FIFTEEN
Dead Ends
Lucky
Pistol in hand, I dove straight into the melee, clocking the nearest guy in the head when he tried to fillet Kitt with his knife. I stood amidst a war zone and realized that our third day in Ward Three was the worst yet. Another shot fired and I watched as the body of a Phantom member dropped to the marble floor of the abandoned train station.
Public transportation was a thing of the past. We discovered that what would have been considered as one of the busiest stations before the flares was now used as the hideout for the Phantoms. Firearms, drug paraphernalia, and what looked to me as maps, were scattered in a disarray of chaos as we came rushing through the underground openings.
It was by pure luck we had found them. Hastie had seen a man wearing the familiar red and white colors of the Phantoms disappear down a subway entrance. He questioned where he planned to go since everyone knew that the rail service had long been out of order since the first of the flares. With that, instinct screamed for us to follow and now, here we were, shouting and firing as a full raid commenced.
Inside, grime and debris was everywhere I looked. Most of it had been stripped by strangers. All stone accents, copper tubing, wires, and even bricks were removed to sell as scrap for credits. As a result, the interior looked desecrated. Any vacant space was taken up by graffiti artists, a last desperate attempt to add beauty to this decaying station.
I immediately ducked behind a marbled column, using it as a shield as sparks from bullets ricocheted off the other side. Kitt’s panther eyes caught mine as he popped up behind the slab of concrete poking out from the ground. It had crashed down from the ceiling right before he fired off a series of shots.
In an action hero move I wished I had documented, I darted towards him, swiftly sliding into position beside him. “That fucker nearly sliced me to ribbons,” he growled behind the bandana that covered half his face.
I grinned. “He would’ve given you a nice scar to match that crooked nose you got.”
Kitt elbowed me in the side before he lifted his pistol and pumped lead into a Phantom I hadn’t seen behind me. I turned just in time to see the body drop.
Then there was only silence as the dust settled. Kitt and I emerged from our hiding spots, scanning the area before heading down the platform below.
“That’s all of them,” Hastie called out from the other side. The rest of the club appeared one by one, a little dirty but unharmed overall. Sensing we were in the clear, I tucked my pistol away.
The vice-prez of Glory MC edged towards the lip of the platform, angling down to get a better look at the rails that disappeared into darkness. “How far do you think this goes?”
I craned my head down the same dark tunnel. It had been years since this station was in service, so why did the rails look like they had been recently used? “Holy shit,” I breathed as I realized what I was looking at. “This is probably how they were able to travel without being seen.”
Hastie nodded. “And that’s why they have so many different locations. They’ve been using this abandoned subway system to go from one place to another.”
“That’s fucking smart.”
Kitt pulled out his flashlight and shone it in both directions on either side of us. “So,” he flashed each of us a warm smile. “Which one of us is going to go down there to see what else is there?”
“Not me,” I called out as I backed up a step.
“Fuck that,” Hastie said. “I just got shot at yesterday.”
“Well, I’m not going down there,” Kitt argued. “Not even if this platform suddenly became infested with rats.”
“I’m afraid of the dark,” Bronson said simply and we all laughed.
As one, we turned our gazes to Beck, who was already glaring at us because he knew the deal. “Fuck you, guys. I hate you all.”
“Oh, come on.” Kitt’s voice was amused. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”
“Make Angel do it.” I could almost hear the sharp intake of breath from our prospect behind me. Turning, I took in the paleness of his face.
Angel Diaz was a young twenty-year-old. His golden tan and dark chocolate eyes showcased his Hispanic roots. He was already shaking his head at the idea. “I think this is something you guys should do.”
“All right, prospect.” Hastie clamped a meaty hand over Angel’s shoulder and gave a hard squeeze. “How about you show us how big your balls are. Why don’t you and Beck walk down that tunnel and holler at us if you find anything?”
At that, Beck shot Hastie an icy glare that had me folding my lips in to keep from laughing. “That’s all the backup you’re gonna give me? A fucking prospect?” A glance at Angel told me he wasn’t offended at all. In fact, he seemed to agree with the sergeant at arms. “Fine,” he grumbled when Hastie just gave him a stern look. “Come on, prospect.”
