Wrong Side of Right (Soldiers of Sin #3)

Chapter 1

The drive home feels strange. I’ve been on the old back road bordering the South Bay town line hundreds of times, thousands maybe, but it’s never looked like this.

It’s August, but the oranges and reds bursting from the thick forest surrounding the asphalt make it look like October.

The winding highway bends and curves in places it shouldn’t, as if the anatomy of the road has changed.

And I swear the lights were on as I passed the Mackinley farm, even though the place has been empty since the old man died almost a decade ago.

The car speakers crack and hiss, and the music is replaced by static. Keeping one hand steady on the steering wheel, I use the other to fiddle with the dial, scanning the local stations, but everything comes out garbled.

“Radio’s busted,” I say.

Silence.

I sigh as I focus back on the road. “Are you really not gonna talk to me?”

Emily throws me a look, then quickly zeroes in on her phone again. “There’s nothing left to say.”

Her eyes are angry, her hair a few shades darker than it was last week. For fall, she told me. That golden blond she’s had since high school was too summery , and she needed a change. Right. That means it must be October. Why the hell did I think it was August?

“Oh.” I let out a dark laugh. “I’ve got plenty to say.”

She rolls her eyes. “You always do.”

Chin lifted, I scratch my jaw. “If you’re this pissed, we should talk about it. Otherwise, I’ll be talking to myself the rest of the way home, and we both know I’m not that interesting.”

“What’s there to talk about? You want to stay. I don’t.”

We keep having this same argument. She can’t see a future here, but leaving this place has never been in my plans. It’s where we grew up, where I want to build a life. Emily can’t see it. She talks about South Bay like it’s a damn disease.

“Where’s this coming from?” I ask, flicking my attention to the passenger seat. “We agreed to put a pin in this until later.”

“Maybe I don’t want to wait until later. Maybe I want to figure this out now.” She sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes go wide. “Watch it!”

I whip my eyes to the road. When I catch sight of the monster pothole, I slam on the brakes, but it’s too late, and Emily’s Corolla bounces over the broken pavement with a sickening thump.

“Fuck. Sorry.” I move the steering wheel back and forth. I don’t have a clue what to look for, but nothing seems broken. I let my shoulders relax. “Thought they fixed that.”

I’m sure they did. I remember the construction crews, the smell of tar as I passed by, the extra ten minutes it took to get to work while the lane was closed. This was fixed. Years ago. It was perfectly smooth when I drove home from shift yesterday.

“It’s fine,” she says, slumping in the passenger seat. “Just pay attention, will you?”

“Hard to pay attention when you started this argument after we’ve both worked night shift, babe.”

A long, weary breath escapes her lips. “It’s just…

can you really picture a life here? This is biker territory, Linc.

It’s not like it was when we were kids. It’s gotten dangerous.

And now you’re in the thick of it. That badge won’t be doing our family any favours. You really wanna raise our kids here?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Kids?”

“I mean… you know. Like, later. And hypothetically.” She twists away from me, fixing her attention on the window and fiddling with the South Bay General Hospital ID badge affixed to her pink scrubs.

“ Hypothetically , yeah. Better here than in some big city.”

I should hold her hand. Squeeze it. Make her feel like I understand, like I care. Instead, I ball my fist in my lap and let the space between us grow. A void of heavy silence and awkwardness.

We pass a big farmhouse with a white wraparound porch and a towering tree in the front yard. The Mackinley farm. Lights on, chimney smoking, a slow-moving tractor in the back field pulling up dirt.

We already passed this place, didn’t we?

Am I going in circles?

No. Of course not. It was a long shift, and I barely slid under my overtime cap this week. The sleep deprivation is fucking with me.

“South Bay needs some cleaning up. But that’s what I’m here for.” I throw her a wink and nod to the South Bay Police Department patch on my shoulder.

A small smile curves up the side of her face.

God, I love that smile.

Lately, we’ve been stuck in this weird loop.

Work, home, eat, bed. The time between filled with arguing.

And that smile I love so much? It’s changed.

