Ride and Reap (9 page)

“Kane, you all right?” Reaper
asked. “Having second thoughts?”

Hot desert air whipped at Kane’s
hair. He looked at Reaper, clutching his fists at his side. Although it shamed
Kane, he said the words. “Let’s go back.”

Reaper crossed his arms, regarding
him. Without his jacket on, Kane could see the powerful muscles of his inked
arm rippling at the gesture. Standing there, Reaper reminded Kane of a silent
sentinel. Dread and despair clutched at Kane as the realization dawned. He
didn’t want Reaper to die, and he didn’t want to throw his life away either.

“You know the rules the Hellhounds
set, Kane,” Reaper reminded him. “Would it really be fine, letting Harvey go after
all that he’s done?”

“We can go somewhere else. Live
free.” Kane didn’t like this side of himself, desperate and cowardly.

Reaper didn’t judge though, or tell
him to strap on a pair of balls, only watched him. Made Kane realize whatever
he decided, Reaper would follow. His heart ached. Could he really do this to
Reaper, sever him from his brothers at the club, from what few consider the
last paradise in the Post-fall world?

Besides, if they let Harvey live,
he would soon learn Kane had failed. Would he send more young, gullible young
men after them, men like Kane, who hungered for a home and a sense of
belonging? He thought of the silent graveyard they passed and the rough crosses
hammered into the desert. Before he set out, Kane wanted to rest his bones
there, then maybe find Kevin in the afterlife. Tell his brother he could be
proud Kane avenged him.

He approached Reaper, fingering the
hem of his shirt. “I don’t want to see you die. Fuck, Reaper, I just found
you.”

Closing his hand over his wrist, Reaper
grinned at his racing pulse, at the effect he had on Kane. “You’ve made one
fucking mistake, little human. I won’t die, and neither will you. When the
world fucks with you, you fuck back harder.”

Unable to help himself, Kane
laughed. “That’s a terrible philosophy.”

“Are we doing this, Kane?”

Kane glanced at the skulls again.
The short time he’d been with the Hellhounds taught him nothing was black and
white. The werewolves that ruled Wolf County were like everyone else, trying to
make the most out of the sorry-ass remains of their world. Harvey and his
hunters didn’t belong to this time. They needed to reevaluate their way of
thinking, but old husks like Harvey wouldn’t change even if the world ended for
a second time, wiping out everyone for good.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

Reaper walked to his bike and took
out the crucial piece of their plan from the bag. He handed it to Kane, once
Kane’s hands no longer shook. Unrolling the canvas case, Kane stared at the
syringe for a moment.

“Tell me how it works again,”
Reaper said, although Kane suspected he did that to calm Kane’s nerves.

“Once the L-23 serum hits your
bloodstream, it’s not going to stop your heart, but slow it down enough so the
hunters will think you’re dead. Your body is going to grow cold as well,” Kane
repeated their plans as Reaper stripped down.

A fine specimen indeed, but Kane
cleared his throat to keep on track.

Smirking, Reaper shifted, until a
huge wolf replaced the man.

Kane knelt, syringe in hand. Reaper
licked at his wrist in reassurance, leveling his golden gaze on Kane’s. He ran
his free hand across Reaper’s unexpectedly soft fur, settling it against his
neck before thrusting the needle into his skin.

Kane pressed the plunger, watching
the clear and colorless liquid disappear. Before they left Wolf County, Mercy
handed them the pouch and syringe, explaining how it worked. When Kane asked
Reaper how a biker knew about Lazarus or L-23 serum, he shrugged and told Kane
Mercy used to be a doctor—another surprise. The support of the Hellhounds made
Kane speechless. It seemed most of them wanted them to succeed.

Seconds later, Reaper convulsed,
before slumping on the road.

“Now the hard part,” Kane
whispered.

He shoved the case back in the
carry-on bag, and took out his silver-edged blades. The ones Harvey gave him
after completing his apprenticeship, the very same he placed against Reaper’s
throat when Kane set out to kill him. Hands steady, Kane knelt again. Christ,
it felt wrong doing this to a defenseless man, his own mate, but there was no
other way.

Gripping the hilt, Kane made quick
slices, wincing each time blood spilled across Reaper’s fur. He avoided the
critical areas, and once Reaper looked convincingly dead, Kane put his blades
away. Next, he took the metal spray from the pouch Mercy handed him. Ammonia
mixed with something else, to replicate the smell of a rotting corpse.

