The shrill ring of my phone jerks me out of a dead sleep. I sit up in bed, sweating. The club rooms are hot, as if the hormones from downstairs rise, permeating the ceiling that separates the two floors. Swinging my legs over the edge, I get up and crack a window. Cold air rushes in. Heavy lidded, I tip my head back and enjoy the wave.

My phone rings again. Silently cursing Lucy for choosing such a bone shattering ringtone, I scoop it from the nightstand.

The name on the display makes all of the blood drain straight out of my head. Before I even answer, I already know. Something is wrong.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Cliff," she gasps. "Please."

There’s no need for her to say any more.

I pull on clothes as I make my way through the small room, shrugging into my cut almost as an afterthought. I pound down the stairs and fly out the door. It’s as if my body has taken control, leaving my brain in my bed. By the time my head catches up, I’m flying down 63.

I ignore the speed limit and get to Olivia’s in under ten minutes. It’s probably more like five. Practically knocking the motorcycle over, I dismount and break into a run.

The apartment door is unlocked. I push my way in and look around wildly for her. My brain processes the scene in small increments.

Blood on the carpet in the entryway.

Shattered knick knacks strewn across the floor.

Olivia huddled next to her bedroom door, a gash oozing from her temple.

The Glock in her lap.

A man splayed in the center of the living room, a hole between his eyes.

I rock back on my heels, the wind knocked out of my lungs. Memories assault me: another house, another body on the floor, another girl curled into a corner. Shaking them away, I go to her. My hands cup her face, turning her head gently so I can see the wound. "What happened?" The flesh at her temple is split wide open, blood pulsing from within. She’ll need stitches, and it’ll probably scar, but it doesn’t look life threatening.

The chalky pallor of her face is what worries me. Her eyes slide from mine toward the body in the middle of the floor.

Following her gaze, I realize I recognize him. "That’s the guy from the gas station," I say, turning back to her. "Olivia. Tell me what happened."

"What are we going to do with him?" Her voice is eerily calm. Those eyes burn into mine, pupils constricted to tiny pinpricks.

For the first time, I notice the tiny punctures marring her neck, arms, and legs. I take her wrists, holding them up. Her limbs are limp in my grasp. "What the fuck happened, Olivia?"

She gazes down. "Oh, those. I had to yank the barbs out." She laughs. "I don’t know how the fuck I crawled around with those things in."

"Okay." I pull her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her. "You’re in shock. It’s okay." Stroking her hair, I press safety into her.

My mind whirls. Distantly, I think that I may be in shock, too. Again I look at the body. Another gunshot wound pierces the hand curled next to his face. My Olivia did this. Sending her away only dragged her in deeper.

It’s all my fault.

Jaw flexing, I consider my options. There’s no question. I have to take care of this. Too much time has already passed. I lift the gun from the floor, nodding when I see the filed-off serial number. If we call the police, they’ll quickly conclude that this was premeditated, not self-defense. My girl will go away.

Coiled nerves clamor for a cigarette. Lifting Olivia into my arms, I stand and carry her into the bedroom so that we can smoke without having to look at the body. I sit her down on the bed. Then I light two and pass her one.

"Breaking all kinds of rules today," she says with a sigh.

I lean against the vanity, thinking. I can send her away, to the store or something. Call the police and tell them that I was waiting for her to get back when this motherfucker broke in. He came at me, and I had no choice. But the crime scene is set up all wrong, and their forensics team will discover the truth.

Olivia will still go to prison.

I can re-stage it, take the fall. I don’t want to go back in, but she has so much more to lose. It was probably only a matter of time anyway. Still, it would separate us. There would be no one to keep her safe. The club might be looking out for her, but they don’t care for her like I do. And I’m of no use to her buried under all of that concrete.

There’s really only one option here.

I think of Bree, the bruises around her neck and her cavalier attitude. "No one. Not anymore," she said. If the River Reapers can make a long line of abusive men disappear, they can manage one more.

But I’m not sure. The men who beat on Bree were nobodies. Probably alcoholics, at least unemployed. The kind of people who are easy to erase, people so toxic, no one will miss them. Not this guy. Eli was a college student, a guy who worked at a gas station. There are plenty of people who will notice he’s gone.

"Fuck," I mutter. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands.

