I don’t look back after I give the cab driver my address. I just can’t stand to see another motorcycle chasing me down. I have to get to my mom’s. There, I know I’m safe. No one can find me there. No one with a half-finished tattoo can hunt me down and kill me. And Mack can’t force me into some strange business idea he thought up in two seconds.
A light is on in one of the second floor windows. I can see the round figure of my mom brushing her wispy blonde hair and laying out tomorrow’s clothes. She should be in bed by now. It’s way past midnight, far too late for someone whose usual bedtime is about nine o’clock. But I know her. She would never fall asleep unless she knew I was safe in bed. I grit my teeth as I try not to think about the verbal lashing I’m about to get for not calling and checking in. I’m also going to have to quickly explain why I spent all my tip money on the cab ride home.
“Mom!” I call as I slip in through the unlocked door. I hate that she forgets. Out here in the middle of nowhere, there isn’t very much to worry about—the errant wildlife or occasional gusty wind is way more threatening here than any would-be thieves or criminals. But the city girl in me wants to remind her just how dangerous it can be to leave it open, especially when her live-in daughter currently has an unbalanced, potentially psychotic stalker after her.
“I’m upstairs, honey! Come on and talk to me up here.” She almost sings it in her soft, sweet lilt. I’m still surprised at how defiantly positive and full of light she is. It couldn’t have been easy raising me as a single mom. My dad—one hell of a piece of work, if I do say so myself—didn’t want a damn thing to do with me when he found out she was pregnant. She had tried to do it right; she’d married her high school sweetheart—probably way too early—but the marriage wasn’t happy, and while she’d never admit to it, I’m pretty sure he roughed her up pretty good. And, winner that he was, he split about five seconds after the little plus sign appeared on her pregnancy test.
My grandparents weren’t exactly a supportive bunch, either. They never approved of her getting married in the first place, and now she was pregnant, too—and at only seventeen. They were stupidly proud, and this was apparently like a slap in their faces. Assholes.
So, the pictures leading up the stairs are of just us two. There’s one of me at Christmas time standing by a tiny tree with just a few presents under it. I still remember that holiday where she spent all night working at the lawyer’s office she was temping for. It became a full-time job soon after. There’s another picture somewhere up here of us at her college graduation. I’m beaming in that one, with my arm draped around her neck.
In between the pictures are pieces of my artwork. She kept everything, every single doodle that I have ever done. There’s finger painting from when I was a baby and cartoon pictures of my best friend Roxy and I playing with our imaginary dogs. But my favorite is this one sketch she kept from a teacher who showed it to her as proof that I was “distracted” and a “terrible student.” My mom walked out of that meeting with the picture clutched in her hands, then promptly went to the art store, bought a frame, and hung it at the foot of the stairway for everyone to see. “Never take shit from anyone who tries to break you down,” I remember her saying—mainly because it was about the only time I ever heard her swear.
She’s standing right next to that sketch when I get upstairs, a red housecoat wrapped around her body as she taps her foot gently on the hardwood floors. “Why didn’t you call me?” she demands, softly but firmly. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I tried to call the shop, but the phones went to a voicemail. And you weren’t picking up.”
I stutter for a moment as I try to think of some excuse. I absolutely hate lying to her. She didn’t deserve it, but she also didn’t need to know that I was getting messed up in some stuff I shouldn’t be. I calmly try to explain, but it all ends up rolling out of me. “I had dinner with a friend,” I start, “but I lost my car keys, and my phone was inside. I’ll call the car company tomorrow and have them open the doors. No big deal, Mom. I’m sorry I kept you up.”
“It’s okay. I just want to make sure you come home alive and well. With everything that’s going on… well, you know.” There’s a tinge of disappointment in her pale blue eyes. She’s seen a lot as well—boyfriends that have left her, husband that dropped her like a fly, parents who were never around. I know that watching me go through the same thing with Riley had broken her hope that I would get out of the cycle, too.
“Go to bed,” I insist. “I know you’ve got work in the morning, and you shouldn’t be waiting up for me. I’m just going to use the house phone to call Roxy. She started her new job the other day, and I haven’t gotten the chance to see how she is.” This isn’t a lie. It’s been on my list of to-do’s now for a few days, but I’ve been too swamped to think about it. Plus, Roxy was the perfect person to talk about Max with.
“Tell her to come over soon,” she says, almost purring. “I’ll make a cake or something to celebrate. I haven’t seen Roxy in ages.” My mom smiles wistfully and heads back to her room. As I’m about halfway down the stairs, she adds, “I’m taking my sleep med. You know the drill, honey. Wake me up if there’s a fire or a hot man at our door, okay?”