The kind that doesn’t hit the eyes. It’s forced.

Drenched in politeness, followed by small talk and detached conversations.

We’re not us. We haven’t been for a long time.

It’s like we’re strangers, and it’s fucking killing me.

Her smile vanishes. Maybe she feels it too.

Like she’s also realized that, once again, we’re here.

The fight we never finish because we already know how it’ll end, and neither of us is ready to admit that we want different things, that we’re outgrowing the relationship we’ve been building since high school.

Em presses her head against the headrest and sighs. “Those boys you used to fight with aren’t pretending anymore. Axel Donovan? Jack? They’re the real deal now.”

“So am I,” I say, motioning to my uniform. “I’m not intimidated by the Donovans, Em, and I won’t be one of those cops sitting in a Sinner’s pocket. South Bay can change. I wish you could see that.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “And I wish you could see this isn’t a fight you can win.

Not while the Donovans are running this town.

Think about what this has done to your family.

To your father. You want to change something?

Change us. Our future. South Bay will always be South Bay, but we don’t have to stay here. ”

Leaving. She thinks that will fix us. All I have to do is quit my job, pack my bags, and follow her into the city. It’s the sacrifice I have to make to show her I want her, that I can put us first. New city, new life, but then what?

Why can’t she understand? Why can’t she be happy with what we have? Why is none of this good enough for her?

I sigh. “Can we refasten that pin and forget about this for today? Please?” I throw her my most charming smile.

Despite the irritation still lining her face, she smiles back. “Only if you let me pick the playlist,” she says seriously.

Music. Another thing Em and I can’t ever agree on. I snatch her phone and toss it into the back seat.

“Hey! What the hell?” She gives my shoulder a series of playful punches.

I break into a face-splitting grin. “I’d rather listen to the broken radio.”

“My car, my music. Eyes on the road.” Laughing, she unbuckles her seat belt and reaches for her phone.

Fuck, I love her laugh.

My chest feels heavy. Like I miss something I don’t know is gone yet. I swallow the lump in my throat and survey the blacktop, the lightening sky, the kilometres of forest surrounding our town, the approaching rock-cut.

The farm again.

White wraparound porch. Big tree. Mackinley on a plow in the back field. His cows are already roaming, the chimney smoking to fight off the early morning cold.

How are we back here again? What the fuck is happening to me?

And why… why does this feel familiar?

“Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison starts to play. My muscles lock as a deep feeling of unease knots up my stomach.

I’ve… I’ve been here before, haven’t I?

Same drive. Same conversation. Same song.

But it’s the last song I want to hear. Doesn’t she know that?

I clutch the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. “Why are you playing this?”

“You love this song.”

“No. I don’t. Not anymore. Turn it off,” I snap.

“I can’t, Linc. You know that.”

The temperature drops. My hairs stand on end. A chill skitters up my spine as her face slowly changes in front of my eyes—skin paling, eyes turning cold and lifeless. The version of her I hate the most, but the one that’s always in my head, the one I can’t forget.

Goose bumps ripple over my skin. “What’s happening to you?” I yell. “What is this?”

She tilts her head, her smile gone, her lips cracked. Heart jackhammering against my chest, I let off the gas, but my foot is locked on the pedal, my hands glued to the steering wheel as the car picks up speed. We’re going too fast.

The song distorts. Slows. A deep, haunting tempo.

She coughs. Blood sputters from her mouth and oozes down her chin. Her breathing quickens, getting choppy, like she can’t take in air, like she’s dying.

“Emily! Emily!”

Ringing. Like a phone. Louder and louder. Blasting in my ears. The sound fills the car, fills my head.

“Emily!” I shout again.

“Don’t you remember, Linc?” She wraps her arms around her middle, a sob racking her body. “We don’t survive this.”

She whips her head around and screams.

I turn too. Just in time to see a pair of headlights coming straight for us. I twist the wheel. I lose control. Emily’s head snaps forward, and I brace against the dash as the car slams into the jagged rock-cut hugging the edge of the highway.