Olivia tips her head back, those intense eyes meeting mine. "You have to call Donny."

She’s right. As the club Enforcer, he’ll know what to do. I may only be a Prospect, but I’m already a part of the club. It’s only a matter of time. And since the club considers Olivia family too, via her connection to me and who her father is, this is official club business.

The price we’ll pay will be heavy, though.

I call Donny, hoping his ringtone is just as annoying as mine. Lifting the cigarette to my lips, I suck in a drag, but it’s gone out. I relight it, counting the trills on the other end of the line.

He answers on the third ring. "What is it?" he rasps, voice thick with sleep.

"We have a . . . situation over at Olivia’s," I say.

Several seconds slip by. "Fuck." He exhales sharply. "All right, Red Dog. You’re gonna stay put and wait for me. Comprende?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck," he says again. "How bad is it?"

I stick my head out of the bedroom, re-sweeping the scene. "Some blood. Mostly a clean shot. She did good."

He sputters. "She? Shit, man." He grunts. "I’ll be right there. Stay put." Then he hangs up.

My eyes meet Olivia’s. "Donny’s on his way."

She nods once. "My head really hurts." Raising her hand to the gash on her face, she presses the pads of her fingers to the split flesh. A wince scrunches her face. "Right." Her hand flops back into her lap.

"Head wounds always bleed so much more than limbs do," I say, eyeing it. The bleeding has slowed, which is a good sign. But every time she moves her face, a fresh wave gushes out. "You’ve got to try to stay still." I start hunting for something to compress it.

I find towels, rubbing alcohol, and a mostly useless first aid kit in the bathroom. There aren’t even any butterfly bandages. All she and her roommate have are finger-sized Disney princess Band-Aids and a few large bandages. Still, I take it all with me back into her room.

"How do you feel?" I ask while I clean her up.

"Fine." Her eyebrows furrow. "I think."

"You’ve got to stop moving your face." I press a wadded up towel to the gash on her temple, using all of my weight. "Are you dizzy at all?"

"No." She closes her eyes, her face becoming a smooth mask. "I feel . . . a rush."

"Yeah." I bow my head, heart seizing in my chest. I know exactly what she’s talking about. Maybe there was no stopping this, but I feel responsible. Like I should have just stuck around.

Her eyes open, latching mine. "Do you still want me to stay away?" Her voice is low, a caress across my soul.

I shake my head. "I do want you to stay still, though." Gently, I hold her chin with my free hand.

She rolls her eyes, but a tiny smile lifts the corners of her mouth. "You should’ve been a doctor."

"Right." I peel away the towel. The bleeding has stopped, but I’m pretty sure it’s just going to split open again the second she lifts an eyebrow. Which will be any minute now, knowing my expressive girl. I dab rubbing alcohol on it. Even though it has to sting, she takes it all in stride, even as I smear Vaseline on it.

"That was all we had, huh?" She sighs softly. "I really need to invest in some Neosporin."

I stick one of the large bandages on it, trying to contour it to her hairline. "We’ve gotta find someone who can give you stitches."

"I’m not going to the hospital." Her chin juts out at me.

"I wasn’t suggesting that." My gaze softens. Even gushing blood, she’s the most headstrong person I’ve ever met.

A knock sounds at the front door. "Honey, I’m home," Donny calls.

"In here." I take Olivia’s hand and give it a squeeze. "Don’t worry. It’s gonna be okay." Pressing a kiss to her lips, I stand and meet Donny in the living room.

But it isn’t just Donny.

Beer Can drops a huge duffel bag at my feet. He nods in greeting.

"Let’s get to work, boys," Donny says.

Stepping over the body, he leers down at it. "Not a lot of blood. Good. That’ll be easy to clean up." He lifts the hand that Olivia shot. "And look, part of my job is already done for me." Looking over his shoulder, he grins at me. "Grab me that tarp from that duffel bag."

Hunkering down, I unzip the bag. Before I look away from Donny, though, I realize he’s wearing a patch I’ve never seen before. "What’s a Sludge Specter?"

He just smiles and goes back to examining the body.

I carry the tarp over. "So what are you going to do?"

"Me?" Donny’s eyebrows lift. "This is a team effort. It takes a lot of muscle to dismantle a man. It is a little easier if you saw at the joints, though." He winks.

