Cameron

 

Ian got back to Cameron within a matter of seconds. Sure thing, boss, Cameron read out loud, wanting to make sure Stella knew that her best friend’s boyfriend was going to help him do the deed. I’ve got to pick up a drug shipment and then I’ll be over at Stella’s place to pick you up.

 

No, Cameron wrote back, again saying the word out loud for Stella’s benefit. Let’s take our bikes to his place. I want to make a statement tonight. The Marauders are mine. Stella is mine. This town is mine.

 

Definitely, Ian said back.

 

“See?” Cameron said to Stella as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Nobody cares about him except you. Nobody will give a fuck when I rip all the skin from his fucking body.”

 

Stella sobbed again, tearing at her own hair in anguish. “You fucker,” she muttered into her own hands. “You fucking heartless asshole.”

 

“That’s right, baby,” Cameron said, snarling at her. “Don’t fucking forget who I am ever again. That’s not a mistake you can just repeat and still expect to keep your pretty little fucking head, baby doll.”

 

After a few silent minutes where Cameron just watched Stella sob, grinning to himself, his phone dinged from within his pocket, alerting him to another text from Ian. On bike, close to Stella’s place. I’ll be there in 5.

 

Cameron felt a warm wave of satisfaction overtake his body, although the booze he’d pounded back over the past hour might have had something to do with that. “I’ll be back later tonight,” Cameron said to Stella, heading back to the door. “You better be fucking ready for me. Wear that little red thing that I like. You know the one. You won’t be able to wear it much longer. I want to be able to enjoy you before you get fat and disgusting.” With that, he left her apartment, slamming the door shut behind him and heading to the bed of his truck, where he kept his bike on days he wasn’t doing Marauders’ business.

 

Within a few minutes, Ian showed up, rolling to a stop next to Cameron’s bike and slipping his helmet off his head. “Hey, boss. Would you mind carrying some of the supply for me? I’ve got to get my back checked at the doctor this week. It’s been flaring up really badly. Every time I take a right turn, my shoulders cramp up weirdly and then the backpack almost slips off me and onto the road, and that’d be pretty fucking bad.”

 

“Jesus, fine,” Cameron sighed, annoyed at having to carry some of the drugs himself. “Give me your backpack,” he said, snapping his fingers impatiently at Ian. He had business to do tonight, and he wasn’t going to let his second -in -command’s bullshit back problems get in the way of it. “Now can we go, please?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Ian said, swinging back onto his bike. “I saw him enter the apartment building earlier, so he’s at home. Let’s get the fucker.”

 

Cameron grinned as he hopped onto his own bike, making the engine roar to life as he pulled out of the apartment complex’s parking lot, sailing out onto the road with Ian behind him.

 

I’m going to get that motherfucker, Cameron thought to himself, flexing his hands over and over again on the handlebars of his bike. He imagined what he was going to do to Mark as soon as he got his hands on him. He’d start with some knives, carving up the motherfucker until he screamed for mercy. And then maybe he’d use the gun on him, making the poor bastard bleed out for hours, begging for it to end. Cameron couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as he pictured Mark crying out in pain. He’d learn his goddamned lesson. Nobody touches Cameron Finley’s property. Nobody.

 

He was so deep in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice right away when Ian sped up, shooting ahead of Cameron’s bike. The next second, Ian took a sharp turn without signaling first, going onto a side street that Cameron didn’t recognize. Where the fuck is he going? Cameron wondered to himself. But he didn’t have time to argue. He thought that Mark lived in Ian’s original apartment building, but maybe he lived on the other side of town, in Ian’s other property. He had to follow his friend just to be sure, so he sped up and took the same turn as Ian…

 

Police lights flashed brightly, directly into Cameron’s eyes, causing him to hit the brakes immediately. Sirens blared, filling up Cameron’s ears as more and more cops descended on the street behind him until cop cars filled the area, totally surrounding his bike. Cameron quickly scanned the street for any sign of Ian’s bike, but he couldn’t see him anywhere.

 

Cameron moved to get off his bike and go talk to the superior officer on the scene, to ask what was going on, but before he could move somebody barked out from a loudspeaker, “STAY WHERE YOU ARE. STAY. PUT. WE WILL INTERPRET ANY DISOBEDIENCE AS A SIGN OF AGGRESSION AND TAKE FIRE. STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”

 

Cameron’s stomach curdled over as he did as instructed, slowly lifting his hands in the air to show that he was unarmed, even though his arms wavered in the process, clearly betraying his inebriation. Oh, fuck, he thought as he looked from cop to cop to cop, searching for any sign of sympathy that he could exploit. He found none. Oh, fuck, I’m drunk. They’re going to nail me. They’re going to fucking nail me if I don’t find a way out of this. Fuck!

 

The loudspeaker boomed with a policeman’s voice again a second later: “TAKE OFF THE BACKPACK AND SLIDE IT TO THE GROUND. KICK IT TOWARDS US.” Oh, God, Cameron realized, his blood turning cold inside his veins. The backpack. The drugs! The fucking drugs!

 

Cameron stayed still on the bike, but then a voice screamed out of the loudspeaker yet again, howling over the noises of the sirens filling the air. “PUSH THE BACKPACK TO THE GROUND NOW!”

 

He swallowed thickly and scanned the area for any sign of Ian yet again. Maybe he could still get out of this, if Ian grabbed a cop and pulled his gun on him, giving them a chance to get away. Maybe he could escape.

 

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw him. Standing there on the edge of the sidewalk, standing right next to a police officer, his eyes glinting with something like revenge, was Ian, smirking at him like he’d finally won.

 

“No way,” Cameron whispered out loud to himself. “No fucking way.”

 

Out of the shadows, three other members of the Marauders emerged, all of whom had been at Stormwatch earlier that day. All of whom had seen him smash bottles near the group of girls. All of them stared at him and smiled, their eyes sharp and vicious, cutting through the darkness like a thousand knives aimed right at Cameron’s chest.

 

“THE BACKPACK. NOW!” the loudspeaker screamed, and Cameron had no other choice but to shuffle the backpack off his back and push it to the ground, kicking it closer to the police, who quickly descended onto it, opening up to reveal a shit ton of heroin.

 

The police officer nearest his bike grabbed him a second later, twisting his arms painfully behind his back before clasping handcuffs around his wrists. “Oh, boy, I’ve fucking waited for this day for so long,” the cop behind him said gleefully into his ear. “You’re going away for a long time. A long fucking time, Finley.”

 

Cameron had to bend over, puking all over his own shoes, the alcohol from earlier making a triumphant comeback. The cops around him burst into laughter and applause, cheering as he fell apart in front of them.

 

He was fucked. Forever.