She has said this to me every single night since I was a kid, but it still makes me laugh. The med she takes knocks her out almost instantly, and she sleeps like death. I’ve been tempted to take one a few times myself after watching her shut out the world with a pill and a glass of water, only to awake the next day to an alarm and a new morning. Tonight, especially, I could use one.
The house goes silent just a few minutes later, leaving only the hum from the TV my mom leaves on in her bedroom buzzing slightly audibly. I grab an amber bottle of cold beer from the fridge and practically collapse onto the faded blue couch. With a deep breath, I dial up Roxy, hoping that she’ll still be awake. The other line rings over and over again. It’s only when I’m about to hang up that I hear the peppy, perky voice of my best friend greet me. “Well, well, howdy there, stranger,” the voice on the other end says. “You finally returning a girl’s call? I think I’ve left you at least a hundred voicemails by now.”
“Two,” I respond dryly, “You’ve left me two.”
“Uh, no. Try three. Check your phone again. I called you like fifteen minutes ago, but it went straight to voicemail. Honestly, I was starting to get just a smidge worried. It’s just not like you to go AWOL, especially now that—”
I cut her off quickly. I don’t even want to hear Riley’s name right now. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I should have called you sooner but things at the shop, well, they got… busy.”
“Oh, please,” she retorts shortly. “C’mon. Crazy 8’s is never busy.” Roxy is, if anything, honest to a fault. She won’t give you an inch if you try.
“Yeah, but tonight, it was… crazy. But before I tell you about me, tell me about you. How is Mason Enterprises and Labs? Are you doing all these mad science experiments yet? Have they let you resurrect the dead?” Believe it or not, but my bestie is some kind of super genius chemist. She managed to get her chemical engineering degree from an Ivy League school—one with actual ivies lining the walls of her dorm building. She’s still working on her doctorate, but during the day, she managed to land herself a job at one of the most prestigious labs in the country. At least, that’s what she says. Half the time, I can’t understand a word she’s saying about her line of work.
“Not yet, but I’m working on a project involving weapons. Top secret stuff. Government contracts and all. It feels all very James Bond-ish. I’m not sure if I really like the idea, but it’s paying for my tuition. I can’t complain.”
“And… what about the guy situation? Anyone worthy of your geeky lust?” For a science nerd, Roxy was one in a million. Red hair, green eyes, great body; she made herself a diamond among the rest of the girls she works with. The men practically fall over her, especially when they learn she’s into Star Wars and all that other nerd stuff.
“No one just yet. But you know me, I’m not into the smart ones. I’d rather pick up a guy at your shop than date some guy and his test tube.” She deflects quickly, not letting me argue. “Tell me about your crazy day. You sound like you could use a drink… or five.”
She’s right. My eyelids are practically drooping as my head spins in its own fog. I make the split second decision to tell Roxy the whole story from beginning to end, starting with that tattoo. “I’ve worked with motorcycle club guys before, Rox, and I’ve never, ever seen anything like it. It’s just a circle with some lines. What the hell kind of mark is that?”
“Well, you know with pirates, it’s just a black dot on your hand or something. Maybe they want simplistic so you don’t suspect them.”
“I just can’t believe I haven’t heard of this before. Mack told me about this war or something between two motorcycle clubs. A big thing like that with deaths and all should be in the news. But I don’t remember anything like that.”
“I don’t either, but you said it yourself that he had detectives in his pocket. They could cover up stuff like this if they wanted to, make those deaths look like accidents or unsolved murders. And guys like that, it’s not like anyone is really out looking for them.”
“Stop, Rox. You’re scaring me. Let’s just talk about the offer. It’s crazy, right? Why would I want to work with someone like Mack?”
“Because he sounds hot.”
“Hot? Come on, Roxy. I’m not into that, at least, not anymore. Not after… not anymore. Just the whole motorcycle thing is a turnoff for me. I could never be attracted to someone like that.”
“You can’t control what you’re attracted to, Anna. You know that. I know that. We’re both into that bad boy thing. Now you’ve got one promising you not only a career, but protection from killers and your ex. That’s a pretty awesome deal. Plus, there’s this way that you talk about him. You haven’t had this much energy in months now.”
“It’s adrenaline. It has to be. There’s just no way in hell that I’m going to say yes to that.”
“Then don’t. Think it over tonight. I’m sure you’ll have some sweet dreams about Mack at least… maybe of him enacting some of his control on you.”
“Rox—”
“Please. Give me a break. Stop being such a freaking prude and lighten up, Anna. You’re a hot piece of ass. And if we are both out of relationships, at least one of us should get some side tail to enjoy.” She laughs to herself before sensing my stony silence. “Okay. I’m sorry. Either way, just think about it for the night and come back to it tomorrow. You’ll be surprised how much can change with just a little rest and a new outlook on the day. Call me when you figure it out.”
