I stare at the landscape portrait on the wall at Vincent’s study the next day. This visit is not about business. For a long time, I just sit there, listening to the sound of my breathing. He’s relaxing in his black leather swivel chair, his fingers laced behind his head, patiently waiting at the large, polished mahogany desk that’s the focal point of the room.

“What do you think it all means?” I ask him, already hating myself for sounding so weak. He’s the only person on the planet that I’d ever consider being completely honest with, but today, it’s fucking hard to let my guard down.

Vincent straightens up in his chair. “I’m not sure it means anything at all. It was a dream.”

“More like a waking nightmare. Do you know it’s been years since I’ve dreamed about them?”

“Perhaps you should walk me through it.”

I flash him a hard look. “You want me to talk about it? Are you shitting me?”

“No, I’m not. We’re already talking about it in a roundabout way. Face it head-on. Rip off the Band-Aid so I can help you deal.”

“But what’s the point? I was there. You were there. We both know what happened. What good would it do to flap our gums about it all over again?”

“Trust me,” he says. “Just try, all right? Start right from the beginning. But imagine you’re right there in that chair, watching the events play out…like a movie playing in your mind.”

I glance over at him. “This sounds all kinds of sick and twisted. Pardon me for being a little skeptical, brother. And do you see why I don’t want a psych eval? I can’t bring myself to tell Silas or anyone else, let alone some highfalutin, pompous shrink who’s got no fucking life experience.”

“Calm down, son. Just try. Relax, take a breath, then start.”

“All right, but only because you’re the one suggesting it,” I tell him.

Leaning back into my chair, I close my eyes and brace myself. It’s a pain to dwell on the images as they come back to me, but dreaming about it every other night is fucking torture.

“It always starts off earlier in the day,” I start. “It was a scorcher, hotter than our usual Nevada desert summer mornings. I was thirteen, remember? Nancy was almost nine. Nancy and I took our bikes to the corner store for candy, which was out of place, because Mom never used to let us eat sweets. That day though, Dad shoved coins in my hands and pushed us out the door. Mom was so relaxed, resting her head on his shoulder. And happy, like euphoric and smiling, to the point of giggling. I’m not sure why that’s how the nightmare starts. We got our fill of sugar, and when we got home, Nancy kept asking why Mom’s shirt was inside out. I remember laughing about it and saying something like how gross. Dad glared at me so I’d shut up. None of us let Nancy in on the fact that they’d been making out, which explained why they were so happy to send us out to buy candy.”

“After dinner that night, Mom made me go up to my room to start on some Math homework that was already two weeks late. Dad was hounding me about it for days, and I only gave in after he took away my video game console and threatened to sell it. The threats were usually empty, but that was the night he actually put it on lockdown somewhere in their room. So I was working on some math questions, and not enjoying it one bit. Half the time I was just looking out the window, staring out at the same dark spot outside behind the back of the garage.”

“I did that for a while, until I was sure I saw something move out there. At first, I figured I was imagining things, but then I noticed it again. A really subtle movement, then another. I went over to the window for a closer look, and then I saw them. I was about to holler at my dad, but he walked into my room just then, and asked whether I was done with my homework. I remember turning to look at him, and as the words ‘soldiers’ came out of my mouth, he sensed them too. Dad shouted for me to get away from the window, and rushed me off to get Nancy hidden away as he hurried out and down the stairs to find Mom.”

“I scrambled over to Nancy’s room and yanked the door closed behind me. I dragged her under her bed from where she’d been coloring at her little table, and put my finger to her lips to keep her quiet. She was so shaken up by how abruptly I’d entered her room, she started bawling. I had to cover her mouth to quiet her down so I could hear what was going on downstairs. There was a loud crack of wood, which was the sound of soldiers breaking down the front door, and then a loud rumbling, which I realized later on were many heavy boots rushing through the house.”

“We heard a loud blood-curdling scream on the other side of the door, and Nancy clung to me, shaking like a leaf as I pushed her behind me. The rumbling suddenly stopped. The screaming died down. Nancy wouldn’t stop crying, even when I covered her mouth again. Dad must have broken free of them and barricaded Nancy’s bedroom door, because I heard his voice just outside. There was a shit ton of gunfire, and something heavy dropped to the wooden floor. After that, the door rocked on its hinges. I told Nancy to stay put under the bed so I could fight off whoever was trying to come into our room. I threw a blanket over her to hide her and found an umbrella in the corner of her closet. It was the only thing I could use to fight off whoever it was that had stormed our house.”

“I remember shouting, telling the soldiers on the other side to leave us alone, but they crashed through the door anyway, stepping over Dad’s lifeless body in the hallway outside. The door burst open, and four or five soldiers in what I now know to be Special Ops uniforms stormed in, gun pointed forward as though Nancy and I were any match for them. I was too young to fight back then… I wasn’t strong enough, but fuck, I would have if I could. I remember closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see them fire their weapons at me. A second went by, then another, and they stood there, doing nothing.”

“That’s when you and your bigshot Special Ops friends or whatever they were showed up. You guys fucking moved so fast, you were like flashes of moving light zipping around them until they were all either dead or close to it. You flipped the bed and scooped up Nancy, and took me in your other hand, even though I was fighting you off too. Do you remember what you told me?”

Vincent nods. “I do.”

“You said you weren’t the enemy. That you would take us somewhere safe, and you needed both of us to keep our eyes closed until we got outside. I did for a while, but with the scent of death and blood filling my nose, I couldn’t keep my eyes shut. Dad on the landing, and Mom was at the bottom of the stairs. They were both so still, lying there in pools of their own blood… all that blood… I still don’t understand why it happened, or who’d want them dead.” I take a few long inhales and exhales. “You know everything that happened after that, except the part where for a few seconds, underneath the bed in this last dream, both Nancy and Angel were hiding under the bed. What do you think caused that change after all this time? I can’t believe the dreams are back.”

