Lynn

Scar might have given me his phone number, but we're communicating less now, not more. For a day and a half, all I've gotten were short, curt answers to texts and no returned calls. He doesn't have time to meet. And on the face of it, maybe he really doesn't.

But maybe he just doesn't want to. Maybe Mom is right about him. Maybe I'm wrong and all he wanted from me is sex. Maybe it was like that even back then.

I don't want to believe it, but I'm starting to.

It's the evening and after I walk the dogs, I'm going home for another night of Mom's sidelong glances as we first eat dinner and then watch TV. Minus her questioning gazes, it'll be the same exact night I've lived every night for the past twelve years.

She hasn't mentioned Scar at all since our argument a couple of days ago. There really was no reason to, since he's been gone from the time I finally told her about him. I'm sure she has her own ideas about why that is, and I'm sure she thinks it proves her right. But she's not saying it, and I'm ignoring it.

The rest of the pack is running around the woods, but I'm keeping Scarp close, because he's not well yet. He keeps looking at me with huge eyes, probably asking me why he can't run like his brothers and sisters.

"Just a couple more days, and then you'll be all better again," I say and scratch him behind the ears, which always sends his tail wagging like crazy.

He tries to stand up on his hind legs to give me a hug, but yelps terribly, the sound piercing my heart. I should be more careful with him. I would be, but my mind's not really here. It's too full of questions about Scar and memories of him. I hope that's not all I get — just memories. I have enough of those.

Scrap’s yelp was almost as terrible as the one he gave when he was injured, and he's still whimpering even as he wags his tail, while I comfort him. Scar was with me when Scrap got injured, and he took care of it. I wish he was here now.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be again.

Just as I think it, the wind brings the sound of a bike rumbling in the distance, sending my heart racing, my stomach filling with warm frothy waters like it does whenever I see Scar. I no longer get sick when I hear the sound. I just get the butterflies. But the rumbling cuts off abruptly, the forest silence restored, and if Scrap wasn't intently staring at the direction it came from, I'd be sure I just imagined it.

Any minute now, Scar's gonna walk through the trees to me. He parked and now he's looking for me.

"I'm over here, Scar!" I yell out in the general direction of where I heard the bike stop.

But seconds tick by, and he doesn't appear.

Scrap is still staring at the trees where the sound came from. Lucy and Butch returned too. They’re walking towards me, but looking at the trees where the bike stopped.

Scar walked the dogs a couple of times, so they know him, but they don't look excited like they're about to see him. They look wary and I'm growing scared, the frothy waters of happiness turning to something darker and angrier as the fear starts to surface.

Why would Scar drive his bike into the woods? It makes no sense. He'd park by my car and call me. He wouldn't come looking for me in the forest, since he'd have no way of knowing where I am.

I'm watching the trees as intently as the dogs are. My heart is beating so fast I can hear it in my ears. Someone is there, but I don't think it's Scar.

There's a rustle in the bushes, Scrap growls, Lucy barks, and the branches move.

"Who's there?" I yell. "Is it you, Scar?"

But I know it isn't. He wouldn't play this kind of game with me. Besides, no part of my body thinks he's near and it always reacts when he is. And whoever is there is scaring the dogs. I try to fight them, but images of the night I was abducted are preparing to play in my mind. I feel watched and it's making my skin crawl like I'm covered in spiders or maggots or some other nasty thing like that. The other two dogs have returned too, so my whole pack is surrounding me now, keeping the worst of my panic at bay. I'm sure they'd try to protect me. But can they?

Memories of getting grabbed from behind in the dark parking lot of the diner all those years ago are forcing their way to the front of my mind, forcing their way out of my past and into the here and now. I'm cold just like I was that night, and the woods seem darker than they were a second ago. In another second, a strong arm will grab me from behind, a meaty palm will be slapped across my face, making it hard to breathe and impossible to scream.

I'll try to scream anyway. I'll kick and fight and claw at the arm clutching me, breaking fingernails and drawing blood. But it won't help, the man will carry me away from my car, into the darkness, and my fighting will be about as useful, as if I was fighting a boulder. And then I'll be tied to a bed in a smelly dark room, raped and beaten, visions of my own death the only thing before my eyes for hours and days until I can't take it anymore, until I break again.

No! I’m back. I’m safe. I’m well.

The dogs all start barking ferociously at the trees. Maybe they're just reacting to my fear. It's so strong now, I'm not entirely sure that I'm not still locked in that dark smelly room.

No! I shout at my own thoughts. That was then. And it will never happen again!

The sound of a bike rumbling starts again, but this time it's retreating, growing fainter. The dogs stop barking and Scrap bumps my hand to be petted, so I know the danger is past. If there ever was any to begin with. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure I just heard a helicopter and my mind did the rest. And then the dogs reacted to my fear.