Beck bent over the edge of the platform and jumped down onto the railings feet first. Angel did the same, but with far less grace and steadiness. They both turned back as I bent over the edge to hand them their weapons.
When Angel came forward to grab his, I could see the worried look in his eyes. “Christ, you’re shaking in your boots.” Sometimes having a conscience really sucked. “Step back,” I told him. In the next second, I was down with them, looking back up at Hastie’s confused look. “I’m going with them,” I explained. We didn’t want Angel passing out or anything. The vice-prez took one look at Angel and seemed to understand.
The flashlight I held in one hand illuminated the dark and grimy tunnel before us. For a second, I was tempted to tell them that I, too, had a phobia, if only to escape this creepy feeling crawling up my spine. I can’t believe I’m really going to do this.
Trying not to trip over anything, we stayed to one side, moving in a line with Beck leading up front. For a long while, there was just empty concrete spanning what felt like miles even though we had only been walking for what couldn’t have been a few minutes. I could tell that my earlier guess had been right. The Phantoms had been using this abandoned subway line to move around undetected. There were well-worn paths that told us exactly which areas they frequented. Later we’d come back, checking each route to shut them all down.
Farther up, I saw the beginning of another platform. As we approached, we did it cautiously, aware that sounds of the raid at the other platform could have been heard from here.
Beck climbed up first, followed by me as Angel brought up the rear. The sergeant at arms’ large frame was the only thing I could see before I heard him take a sharp intake of breath.
Beck Caulder was one crude, violent bastard on the best of days. Events rarely fazed him. He was a man hardened by war, but something he’d seen right now had shocked him enough that he couldn’t control his gasp of surprise quick enough. I drew my pistol, ready to shoot anything that moved.
What I found was something out of a horror movie. A series of three-wall prison holding cells spanned the entire length of the platform, situated side by side like some gruesome parody of a nursery. Each was made so securely that nothing could slip through, not even a single finger.
Behind me, I heard Angel take a sharp breath, a moan escaping through his gritted teeth. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I could finally see what had startled him.
Inside the cages were bodies. Dead bodies. Rotting bodies. My stomach gave a great heave of revolt at the sight. Angel swayed beside me, trying not to faint as Beck shone his flashlight over the cells closest to us.
The thought that each of these cells could be filled with prisoners made me want to break something. But by the state of decay and the cloying smell, it was clear that we had discovered this place too late to find survivors.
The stench was unbearable. There were flies and rats milling about as the decaying bodies became fodder. I followed Beck on watery legs as he walked the length of the cells, peering into each one to examine its contents.
Some were thankfully empty. The Phantoms must’ve used this as a makeshift prison, storing their prisoners here until they had use of them or simply left them here to die. By the looks of it, no one had passed by here in a while.
A loud wretched sound made me jump. As I swirled with my flashlight to the source of the sound, pistol drawn, I found Angel bent over, one hand propped against a grimy wall as he heaved, emptying the contents of his stomach in a corner.
“What is this place?” I asked Beck.
“I don’t know. But it sure as hell is fucked up.” He shone his light over the cells before us, spotlighting the horror just a few feet away. As his light passed over the cells, something moved within one of them.
I froze. “Did you see that?”
Beck’s response was a loud gulp. I moved forward carefully, weapon drawn in case something came at me. As Beck kept the light still, I saw it again.
There, beneath some dirt and grime, was an exposed foot. At first glance, I’d written it off as another dead body, but when it shifted, as if someone was getting up from a lying position, the blood in my veins vibrated with fear. “Hold it!” I shouted. Beck probably thought I was speaking to him though because he stopped moving, stopped breathing for all I knew.
Even in the light, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Inside one of the cells was a girl curled up into herself against a wall. I immediately dropped my weapon, realizing that she couldn’t hurt us in the state that she was in. The girl’s eyes lifted up to meet mine as I approached on shaky legs. Fear stared back at me as she blinked against the light. How long had she been here? How could she still be alive in these conditions?
I squatted down at the edge of the cell, peering in. “Are you okay?” What a dumb question. Of course she wasn’t. She was trapped inside some cage like an animal, amongst a bed of dead bodies.
