud now, the ugly slap of the boat riding above shallow water.
They’re too close, and I hear the first warning shots being fired from the sentries we keep on the roof since the last incident with Alvarez.
“Where’s Elsie?” Daisy shouts, trying to pull away from the grip I have on her bicep. “I need to get to her.”
“Havoc will meet us out front. The safest place for the two of you is in your car and away.”
“Oh my God,” Daisy says. “I knew I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight.”
Her voice is thready, and I wish I had time to comfort her, but that can come later when our world is safe again and we’ve had time to handle whatever this is.
I wish I had time to kiss her again, to finish the conversation we were having. But the truth is, I can see the damage has been done.
Ten minutes ago, I might have been able to convince her that this life isn’t what she thinks it is.
Now I’m hurrying her away from the proof that it is. I don’t even have time to panic. All I can do is put my trust in my best friend’s capabilities to keep Elsie safe, and the power of my club to take care of the rest of the men.
Fortunately, Daisy’s car is still in the easiest spot to get out of the compound.
“Vandal!” Elsie’s voice cuts through the air as Havoc and Maren run toward us.
Daisy makes a move to run to her, but I stop her. “I’ll get Elsie. Stay here where it’s safe.”
“Maren!” I hear Knox roar.
I look up to the balcony of the clubhouse and see my president searching around frantically for the woman he loves.
“Prez. I got her. I’ll get her out of here.”
As soon as Havoc and Elsie reach me, Elsie throws out her arms in my direction. I grab her as I run to the car. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I need you to be brave for me, okay?”
Her tiny face gets paler. “What’s happening?”
“Naughty men,” I tell her. “But do you want to know something?”
She nods.
“They’re men who are going to have to get through me to get to you. And there’s no person on this earth strong enough to do that, okay?”
The marsh air hits thick and humid. The sound of the engines is deafening now, and there’s an increasing volume of gunfire. I shove Elsie into the back seat first, and Maren climbs in after her. Daisy fumbles with the driver’s door, so I move her hand, reach for the handle, and open it.
“Passenger side, now,” I tell her, and thankfully she obeys.
“You got this, V?” Havoc asks.
“Just getting them down the road, then I’ll be back. Go. Knox needs you. This has to be Alvarez.” I jump into the driver’s seat, shoving the seat back to make room.
“I can drive,” Daisy says as she gets into the car. Her hands shake as she fastens her seat belt, her face ashen.
“I know you can, sweetheart. But what I want you to do for now is duck. All of you. Maren, help Elsie.”
I have no clue how close those boats are to making it to the dock. Knowing Knox, my bet is there’s a hail of gunfire pounding down on them right now to keep them in the water.
I love a good action movie, one with great chase scenes that make your heart pound as cars do unthinkable things. And right now, I channel that as I hit the gas and careen for the gates of the clubhouse.
This would all feel safer if we were in my truck, with its bull bars and horsepower that gives some weight to acceleration. Instead, we are in Daisy’s tin can that gives fuel consumption priority and shakes and rattles every time I try to accelerate too fast.
“Oh my God,” Maren cries when three bullets hit the side of Daisy’s car with loud metallic pings.
I ride so fast from the compound that it feels as if the car goes up onto two wheels when we take the corner. The echo of gunshots disappears the farther away we get.
When we’re about a mile away from the clubhouse, I pull over on the side of the road. Running back is going to hurt. I can’t remember the last time I went to the gym. I'm not sure of the last time I actually ate a decent meal.
I step out into the deserted road, shielding my eyes from the sun. There’s no sign of any cars or bikes or trucks following us. My hands shake, and I shove them into my pockets. It’s hard to know whether it’s from adrenaline or the need for alcohol to take the edge off.
Daisy climbs out and comes to stand next to me. Terror is etched in her eyes, but she squares her shoulders anyway. “This can’t happen again. This can’t be my life.”
I freeze, not just at her words, but the way her voice cracks as she says them.
