Prologue #2
No words then, only the thrum of the engine and the rhythmic clink of the chain bouncing with every bump in the road.
Trees blurred past. He lifted his head once, just enough to see stars above the canopy and a sliver of moonlight.
It was the last thing he remembered before the truck stopped and the boots started again.
Eli’s voice echoed in the dark. “Brothers don’t betray brothers.”
Tank was barely able to lift his head, blood dripping from his mouth. “Since when is disagreement a betrayal?” he asked bitterly.
Eli didn’t answer. Just stared at him with cold, dead eyes.
“Standing up for what’s right makes me a traitor?” Tank choked out.
Silence was the only answer he was getting.
Tank fought them but by then it wasn’t much.
Every movement sent flashes of pain shooting through his ribs, cracked and grinding with every painful breath.
Blood streamed from a gash above his brow, hot and blinding, filling one eye until he could barely see.
His jaw throbbed where a boot had caught him, and waves of nausea rolled through his stomach.
His body screamed with every jolt, but he wouldn’t fucking beg.
Tank gritted his teeth through the agony, rage and betrayal burning hotter than the pain ever could.
By the time they dragged him to the trees, the only thing Tank knew for certain was that the brotherhood he’d believed in was dead in Oak Grove.
Someone pulled a splintered crate over and shoved him up onto it.
His knees nearly buckled, but they kept him steady just long enough.
They looped a noose over a low-hanging branch of a huge, gnarled oak tree.
Its limbs twisted upward like crooked fingers, and its bark was scarred and blackened in patches like it had survived both rot and fire.
Standing alone at the edge of the clearing, it loomed like a sentinel to every dirty secret or dealing that ever passed through its woods.
A crude wooden sign had been nailed to the tree trunk, the words “Price of Betrayal” were painted on it in crooked letters and blood-red paint.
Eli stepped closer.
Outrage surged through Tank’s chest, colliding with rage and betrayal until it all became one searing heat.
His heart pounded hard against cracked ribs, and it was hard to breathe.
Tank glared up at the man he’d once followed, feeling the last of his trust crumble like ash.
The noose scratched his skin, but the weight of it was real.
Yet, at that moment, what burned hottest wasn’t fear. It was the promise he made at that moment. You’ll regret this.
“Tank’s dead weight. And this club don’t need dead weight,” Eli told his helpers.
They kicked the crate out from under him.
* * *
Everything went black.
It took Tank a minute to figure out if he was still alive.
The world was silent and felt distant, like he was floating just beneath the surface of a dark lake.
There was no pain at first. Just a cold, creeping numbness that sank deep into his bones.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. For a second, he thought maybe he was done.
But some deep, primal instinct had him clawing back.
Awareness returned to him slowly. He could hear rustling leaves around him, feel the wind.
He tasted blood, sharp and metallic on his tongue.
The pain eventually drifted back in, dragging his awareness along with it.
He should’ve died. But somehow, he hadn’t.
The crushing weight of silence and the burn of rope biting into his throat, cutting off air, thought, and hope was all he knew outside the pain.
It was quiet. No voices. No shuffling boots or revving engines.
They left him there. Whether they were too cowardly to watch, or something spooked them, he didn’t know.
But the stillness wrapped around him like an eerie shroud, and somehow, it made the betrayal so much worse.
Tank’s world narrowed to pressure and panic, the rope squeezing the life out of him.
The noose held firm, digging deeper by the second, and his body convulsed against it, desperate for air.
Stars burst behind his eyes. His body became numb, and he felt his mind begin to drift.
Then out of nowhere there was a snap. An unexpected, jarring fall.
His body slammed into the cold ground and the gasp ripped from his chest, air burning like fire as it sucked into his starving lungs.
Maybe the branch cracked. Maybe someone had a shred of humanity and cut him down after the rest walked away.
He’d never know. And he didn’t fucking care.
All he knew was the taste of blood and dirt in his mouth and the agony of that first breath.
His body was broken and everything hurt.
Every breath felt like a razor in his chest. His wrists screamed from where the chains had bitten into them, slick with his blood.
He wasn’t sure how they’d come loose. Had it happened in the fall?
Somehow, they’d given way. The metal still clinked with every move he made, dragging behind him.
But he moved slowly, with intention. Crawling through the cold dirt and winter’s dead leaves.
Blood dripped from his face and his muscles shook with each inch forward.
Dragging his body over the forest floor was pure agony, his fingers bleeding now as he clawed at the ground.
Still, he pushed himself on. Instinct urged him to drag himself out of that patch of woods.
Rage and the will to survive fueled every single motion.
He didn’t know where he was going. He only knew that if he managed to survive this, he couldn’t stay here.
He wouldn’t fucking die like that. Not by their hands.
Not discarded in the woods like a piece of garbage they were done with.
He would never be just another secret buried in the dirt behind their clubhouse.
Every inch he crawled was a solemn vow. You failed. You should’ve made sure I was dead.
Tank was dead. He left that name in the dirt beneath the hanging tree, with the blood they’d spilled and the brotherhood they’d shattered. That man had believed in loyalty and brotherhood.
That man was gone. He buried the name.
And from the ashes, Vendetta rose, scarred, silent, and born of vengeance.