According to Mercy, the shifter
rebellion developed both formulas to liberate captives the human scientists
used to experiment on during the development of the T-11 virus. Mercy and some
of the Hellhounds like Mace and Viper, worked as spies for the human government
during Pre-fall times, Reaper mentioned.

After taking out the ropes, Kane buried
the carry-bag in the sand, and marked its location with a pile of small stones.
Strapping Reaper on the back of the bike turned out harder than he expected. By
the time Kane finished, sweat soaked his front and back. He couldn’t afford to
tally. Half an hour, until Reaper’s heart started beating to his usual rhythm
again.

Kane mounted the bike, clutching at
the handlebars. “It’s time for the show to start,” he muttered under his
breath. It felt odd, without Reaper at the helm, Kane’s arms around his warm solid
mass. Turning his head, Kane checked on Reaper’s unconscious form again, before
starting the bike. The old hog roared to life. Kane picked up speed, enjoying
the blast of warm air against his face, but the thrill of the ride dampened
when the New Melville compound came into his line of sight.

Slowing down, Kane surveyed the
surroundings. Catching sight of the new tower by the entrance, he swallowed.
Made of tin and rusty metal, it didn’t look like much, but more snipers trained
their gun on him. Keeping one hand on the bike’s handlebars, Kane fumbled for
the piece of red cloth in his left pocket. Dyed red with the blood of their
enemies, Harvey once said, a hunter’s entry pass into New Melville.

Kane waved the red cloth in the air
now, letting the ragged thing flutter, showing the skull and crossbones, the crudely
painted letters spelling out New Melville underneath. The snipers kept their
barrels pointed at him, but Kane sensed a more relaxed atmosphere than when he
arrived at the gate.

Harvey must have told the guards
Kane was coming, and the large wolf strapped behind his bike left little to the
imagination. Kane knew the flaws in his story. If Harvey decided to examine
Reaper closely, the ruse was up. The sun dried the blood enough, and the spray
replicated the smell of a corpse, but Kane wasn’t naïve enough to believe
Harvey wouldn’t notice something amiss.

“Fuck, comrade Kane. Looks like you
hauled in a fucking big one,” said the guard at the gate.

Kane bit his lip as they poked the
heads of their loaded rifles at Reaper’s unconscious form. Losing his temper
now wouldn’t help, and once past the gates, Kane would be essentially trapping
Reaper and him.

“Let’s talk another time, Tommy.
Harvey’s waiting.” Kane kept his tone lofty, triumphant.

Tommy nodded, and Kane saw
something he’d never seen before.
Respect.
Fuck, if Tommy only knew the truth. He would gather his buddies and gun down
Kane and Reaper without another thought. Hell, he might even make it a hard
death. He noticed the way Tommy eyed Reaper’s ride with interest. “Let him
pass, and Kane, you better be ready to fucking tell us about your kill over and
over. Drinks for everyone tonight, eh?”

“Yeah, open bar, baby.” Kane
grinned, despising how easy he fell into his old role. Tommy could be his
reflection—another young man Fisher and his remaining crew took in out of the
goodness of their hearts. Taught to kill and hate, and to give their lives for
a cause force fed to them. Ultimately in the end, everyone made their own
decisions. Kane chose Reaper, and a life empty of blind hate.

He rolled past the dusty lane,
feeling the burnt of what felt like a hundred stares on him. Kane knew he was imagining
it all, because everyone in the compound had tasks to do, and responsibilities
to fulfill. Seeing the huge scarred man waiting on Harvey’s porch, a chill ran
down Kane’s spine.

“Well, well if it isn’t the cocky
victor come home.” Ash whistled as Kane killed the engine. He made a slow
circle around Reaper’s bike, then Reaper’s body. “Fuck, but you did it, kid,
just like you promised Fisher.”

Kane dismounted. “Is Harvey
inside?”

Ash shook his head. “Out ranging,
teaching two fresh meats some shooting skills. He’ll be back soon. Let’s get
the beast down, before someone else steals your spoils.”

Reluctant, but not wanting any
random punk laying their hands on his wolf, Kane agreed. He took off the ropes,
trying to keep his hands from shaking. “He’s fucking heavy. Does Harvey have a
wheel barrel or something?”

Lugging Reaper’s body though the
dirt didn’t appeal to Kane, because he knew hunters treated shifters like
animals.