I'm shaking, my teeth chattering from the shock of remembering the night I was abducted. This memory was so vivid I relived it all, right down to the moment my mind broke. But it's easier to come back to the present now. Easier to know all that is the past.

I was never able to fully face those memories. All my therapists suggested I should, but I just couldn't replay them in my mind. It was too painful. All I saw were glimpses and felt some of the emotions, but I always stopped it before it got too involved.

Yet as my breathing and heart rate start returning to normal, I feel lighter like something hard and unyielding finally broke inside me—some barrier holding my worst fears intact and locked away from me, so I wouldn’t have to face them. It protected me, but also created a burden of unresolved things I could hardly carry, but stubbornly did anyway, because ignoring is what I'm good at, and I believed I was too weak to face the full extent of my ordeal a second time.

This was one hell of a bad experience, but I think I needed it, desperately, because I feel like I've just climbed the tallest mountain and can finally shout, "I'm free!" from the top of it.

"Good boy," I say, scratch Scrap behind the ears and give him a treat.

"You all did a great job," I tell the others, and toss them the rest of the treats.

I wish Scar was here with me. Then I'd throw my arms around his neck and kiss him and thank him for showing me the way back to a normal life. I'd also tell him I love him, because I do. Then I'd give myself to him the way I haven't yet. Because it was him, his presence, his touch, his strength that gave me the courage to face my worst nightmare and defeat it.

I text him right away. Where are you? I need to see you today!

It's the most forward text I've sent him yet, and everything inside me is quivering with excitement as I press send.

But he doesn't reply right away.

There’s still no reply half an hour later when I'm giving the dogs their dinner at the kennel. Nor an hour later as I park the car in the driveway at home. Or two hours later as I'm sitting next to Mom on the sofa, watching some movie I've seen five times already, ignoring her glances and the icy air in my chest, because all the excitement is gone now.

Scar doesn't want me the way I want him.

And I'd ignore it, make up excuses, believe that maybe he really is just too busy with something else.

But ignoring painful things only makes them hurt worse. I learned that today, and I won't put myself through that pain ever again.

* * *

Scar

I reached the Renegade Knights MC clubhouse at six PM and have been in this same position—lying in the dirt up on a ridge overlooking it— trying to spot Reaper for almost two nights. It's six AM, and the sun coming up woke me. I only saw Reaper appear twice, and I couldn't get close to him on either of those times. Hopefully I'll get him today, but if not, I'll wait right here until I do.

The first time he left with a group of five Renegades, and I decided not to follow, since six against one meant I'd fail. The second time he left on his own, but I lost him on the road to somewhere out of town. This was yesterday afternoon, he left at two and came back at dusk. Clearly he's afraid to be away from the safety of the clubhouse past dark.

I blame my lack of sleep and the heat for losing him yesterday afternoon. It's also been awhile since my work involved actively staking out someone. Other brothers do that, I just come in when it's time to get some answers, crack a few skulls and otherwise finish the job. I got lazy, but it's all coming back to me.

I'm the hunter again, he's my prey. All those hunting trips with my father prepared me for this, taught me to be patient. This is no different than laying in the snow and waiting for a deer to come by. And me and Dad did plenty of that.

The next time he comes out, I won't lose him.

I'll run him down on some deserted stretch of road and then we'll face off. Then he'll pay. With his life.

Lynn kept texting and calling, and I've replied as much as I could. But there's no place for her in this, although I'll also be avenging her when I kill him. But that’s not something she agrees with, yet this is my task to finish.

Where are you? Lynn's last text reads. I need to see you today!

She sent it last night.

I heard my phone buzz, but I didn't even look at it, because I was still seething over the fact that I lost Reggie. I was waiting for him at a fork in the road he’d have to pass to get back to the clubhouse, but when he finally rode by again he wasn't alone anymore. For hours after that, I spent all my mental energy convincing myself not to storm into the clubhouse and drag him out so we can get this shit over with.

Twelve years ago, I would've done it. But if I do that now, it'll just end in both of us dying. Twelve years ago, I wouldn't have cared. But now a gorgeous, gentle woman wants to know where I am, because she misses me and wants to be with me. No, needs to be with me, is how she put it.

I'll come by the ranch tonight. I text back. I should've checked the text last night. Then she'd be waking up in my arms right now, and that'd be a whole lot better than this.

Awesome, she writes back a split second later. I can't wait to see you.

I can't wait to see her either, and that realization hits me like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. It's been two days. I want to see her more than I want to keep lying here waiting for an opportunity to kill my brother. It's something I've been fantasizing about for damn near twenty-five years, but right now it's not nearly as important as seeing Lynn.

Same, doe.

My brother will keep. Lynn might bolt. Of the two, I know which I'd rather pursue, it's no contest. That answer surprised even me. Of the two, it's Lynn I want to keep close. More than I want revenge on my brother. A couple of weeks ago, my answer would've been completely different.

But now it's as clear as the day rising before my eyes as I ride home to see her.