Grimacing, I take several bone saws out of the duffel bag. I hold one out to Beer Can.

He shakes his head, holding up his hands. "I’m just the cleaning lady."

"What can I do?" Olivia asks from the bedroom door.

Both of the men gape at her.

"Jesus Christ," Beer Can says in a low voice.

The bandage on her temple is already soaked through.

I try to see her through their eyes. With half her face covered in sticky blood, her T-shirt damp and wrinkled with sweat and more blood, and body pocked with barb holes, she’s a pretty ghastly sight. But long, bare legs extend from underneath that T-shirt, and hard nipples press against the cotton. Those luminous eyes tunnel through me, and all I want to do is kiss those soft, full lips and solidify my claim to her.

But we have work to do.

"I’ll call Ravage," Beer Can says, pressing a phone to his ear.

"Liv, you probably shouldn’t see this." I step in front of her, blocking her view.

She snorts. "Because it’ll be traumatic? Cliff, I did this. I shot holes through a person." Her voice drops to a whisper. "And you know what? I liked it, just like you said. It felt good. Right."

"Yeah." Taking her by the shoulders, I lead her to the couch. I press down, coaxing her into a sitting position. "You’re bleeding, Olivia. Ravage will come and stitch you up."

"Come on, Red Dog," Donny calls. "I need a hand getting this tarp under this fucker."

"Stay put," I order her. Joining Donny, I pull on the gloves he passes me. He shows me how to roll the body from side to side while he inches the tarp underneath. Then he nods toward the duffel bag. I grab the two bone saws and hand him one.

"Nah," he says, taking the other from me. "This one has a better handle. Fits better to my hand," he explains. I wonder how many times he’s done this, but I don’t ask. I probably don’t want to know.

Donny demonstrates how to separate an elbow, angling the saw into the soft inside of the joint. "This is where the tendon connects." He thrusts it forward, using his weight to drive the serrated blade into the flesh. "Skin and muscle cuts like butter," he says, watching as blood puddles below the arm. "But you need a little more force to get through the joint." He drives in, the muscles in his arm bunching. The blade makes a sickening wet popping sound as it slides through the joint.

I stare, feeling as if I’m watching all of this from outside myself. It’s partially fascinating and also kind of disgusting. And, if i’m being honest, it’s unsettling how someone as warm and friendly as Donny can do this so easily. Like it’s second nature.

He beckons to a leg. "Join the party, Red Dog."

We get to work.

I feel myself disconnecting as I grip the calf and twist until the back of the knee comes around. The hip pops out of socket almost too easily. Pressing the bone saw into the back of the knee, I tell myself this isn’t real. It’s just something I have to do and can forget about when it’s all over. I separate what I’m doing and my real life into halves as cleanly as I’m dismembering joints. Time becomes irrelevant as Donny and I work side by side in silence.

I don’t even hear Ravage come in.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, we have a pile of bloody limbs, skin hanging from all ends in tattered shreds.

"All right," Donny says. "That’s the easy part. Now we’ve gotta break these down. Convenient pieces, brother. Fun Size." Laughter dances in his eyes, his grin wide.

"You’re enjoying this too much," I grunt.

Before I dive back in, I glance at Olivia. She’s sitting crosslegged on the couch next to Ravage, who hands her a cup of tea. Neat stitches line her temple, and her face is clean. She looks human again.

I look down at my own hands. The gloves only come up to my wrists, so my arms and everything I’m wearing is soaked in blood. Now I look like a monster.

Donny pulls a giant pair of industrial cutters out of his magic bag. He scissors the blades, metal clicking against metal. Following his lead, I hold body parts while he cuts them down. Blood splashes my face. After a little while, I stop caring. The whole time, I feel Olivia’s eyes on me.

What will become of us when this is over?

I don’t think any less of her, but I’m not so sure she feels the same about me. We’re past the point of walking away, though. Whatever happens next, this night has bound us together.

All of us.

"I’m going back to bed," Ravage says, lifting a hand in parting. "Call me if you run into any problems." He strides out the door as if we’re just mopping floors in here.

Donny was right. Sawing through joints is much easier than it is to go through straight bone. There’s beauty in that stubborn strength, though. I feel a new appreciation for my own body as I get down on one knee and drag the bone saw back and forth.

