Rage's Story (Vanish Book 1) (7 page)

They canvassed the town, paid little attention to previously held boundaries, allowing themselves to be tracked by the police. But when it seemed obvious to stop them, the cops would hold back. I can only assume somehow they’re in the pockets of the Devil’s Right Hands, or Aston, or Al, or whoever doesn’t want them interfering with what mess they’ve laid out in Westwood Valley.

His scars extend from the corners of his mouth, outward, like a pair of rivers extending into deltas on his cheeks. They’re faded now, a new acquaintance might not even notice them. But I’ll see them forever. The brothers will see them forever. We know him for them. The sweat slips between them, running through the rivers until they deposit along his chin, where he swipes away.

I got the drop on Evin. It was a long wait for him to ride solo, even longer before he crossed the bridge, but when he did, I shot out his tires. It wasn’t life threatening. He knows how to crash and survive. When he managed to return to his feet, much faster than even I expected, he had a pistol trained on his skull. Without options but death or listen, he’s going to hear me out.

“As set in the bylaws.”

He scoffs. “You serious?”

“Goddamn right I am.”

“Duel.”

I nod, slowly. I don’t take my eyes off him, I don’t blink.

“You killed my father, Rage.” His face grows red, the lines are traced with pink, flooding. “What honor do I owe you? You’re not a member any more.”

“You never took my patch, never burned my ink. I’m just as much a brother as you.”

He pulls in a breath through his nose, the guttural growling in the back of his throat precedes a wad of spit shot towards the ground between us. “You’re no brother.”

I don’t have time to explain my actions. Why I killed Mike, why I had to pull that trigger. Why I feel guilt, but no remorse. He stole Auna. An innocent. One greatly attached to me. He set this stage. For my perceived transgressions, he made an undeniable one, and where the two meet, we have only now to face off. Explanation is over. I’ll kill him same as any other ex-brother that stands between me and her.

“Agree, Evin,” I say, “Or I’ll kill you now.”

I give him the option. It’s the only way. I have to appeal to his sense of honor, what little trace of it he may feel for me to ensure Auna’s safety. I kill him now, it’s over. Here, on this bridge, while the sun beats upon us, I offer the satisfaction of conclusion. It’s on the table.

I pull the hammer back.

“A moto-joust,” he laughs. “Has anyone actually done it before?”

“We’ll probably be the first.”

He shakes his head. Then he sighs, and it hangs. He rubs his cheeks. He has a bit of pride to swallow, admitting I’ve earned the upper hand before succumbing to my proposition. “Alright,” he says to his toes. His head raises, I’m staring into his welling eyes. His jaw clenches. “When?”

“Tonight. Sun down. Right here. The edge of the sleepy town we’ve awoken.”

I see him nod before I turn and head back towards my bike. His cell lies in the middle of the road, freed from his pocket in the crash. I kick it into the river. The MC will find him before long, but I can’t risk them coming too early. Not that I expect him to back out of our deal, Evin always kept close to the rules, no matter how foolish he found them. It’s how he wound up in this position. Following the rules of his father. What he never saw was reason to hold faith, in the transcendence of the family line. He never believed in redemption. For that sin, he’ll perish. For my assumption, for my faith, perhaps I will, too, but we each must follow the path forged by our belief. I believe in light. I believe it rests in Auna, that she is my angel, and that she can wash me clean.

I have to.

Or drown in darkness.

My bike sits in the bushes where I first parked, alongside I’ve kept my small collection of items amassed in my homelessness. Mere necessities. Toothpaste, some stolen clothes, food remnants. Trash, now. A little crumb trail left in my wake, a drifter’s signature. I straddle my bike and pray it starts. How long has it been? I feel the handlebars, cool to the touch, from the persistent shade. I close my eyes and kick.

The engine coughs, spits, then hums.

I open my eyes. I’m ready to ride.

The road laid out in front of me stretches into a blood red sunset, broken out across the horizon. I rev the engine. It’s been too long. I look across the way, the parking lot to the motel seems nearly foreign now, cleaned and cleared of what happened there, like it never did. I wish it never had, but I wouldn’t do it differently on another go around. Dealings in the dark require a darkness within. It’s why I have to keep running. I have to keep riding, and I have to pull the light along with me, through the night, chase the day.