“They were your parents, Axe,” Vincent offers. “You suffered an unimaginable trauma back then. It’s not the type of memory that will ever disappear. Take it from me, son. I’ve had years and years’ worth of fucked up life lessons and bad experiences. There are still a shit ton of them that I’ve yet to make peace with.”

“Hmmm. What about the new part? How is it that I only just met this woman and she was in it?”

Vincent shrugs. “The mind tends to play tricks like that all the time. Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

He runs the back of his hand along his jawline. “Don’t think anything of it. It was just a dream.”

I rub a tingling hand across my chin, closing my eyes again. Why the fuck is this bothering me so much? I’m used to discarding women after chance meetings like what went down with Angel, so what is the big deal now? How did she end up in my vilest, most terrifying nightmare? No amount of deep breathing or positive thinking will shake the tightness growing in my chest. Tiny bright spots fly across the insides of each eyelid and dizziness wraps around me until I have to force myself not to go back to that night. Dread starts to set in. Even with the powerful reminder, I can’t fucking think straight. The walls are closing in on me. When these memories find a way back into the front of my brain, even fucking and drinking don’t help.

Shuddering beneath the emotional weight, I roll my shoulders. Nothing is helping. No fucking strategy or mental exercise has ever helped, and it’s not doing fuck to alleviate the tension stirring in my stomach and working up into the muscles of my back, crushing me with excruciating memories. Those events are buried so deep, always trying to escape the darkness eating at my thoughts. There’s no escape. I know that well enough. All I can do is hold on and hope for the best, that I make it through to the other side in one piece. Last night’s dreams have chewed me up and spat me out. I can’t fight it on my own.

It’s like the whole thing’s starting over again.

“I need to get back to work,” I mutter, leaping out of my chair. “I’ve spent enough time obsessing over this. Time to get my head out of my ass and cross some actual work-related tasks off this never-ending list.”

“Starting with that security clearance,” Vincent reminds me. “How’s the questionnaire coming along?”

I groan out a breath. “It’s still in my satchel, in pretty much the same state as it was when I was here last time.”

“You might want to get it out of the way.” Vincent pauses for a moment, contemplating something. “Come to think about it, the form has a question about your parents. It could have triggered the memory.”

I consider it as we leave Vincent’s office. “Fuck. You’re probably right. We sat here filling out that goddamned form on the same day I met Angel.”

Vincent rests a hand on my shoulder, his usual show of support. “There you go. So completing the form and wrapping it up with a neat little bow may get your mind refocused again, or at least less fixated. It’s entirely reasonable to think about them. And about Nancy too. Have you been in touch with her?”

“My sister wants nothing to do with me or anything that reminds her of our parents. Or bikers.”

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

I stop in the middle of the large all-marble foyer. “Have you spoken to her lately?” I ask, only slightly surprised to hear my voice echo around the space.

Vincent nods. “A few days ago, yes.”

“Did she tell you how long it’s been since she spoke to me? Has she ever talked to you about our parents?”

“She didn’t mention it.”

“That’s just fucked up.” I shake my head as we step outside. “She still believes we can ignore what happened to us. Push it down, forget it ever happened.”

“We all have our ways of coping, Axe. Go easy on her. She misses you, you know?”

“Is that what she told you?” I ask, wiping a rough palm down my face.

“Not in so many words, but yes.”

“I’ll believe that when I hear the words come from her mouth,” I say. “Anyhow, thanks for listening, man. I can’t say if that blow by blow made a difference, but I appreciate you trying to help.”

“Anytime at all, son.”

I study Vincent’s face for a moment, and smile at the concern on his face. He’s been a father figure all these years to both my sister and me, yet I don’t think I’ve ever come out and thanked him for playing that role when he didn’t have to at all.

“One of these days, I might start calling you Pops,” I say as we shake hands.

“I’m not that fucking old,” he says, grinning. “See you soon.”

As I climb onto my bike and reach forward to start the engine, my phone starts ringing. I fumble in my pants pocket for the phone, but by the time I get it out, the ring tone stops. Fuck. I don’t bother checking the voice mail, but shove the phone back in my pocket, start my ride, and drive off.

I’m not quite sure how my aimless driving leads me away from the clubhouse, let alone to the parking lot of the public library where Angel works. As I turn off my engine and climb off, a sudden sensation catches in my gut. Something is up. For a moment, I rationalize that I have no right or obligation to worry about Angel. She’s not my problem. I’ve got other shit to do today, and stalking her around her place of work after two or three hookups is all kinds of wrong.

I’m stand there, like a statue in front of my bike in the dark, telling myself to get on my ride and leave. Except something stops me. A twig snaps in the distance. I scan the empty parking lot, relying on the only two functioning overhead lights and all my other senses. One lightbulb flickers, flashing across my vision as I concentrate on my surroundings. I take in the cool evening breeze, forehead crinkling.

As I launch one leg over the side of my bike, I hear Angel screaming from the far end of the parking lot behind the library. Every part of me reacts on a deep-seated, primal level, as though her screams are hardwired to my brain. As though protecting her is just as crucial as saving my own right arm. As though she’s a part of me. I have no idea how I know it’s Angel. I just do—and I need to protect her right this instant. This bone-deep urge fucking refuses to relent. My jaw tenses, a groan I hardly recognize leaks past my lips, and all my muscles go taut as I search the area with laser focus. I have to find her.