“Are they going to keep coming for you, Vandal?”
I reach for her and pull her to me, kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
“How?” she shoots back. “How are you going to handle it?”
“I’ll keep you safe.”
“You couldn’t even keep yourself safe.”
Pain flashes across her face immediately after she says it, like she already regrets it.
The words slice through me harder than any blade I’ve ever taken. Not because she meant to hurt me. I know she didn’t. She’s terrified. Shaking. Her eyes glossy with panic and grief.
It hurts because I know she’s right. Unlike her, I can already picture it happening to me again, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
It’s obvious, written all over her face, the instant she realizes what she said. “Oh my God, Vandal. I’m sorry, I—”
“Go,” I say quietly.
“I didn’t mean to say that, I—”
“Now’s not the time. Just go. Take Elsie home.”
For a heartbeat, Daisy looks as though she’s going to argue.
But then she thinks better of it. I hold the door for her, even though my heart is cracking open and bleeding out into my chest. I thought what happened with Alvarez would be what killed me, but I think what Daisy just said to me might be the thing that pushes me over the edge.
Once she’s inside, I slam the car door shut.
“I’m sorry,” Daisy says quietly, but I can’t quite hear her through the closed window.
Elsie’s tearstained face is the last thing I see as they drive away.
An explosion in the distance reminds me there’s more at stake here than my broken heart. So I begin to run back to the clubhouse. The last time I was on a road like this, isolated from the club, was when Alvarez knocked me off my bike. But I force my feet to keep moving, one in front of the other.
Intrusive thoughts invade my mind as I run. Who am I going to face? Who am I going to see? The clubhouse sits somewhere ahead of me, hidden beyond the trees and bends in the road, but every step takes me closer to something I’m not certain I’m ready to face.
One crack of gunfire follows another, close enough that my pulse kicks harder as I jog. I try to tell myself that this time is different. It’s a different road. A different fight and a different outcome guaranteed because of the way my brothers will stand around me.
But somehow, my body doesn’t care. And what hurts is the invisible kind of ache that lives in your bones, the ghost of trauma that lingers long after the injuries heal.
The clubhouse finally comes into view through the trees, and I see smoke curling into the sky. Brothers are moving everywhere. They’re shouting, weapons drawn, and a sweat that has nothing to do with exertion forms above my lip.
All the action is focused on the other side of the club, by the water.
So, when I see two men dressed in black creeping down the stairs from our front fucking door, I feel a wave of fury.
It’s the bastard with the snake tattoo climbing up his throat that I remember from the beating.
The one who laughed when they put a cattle prod to my ribs.
The sounds around me fade, and my vision narrows as I’m sucked back to a different place at the sight of him. I can taste the asphalt and dust and vomit. All I can smell is blood.
His eyes find mine, and then there’s recognition. The fucker has the audacity to smile before he turns and runs around the back of the building, clutching something I can’t make out to his chest.
I can’t shake the feeling that I know how this ends. That I know what happens next. Someone grabs me. Unwavering pain comes with the illusion that all my scars are fresh. My stomach clenches in sickening waves of nausea and my hands shake. Even though I hear my name called, I don’t move.
Fear keeps me rooted, unable to help myself, as panic grips me.
“V.”
The voice is distant and muffled.
“Van. Vandal.”
A body steps into my line of sight. He’s big and solid, and I take a step back, but Havoc’s hand lands on the back of my neck. “Look at me, brother.”
I’m so light-headed, I stumble.
“Look at me and fucking breathe.”
I drag my eyes to his, and he’s steady and calm.
“You good?” he says finally.
My chest burns as I force myself to nod.
“No. You fucking aren’t. Fuck’s sake.”
“They got inside,” I force myself to say, and I point to the guys who have made it down the stairs. “They took something.”
“Fuck,” Havoc says, raising his gun at their retreating backs. He shoves me down behind his truck. “Sit tight.”
Burning with shame, I do as he says.