The road flies beneath me, the dotted line blurs into a solid one while the wisp of clouds turn shade from pink, over to purple. Night settles in as I test run my bike. Good shape. Nothing seems out of order. I have less than an hour to meet Evin, to finish this, to--

The headlight flashes across her face, reflecting sweat and tears, a torn outfit of jean shorts and a bra, without shoes, dirty, but still wrapped in gold. The image hangs in my mind as I twist the wheel and I feel the bike slide out from beneath me, the pavement grind against my leg. I’m rolling, the world passes between grey concrete and deep blue sky.

It stops. My eyes feel like they’re spinning. I feel something against my cheek, warm, clammy. I grab it instinctively. A hand. Held in mine, held against my cheek. The two copies of a frame I see before me slowly merge together. She’s leaned forward over me, brown hair dangling between us. Auna. Oh my God.

11.

I want to ask her where she’s been, who took her, who deserves the revenge stewing in the pit of my gut, but a crooked grin sneaks its way across her face, same as I saw it the night we slept together, from across the room, contagious. There’s heat swelling through my body, confused, whether rage or love, I can’t distinguish. I want to fight for her. I want to hold her. My body is sore from the tumble, but nothing is broken. I lift my head slightly, just enough to survey her. She seems okay, I don’t see any serious damage. She’s a little dirty, some filth smudged across her sweaty, olive skin. Her hair seems a touch greasy, but lovely, lifting on a passing wind.

The damage is in her stare. My eyes meet hers and I don’t only see it, I can feel it. It aches, and she’s fighting against it. Trauma, threatening. I’m still a bit woozy, but I reach up and grab her upper arms, I hold her. Auna. She’s warm to the touch, where my hands wrap around her thin arms, where her hands cradle my face. So warm. Maybe I’m cold. But she doesn’t flinch when I rub my hands along her, only falls into me, laying atop my chest.

“Are you okay, Wes?” she asks.

“Me?” I reply.

She lifts her head, her nose teasing the end of mine. Our eyes lock, her lips slam into mine, and it’s the same moment again, every time we kiss, a timeline unhinged, erasing what other clock hands tick across the numbers, broken, tumbling, set free. With my eyes shut tightly, I see her behind them, golden and shimmering, all what glory I’ve wrapped her in, like a blanket she cuddles within.

She lifts, I feel my lips reaching forth for more. She looks into my eyes again. Hers well, wetness threatening to spill. I wrap my large hands around her face, my thumbs already resting on her cheeks to wipe away what tears may come. There’s a hell behind her eyes, stoked flames raising terror. She’s gone through something. Something terrible. Auna. I’m sorry. I never should’ve left you. After tonight, I’ll never leave you again.

She helps me to my feet and onto my bike. It’s a little scratched, but luckily nothing destroyed. I built it well. She hops on behind me and wraps her arms around my torso and squeezes. I feel her soft cheek pressed against my shoulder, her breasts warm against my back. I rev the engine, then I release the break and we fire into the street, back towards her apartment.

Her head lifts, her lips meet my neck and suckle, she moans softly. She’s missed it as much as I have, this closeness, our salvation.

Claps sound in the distance, at first indistinguishable. I listen to a few more, following quickly one after the other. Gunshots. The bullshit that’s been piling here in Westwood Valley reached the fan. Aston, Al, Evin, the Devil’s Right Hands, who knows. Blasting away at one another. No better night for escape.

But I have one final task. It has to be clean. I can run, but he can follow. I can’t watch over my shoulder for the rest of my life, not with her. It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t risk it, risk Auna in danger.

We reach her building, it’s a silhouette against a dark sky, the remnant of the sunset finally evaporated for the stars to flicker in. I park alongside, at one end of an alley. I feel her body limp behind me. You saved me, now it’s my turn. I collect her in my arms, light, still warm, but wavering. Her weak arms wrap around my neck and hold her body close. I rise the stairs and find her door ajar. Within, all is as it was, even Aston’s liquor bottle lays spilled out on the carpet in the middle of the living room.