“Yeah, hold on.”

Ash came back, with a wheel barrel
Kane knew they used for lugging corpses to the outskirts of the compound.

Hunters liked to take souvenirs,
Kane remembered. Harvey liked stuffing and keeping heads. Others like Ash, kept
claws and teeth. No wonder Reaper and his brothers didn’t like hunters. They
were more savage and less civilized. After hefting Reaper into the barrel, Ash
didn’t make a remark when Kane insisted on doing the grunt work.

“Chill, kid. I’m not going to steal
your thunder.” Ash followed him to the back of Harvey’s yard.

Nothing but dirt in the little
square, but it was here Kane did his exercises and practiced his blade work. He
knelt, shifting his fingers through the dirt, closing his eyes to remember. If
Ash thought his actions odd, he didn’t say anything. Sweat and bleed fed the
dirt and sand here, Kane mused. Pain and hate from the young men and women
Harvey and his crew decided worthy of their cause. They trained them, fed them,
and then sent them out to die. During Kane’s time here, he’d worked with
another apprentice who earned his knives early and was never heard from again.

Reaper was right. Sometimes the
world was better off with one less monster.

“We’re fucking glad you came back,
Kane. We could sure use another reliable man,” Ash said.

Kane opened his eyes, blinking in
surprise.

“What, after killing one monster
you’re hanging your knives up and doing some farming?” Ash asked in a mocking
voice.

“Are there more targets?” Something
about Ash’s words unsettled him.

“This.” Ash gestured to Reaper. “Is
the first step. This fucker’s been on Harvey’s mind forever. Finally with the
bastard dead, we can move on to our real plans.”

“Real plans?”

“You’ve been in Wolf County, so
you’ve heard about The Collector?”

Kane frowned, straining his memory.
The name of the major player stuck out, because Reaper’s brother had claimed
his mate from the slave trader, and nearly brought war to Wolf County. Kane
didn’t know the details, but he knew it was one of the reasons Mace wanted no
additional trouble in town.

“The flesh peddler? I heard he used
to own most of the western territories. That he trades in flesh on the side,
but he hoards a lot of important Post-fall technology.”

Ash snorted. “He’s no simple
slaver. Fuck, he’d been one of our major investors, funding our weapons and
supplies.”

Kane had always wondered how New
Melville managed to keep themselves afloat. He focused on Ash’s words, although
he silently gauged the time. Would Harvey return before Reaper woke?
 

Knowing Ash would take note of his
body language and sense his apprehension, like any good hunter would, Kane kept
his face neutral, and played the role of obedient little trainee. Rubbing his
sweaty palms against his jeans, he asked, “So that’s why Harvey has a boner for
the Hellhounds MC, it’s not just Reaper?”

“If we knew you would succeed, we
would have given you more firepower.” Ash shook his head in disgust. “Harvey
didn’t think you could do it.”

“That why he put the suicide vest
on an automatic timer?” Kane couldn’t help but ask, unable to keep the scorn in
his voice.

Like Harvey, Ash didn’t apologize,
only spread his hands in mock defeat. “You’re alive, and that’s all that
matters. Can we count on you, Kane?”

“Of course.” Kane nodded without
hesitation. “Anything to rid the world of these abominations, right?”

He nodded, looking pleased by his
answer. “Harvey always thought you weren’t ready, not trustworthy to understand
our real goal, but I always said you had promise.”

Real
comrades didn’t blow each other up.
Kane bit his lip, a little pissed Ash
knew about the rigged vest too. He guessed that just about summed up their
relationship. A tool needed to be useful, discarded when no longer needed,
unlike the fierce loyalty the Hellhounds showed to each other. Humans lived in
Wolf County, went on with their lives like the apocalypse never happened, and
the Hellhounds kept them safe from threats. Paradise indeed, and out of
cowardice, Kane considered running to the ends of the world with Reaper, just
to avoid confronting Harvey.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the
prodigal son returned home,” a gruff voice remarked.

Turning, Kane saw Harvey standing
on the porch. The two young men with him must be his new trainees. He noticed
the way they eyed Kane’s supposed kill, twin expressions of envy. Someone
needed to shake them, tell them to wake the fuck up, and start making their own
choices, to not blindly follow the twisted ideals of others. As expected,
Harvey offered no apologies or congratulations. Harvey walked to them, still
dressed in his black fatigues, hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.