What if there were others? “Angel!” I barked. “Check the other cells for more life.”
Peering up, I examined the cell closely. How the hell were we going to get her out of this? It was well-made, forged from impenetrable metal. I lifted a hand to try to test its sturdiness when Beck’s hand landed on my shoulder in warning. “We don’t know who she is.”
“Does it matter? Look at her. She needs help. She probably hasn’t had food for days.”
Beck glanced at the frail figure in the corner before his eyes darted to the next cells over. After a moment, he released me, the features on his hard face softening slightly. “Take this.” Beck pulled out another flashlight and flipped it on, joining Angel in the search for more survivors.
Now alone, my gaze returned to the girl, examining her from a distance for any wounds. When I reported this, I wanted to know the extent of her injuries so that we could get her all the medical help she needed.
Her hair was matted to her skull. The fine-boned structure of her face and her reed-thin frame told me she’d been starved. Her lips were chapped and bleeding, too. I pulled out my canteen and realized too late that I wouldn’t be able to give it to her through this barrier between us.
“Shit.” I needed something substantial to take this down. Some tools and perhaps even a chainsaw if that didn’t work. “Listen, we’re going to get you out of here, all right?”
Through the bars, tear-stained eyes stared back at me with hopelessness. The innocent planes of her face were covered with dirt. The clothing she wore was little more than tattered rags. I called Angel over to me. “Anything?”
He gave a solemn shake of his head.
“Here, take this,” I said, passing him the flashlight. “Go back to the others and tell them that we’ve found someone. A prisoner. Bring back tools and a medical kit. We need to get her out as soon as possible.”
Angel nodded and was propelled forward by the sense of emergency. I dared a look at Beck. His eyes were filled with suspicion as they landed on the caged girl. “You think this was the same girl that Brennan tried to sell to Knuckle that one time?”
I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Everything clicked. The girl. The prison she was in. Brennan must’ve dealt her in a trade with the Phantoms, leaving her unprotected in their custody. The poor girl looked absolutely battered, a victim of human trafficking. Or worse. Anger rose like steam within me. Who could do such a thing to another human being? “What’s your name?” I asked her.
The girl didn’t respond, but she did look me straight in the eyes. That was almost as good as speaking. It meant that she was aware. “My name’s Dylan.” I kept my voice as soft and as leveled as I could. “But people call me Lucky. I’m going to help you. More of my brothers are going to come here and we’re going to work on getting you out. Does that sound like a good idea?”
Her voice was hoarse, but still strong given what she had endured. “Why?”
“Why?” I echoed. My brows drew together in both anger and confusion. “Because you don’t deserve to be in this cage. Nobody should ever be put in a cage like some animal!” I only realized my voice was rising in anger because she shrank away from me.
Shit. Apologizing quickly, I dipped my head low to take a moment to calm myself and focus. “How long have you been in here?”
“Why do they call you Lucky?”
“What?”
“Why do they call you Lucky?” she repeated.
“They call me Lucky because . . .” How was I to explain this without telling her the whole story? “Because I got myself out of a bad situation. I was the lucky one who got out before it got worse.”
Slowly, the girl shifted, settling on frail legs to stand. The movements were a little stiff, telling me that she’d been in there for a while, but that didn’t stand in her way. She made it almost halfway to the cell before she stopped. “I guess that makes me unlucky then.” Her words were soft. Barely a whisper. “I couldn’t get away before the bad things happened.” Her lips trembled, but she fought back the threat of tears.
“I’m gonna get them,” I told her, her strength now lacing my own words. “I’m gonna get them and when I do, they’re going to pay for what they did to you. This won’t go unavenged. I can promise you that.”
She offered a small smile, but nothing else. Turning away, she settled back down to her original position and closed her eyes. Those bastards had broken this girl completely. I couldn’t even think about what she must’ve endured while here with them. But now that we were here, I vowed to never let anything happen to her again.
“We’ll get her out,” Beck said when there was only silence and shock swirling around us. “We’ll clean and feed her. Get those cuts checked out. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah.” We would. But what worried me was not just the physical scars she bore, but the emotional ones that would linger for far longer than what could be washed away by soap and water.