Two more hours pass with Beer Can brewing us coffee and sitting with Olivia. Despite the late hour, I’m not at all tired. From the looks of the others, neither are they.

"So where’s Esther?" I ask Donny, swiping sweat from my forehead with a bloody arm. It doesn’t even matter at this point.

"Essie?" His face drifts off, dreams in his eyes. "She’s at the hotel. I told her I’d be back sometime tomorrow."

"Sorry I ruined your weekend," Olivia says from the couch.

"Nah." Donny gives her a gentle smile. "I’d do anything for you, girl. You know that."

Beer Can grunts in agreement.

Finally Donny declares the chunks an appropriate size. Even the smell doesn’t bother me anymore. I hold a giant, heavy duty Ziploc bag open while he tosses them in.

From the duffel bag, Beer Can pulls out an industrial blender.

"Fuck me," I mutter.

He plugs it into the wall, putting a clean tarp underneath it. Then he motions for me to get started, as if gesturing for a lady to go first through a door.

More pieces of me fragment as I feed chunks of Eli to the machine. Donny holds another Ziploc open for me to pour the puree into. When I’m done, I sit back on my knees, breathing heavily.

"You got this?" Donny asks Beer Can.

"Never underestimate a Virgo," Beer Can says, shooing us away.

I reach for the duffel bag.

"Leave it." Donny shakes his head. "Beer Can’ll bring it back to me when they’re done." He beckons for me to follow him.

Outside, we climb into his truck. The seats and floors have been covered with tarps, the steering wheel and shift wrapped in kitchen plastic wrap.

I whistle. "You’ve really thought this through."

“It’s my job," he says, backing out of his spot.

We drive deep into the woods of Naugatuck, to a piece of property tucked away from civilization. Carrying the bag, I follow Donny through an unmarked and overgrown trail into a clearing. A bonfire is already going in a large pit.

"Throw it in." He yanks off his bloodied clothing and tosses it onto the flames. "You too. Everything but the cut." Then he goes to the truck and collects the tarps.

This night can’t get any more bizarre.

As the flames lick the dismembered flesh, a pungent stench fills the air. I stand naked next to an equally bare Donny, wearing nothing but our leather vests, huddling near the flames for warmth. The ground is cold on my feet, but after a while they go numb. I wish I’d thought to bring cigarettes, but I guess I’ll have plenty of time to chainsmoke the night away later.

It’s another hour, maybe two, before the fire burns out. Donny scoops the ashes into another big Ziploc using a shovel, then tucks the bag among the roots of a tree.

The sky begins to lighten.

"So what now?" I cross my arms, feeling more cold than I want to admit. I need sex, whiskey, a cigarette, and a long dead sleep.

Headlights dance through the trees. My spine stiffens. I look at Donny. He turns toward the incoming truck, shoulders relaxed.

The truck parks next to Donny’s and a hollow-eyed man jumps out. Within minutes, he erects a showering tent and connects a tank of water to it. He hands me a fresh bar of soap. "In you go, son."

The water is surprisingly hot. Almost scalding, actually. I scrub blood from my skin and underneath my nails, washing my hair three times before I’m certain that all of the chunks of flesh and bone are gone. When I step out, the unnamed man hands me a bundle of clothing and work boots. They’re even the right size.

Donny showers next.

I watch as our friend collects the bag of ashes and throws them into the back of the pickup. "What are you gonna do with that?" I ask him.

He snuffles and hawks a wad of spit. Instead of blowing it out, though, he swallows. "Gonna mix it into my manure," he says.

Joining us, Donny slings an arm around me. "He’s our local manure man."

"Thank you for supporting a small business," the man says. He pours the remainder of the water in the tank, rinsing the shower. Then he takes a bucket from his truck and dumps some kind of cleaner all over the tent. It’s too dark to make out what it is. "I’ll air this out at home."

Donny claps him on the back. "Thanks, man." He motions for me to get in the truck.

We drive back to Olivia’s in silence. My eye twitches every few seconds, an old signal that I’ve gone too long without sleep. I think of all the dirty secrets that tie Olivia and me together, and wonder if that’s enough of a bond for a real new beginning.