I lower to my knees as I place her body into the worn sofa cushions. Her head rolls to the side in a way her hair falls behind her and her soft neck stretches exposed before me. She’s beautiful. I can’t help myself from placing my lips against her, just as she had on our way here, wrapping them around the smooth skin between jaw and collar. She sighs, running her fingers through my hair. I lift my head and stare into the brown portals of her eyes.

“Auna.”

The sound of her name lifts another smile on her face and a butterfly beats its wings within my chest. “Wes.”

Even through the sweetness of this exchange, I see the pain behind her eyes. It wasn't the club, not the playboy, I realize now they were wrapped in their own foolishness. By whose hand she suffered, I may never know. But she suffered some hell, I know. I don’t need to know which. I need to quell my own before I can steal Auna away from hers.

I kiss her once, lightly, a brushing of lips.

“I have to do something.”

She searches my gaze, unsure. But she finds it, sees the truth of my words in my eyes, same as I see all I need to in hers.

Without another word, another second, I stand and walk towards the door. This time, I feel her eyes on my back, I feel the sting as I go, before any time passes. This will be the last time. The last time I leave her.

I walk down the hallway, Evin’s on my mind. I realize my body feels different. The heat is gone. My muscles no longer feel strained. My rage has lifted. I don’t want to kill him. I want only to be free. In the back of my thoughts, I realize I want the same for him.

12.

My bike crawls over the bridge and for a moment I hear crickets and stare into the moon and wonder whether Evin would leave it be if I left without our duel. But the option dissolves when I see him, standing in the center of the road, leaning against his bike, head hung before his chest. He doesn’t lift it as I approach. I pull in a deep breath of the cool air around me as I roll to a stop before him.

If this is my last night living…

I release my breath, Auna stands before my eyes, her image emblazoned.

If this is it, I went out on the right side of things. The night may take me, but the day will still come, the sun will still rise, and it will be over when it does.

He sniffles and wipes a black glove beneath his nostrils. His posture sags.

“Evin,” I call out to him.

He’s alone. He upheld the bylaws, as I expected he would. But something is askew. In his stance, the way he carries himself, he’s broken.

“Rage,” he calls back. Before his head lifts, his arm does, releasing an object that flies through the night towards me. I snatch it from the air. A revolver. I open the cylinder. A single shot. I snap it closed. Just as it’s written. Each a single shot, fired while driving at one another. Moto-joust, he called it with a mocking tone, but he’s kept to the rules exactly. He sighs, finally raising his head, the dim moonlight washes over his scarred features, blending the lines, made invisible. “Ready?”

I nod.

“Good.” He pivots, straddles his bike, twists it in the street to face the other direction and drives a quarter mile out, then turns back to face me, stopped.

Alright. Let’s do this.

I sit onto my bike, rev the engine to let him know I’m ready.

The rumble of his bike shatters the quiet, the screech of his wheels banishes serenity. I see him lurch into motion and twist my handle in response, feeling the wheel spin against the asphalt, smell the rubber, watch the smoke rise before my spine shakes to the sudden burst of motion that launches me in his direction.

We’re barreling down on one another, the wind whips my face, stinging.

Just stop, Evin. Pull the break. Slide. Turn away.

Leave.

His eyes pierce the space between us. I hold his stare while he raises the revolver. Damnit.

I lift mine against the raging wind sweeping past from the sheer speed.

I pause on a breath.

My sights align.

He’s there.

I hear a pop, I flinch.

I fire.

My heart races as we pass, the world rushes back into normal tempo, focus shatters. I pull the breaks and my wheels squeal until the bike stops. I just breathe for a moment, making sure I still can. I look down. I throw the gun to the side and pat my body. I don’t feel any pain, any wet place where blood leaks through a hole. He missed.

I look back. Laid out across the pavement at the base of the bridge, Evin’s still body faces the stars. His bike smashed into the bridge, bits of it lay around him, the bike itself stopped against the side of the bridge where it leans now.

My heart struggles to find its normal rhythm. I walk back, taking slow, conscious breaths to calm myself. By the time I reach him, my chest no longer feels like it’s about to burst.