* * *
The rest of Glory MC arrived in a rush, eager to free the prisoner locked inside a nightmare. Angel must’ve warned them because they came prepared, wearing masks and gloves to clear out the cells and ensure that no one had been left behind. After forty-five minutes of hacking at cells with several axes and a chainsaw, we finally managed to tear an opening in the cell. “You’re free now.” My hand shot out to the girl. “Whenever you’re ready, you can come out and we’ll get you cleaned up and fed.”
Wide eyes bore into me, skepticism still lacing the edges of her irises. I could tell that this girl was a smart one. Strong and cunning. She wasn’t someone who trusted easily. I figured that could either be a product of what she had endured at the hands of her captors, or that she was naturally wary of strangers around her. Either way, it was the one thing that had kept her alive this whole time. “Come on. It’s safe. I promise.”
There was no movement from the girl.
Shit. This was turning out to be worse than I thought. Here was a way out and the girl was curled into herself, looking away from us as if we weren’t really there. Did she think we were tricking her?
Kitt’s hand landed on my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Patience,” he murmured. “She’s been through a lot.”
That didn’t need to be said. I knew in the haunted look of her eyes that she felt betrayed. I didn’t need a window into her mind to know that she would need some time to heal. Hell, a lot of time. But here was an escape. Freedom. Why wasn’t she running for it?
Giving her one last look, I walked away, allowing her the time and space to decide when she would come out. As I walked over to an area away from the rest of Glory MC, memories pushed at the edges of my mind, wanting to take over. I resisted as best as I could, knowing full well what had triggered the onslaught of memories.
In my time with Glory MC, I’d seen a lot of violent things. However, the image of the holding cells containing desecrated bodies and the girl hit far too close to my heart to simply forget it now. This time, the memories came back in a flood, drowning me in the process . . .
“Where is it?” Ma cried hysterically.
“I don’t know,” I lied.
“It has to be here somewhere.” She scoured the kitchen cabinets. She didn’t know I had found her drugs earlier and tossed the small packets of crystalline powder in the toilet. Had watched as it swirled down the drain with a dark sense of satisfaction. This drug was slowly ruining my family. Hurting my ma. Hurting my sister.
I hated it. Hated it with such a passion that I didn’t care if Ma hated me for it after.
“I know I had some left! Help me find them, baby. I need it.” Her eyes pleaded with me, turning watery and so broken that it brought tears to my own eyes.
For years I watched my ma deal with bad guys, getting herself caught up in the world of drugs and watched as my whole world got submerged in a storm of addiction. I was thirteen and had never touched drugs in my life, but I didn’t have to snort a line myself to know what it did to you.
“Where’s the food, Ma?” I asked when she started digging through the empty pantry. The money I brought home was supposed to be enough to last us through the week. Instead of packing our home with food, my ma stocked the kitchen cabinets with packets of cocaine. Her movements were getting frantic and jerky as hysteria mounted within her. “Where’s the food, Ma?”
“Food? I need . . .” Her eyes trailed to the other cabinets. She’d discover them empty, both of food and her drugs. “Don’t look at me like that!” she snapped.
As she continued to trash the kitchen, I stood my ground, not moving to help her as our home got ransacked. Luckily, Lennon was sleeping so she didn’t have to witness this. There was a part of me that wished I could spare my sister of every ugly detail our life had become.
Finally, Ma whipped around and laid her crazy eyes on me in accusation. “You threw them out, didn’t you?”
“I did what I had to.”
That simple admission had changed everything. It was in that moment that I realized the person before me wasn’t my ma. She hadn’t been for several years now. I just didn’t want to accept it before now. She was an addict, caught on coke. She would never be the mother Lennon and I needed. Because a mother would never do to her child what she did to me next.
Ma attacked, screaming at the top of her lungs in a furious rage. Her hands clamped around my neck as she squeezed and squeezed, cutting off my air supply. I slammed into the wall behind me, seeing stars for a second before I tried to pry her hands off me. But her grip was strong, powered by a need greater than her love for me. “You little shit,” she cried as tears wet her face. “How could you do this to me?”