“I promise. Love you, Roxy. Be good.”
“Always am.”
We both hang up, me placing the phone back on the receiver and falling into the couch head first with the rest of me cascading like heavy bricks into the upholstery. Everything dims around me as I allow the world to just drift away from me.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I wake up. All I know is that there’s two cold hands on my shoulders. Dirty nails dig into my skin as they make their way up to my neck. My blood boils rapidly as a scream festers in my throat before bursting out like a comet. My whole body triggers awake, thrashing at the hands forcing me back down.
“Get off! Get the fuck off of me! No! No! No!” I can’t see his face. I don’t understand why I can’t see his face. Every time I look up, everything becomes a blur. There’s a pair of dark eyes peering down at me with some mix of pleasure. I kick up, hoisting my hips off the couch. But the air is becoming thin, too thin. I… just…can’t. My muscles grow heavier and heavier and my eyes want to close on their own.
I’m not dreaming! I yell at myself. You can’t let yourself think that this is a dream! Dreams are death. Dreams are your last moments on Earth. This is real. This man is real. His hands pushing on the bones in your neck are real. And at any moment, the air trapped in your chest, all the reserves you’ve ever saved up, will disappear too.
I reach my hands up, searching, grasping, flailing. But I don’t find the man. I find another. There’s a hand that reaches mine and holds on. It’s only for a second, but it’s not someone pushing me away or throwing me back down. This hand belongs to someone telling me it’s okay. A second later, air flows back through me and my blood begins to flow again. With eyes open, I see him—Mack, just to the side of me. He’s on top of a man with a knife still clutched in his hands. In the pocket of his camo pants is the outline of a large handgun.
Mack brings down blow after blow to the man’s face. He sputters and turns in my direction. Blood pours out of his nose and around the corners of his lips. Already, his skin is both blue and puffy. Despite that, I recognize him almost immediately. It’s the man with my tattoo partially drawn up on his arm. I can see the bottom half of the circle just under the curve of his sleeve.
My first thought is to let this man die. Mack could kill him in a second, and I would be the better for it. There wouldn’t be someone coming for me, no black spot to my name. But it dawns on me that this man had a mission. Him not going back alive would mean that there was no rest when he died. This would always be my night on repeat. New guys, new attempts. I scream out Mack’s name. “Stop! Don’t kill him!”
Mack holds down the man’s arms as he turns and yells at me, “I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to make him regret ever stepping foot inside this house!” An arm raises and then slams down with the strength of a hammer towards his nose. I can’t bear to watch, but through lightly shut eyelids, I see the man lose consciousness. Mack slides off of him and reaches into his back pocket for some wire or string. Quickly, without a word, he ties the man by his arms and then his legs.
With him secured, he finally turns back to me. “Grab a bag of your stuff. You’re coming with me. We’re going now.”
“What?” I ask, my voice scratchy and sore from the attack. “I can’t. My mom is upstairs. What if they come back for her?”
Mack holds up one long, calloused finger towards me as he takes out his phone and dials a number. He says sternly into the phone my mom’s home address and then adds, “Bring a van for this guy and then I want two men on the clock out here until I say so. None of them leave. I want hourly check-ins. They see anyone with Knights patches, they shoot to kill.”
I curl my legs up to my chest as I stare at him in some weird mix of fear and awe. “How did you find me?” I ask.
“Does it matter? We need to get you the fuck out of here. If I found you, they’ll find you.”
“I can’t leave without my mom. She’s sleeping. She takes this medicine…”
“Will she notice if you’re not around then?” He has a point. She never checks on me before work. Our mixed up schedules are never lined up, so she knows better than to try to wake me up before noon.
“No, she won’t. I guess. But how do I know that there won’t be more attacks? I can’t just leave her here.”
“You have to Anna. This isn’t a joke anymore. If I wasn’t feet behind that guy, he would have taken that knife and dug it into your throat. Your mom wouldn’t have found your body for hours. We have to get you safe before it happens again, and the only way you’re surviving the night and the next twenty-four hours is to come with me.”
“But I—”
“No!” he says sharply. “Stop fucking arguing with me. There is no discussion.” Two headlights streaming through the open windows interrupt his lecture. He looks at me quickly and commands, “Go get your bag and be down here in five minutes. We’re leaving.”
My feet shuffle upstairs, past my mom’s room. I want to leave her a note or a clue, something to tell her that I’m okay and that she will be too, but how do I write everything that needs to be said? Furthermore, how do I write that when I don’t know if it’s true?