Lacking air, I couldn’t respond . . . How could I do this to her? Look at what she was doing to me! This was worse than watching her make herself sick in our living room as she cut up lines on the table. Even worse than watching her rot away in a bed while her daughter slept starving in the room next to her.
“Stop!” I gasped when her hands let up. But they only eased up for a second before her nails clawed at my face, drawing blood with each of her strokes. I cried out as pain radiated through me. Sharp talons dug deeper into my forearms, slicing skin as she pushed me down and continued to hurt me.
In my mind, alarms blared through my head as I tried to process all this. “Stop!” I cried out again. “Please, Ma. You’re hurting me! I’m sorry! Stop! Please.”
I was on the floor now, curled into the fetal position, protecting my head as best I could. Ma hovered over me but it might as well be a stranger hurting me right now. There was no recognition in her eyes.
Behind her, I caught Lennon’s small figure in the corner of the room as if she had appeared from smoke and shadows. She probably woke up because of all of Ma’s shrieking and my cries of pain. I wished I were stronger then, taking the pain she dealt with a wicked hand in silence so that it would spare the sight of Lennon seeing her ma this way. But it was too late for that. “Stop!” She cried out when she saw me, bloody and defeated, no longer fighting against her blows.
“No, Lennon!” I shook my head, not wanting her to get involved.
It was too late; Ma had caught sight of her and moved towards her, snatching her by the arm and tugging her hard. “Ahh!” Lennon shot me a terrified look over her shoulder as Ma dragged her out of the room. “No! Let me go!”
I tried to get up, but couldn’t. Pain shot through my side as I attempted a second time.
Seconds later, Ma returned, still crying as she picked me up by the arm and dragged me as well. I struggled, but weak as I was from hunger and the recent beating, it was hard to free myself from her tight lock on me.
My eyes grew wide when I saw Lennon trapped in Bishop’s crate, curled over as she wept. Bishop had died two years ago but we hadn’t removed the crates since then. More important things occupied my mind, like making money and filling our starving bellies. Had I known that my dead dog’s crate could be used against me, I would’ve gotten rid of the piece of shit a long time ago.
Lennon’s tears flowed more the closer I approached until I was also shoved and locked inside the crate beside her. There was metal all around us, caging us in like a prison. Shock and fear kept me silent until Ma left, shutting the door behind her. I couldn’t believe this. She had locked us up like we were animals! “Are you okay?”
“What did she do to you?” she cried, sobs still wracking her small body.
“Don’t worry about me. We need to figure out how to get out of here.”
“It—it’s locked.” She pointed at the padlock that sealed the crate shut.
“Fucking bitch.”
“Dylan . . .” She seemed shocked by my words, but at that point, I was beyond caring. No mother would ever do this to her children. We were no more important than a misbehaving animal, put away for doing something bad or inconvenient. I expected the anger. I even expected the freak-out. But I never thought that Ma was capable of this. I may have deserved this. But Lennon didn’t deserve an ounce of her hatred.
There were only two things Ma loved in her life. She loved her music. And she loved her drugs. She had never loved us.
I closed my eyes and weighed the only two options I had: I could stay or I could run.
My eyes landed on my baby sister who looked so damn young in the crate beside me. She had suffered so much. Someone had to be around to protect her. But already my strength was waning. What if I couldn’t be that person? What if I couldn’t protect her from our mother anymore?
Lennon looked just as defeated as I felt. She never once complained, but I knew she had to be sick of everything too. Tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t stand to see her like this. I would stay, I decided. For Lennon, I would stay and protect her against the monster our mother had become.
“Lucky? Lucky!” Pulled back from the drugging sense of my past, I looked into the concerned eyes of my best friend. A crease had formed between Hastie’s eyebrows. “Are you okay, man?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, still rattled by the mirroring events of the present and the past.
“You sure? I’ve been calling for you. She came out.”
She did? I was immediately moving towards the cell, finding it empty. “Where is she now?”
Hastie canted his chin to the side. “She’s with Kitt. She’ll be fine. He’ll take care of her.” When I simply nodded, Hastie was quick to call on my silence. “You sure you’re okay?
I turned, meeting his eyes. “Everything’s fine,” I told him even though we both knew I was lying.