Wildfire

The aegis behind him stepped forward, a gun in her hands. She was my age, red-haired, and her eyes were uncertain. She watched Rogan with apprehension.

I had to neutralize her. Rogan already had his hands full.

I sighted her and channeled my mother. “You shoot, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m an aegis.”

“I know. I never miss.”

She opened her mouth and closed it. I did my best to look like I meant business, because I did. She couldn’t shoot and maintain her shield at the same time. The moment that gun came up, I would fire and I would hit her to save Rogan.

“You can’t—” she began.

“Test me and you’ll find out.”

She stayed where she was, gun pointed to the ground.

Dave Madero rolled his shoulders and moved forward, circling. He was at least ten inches taller and probably twice as heavy as Rogan, who towered over me. Rogan’s body was corded with hard, flexible muscle, but next to Dave, he looked like a teenager who had yet to fill out.

Rogan moved too, with easy natural grace, focused on Dave. His whole body realigned itself, transforming him from a civilized man who had been driving a car just a minute ago into something else, something savage and almost feral. He moved toward Dave with a predatory anticipation. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

Dave must’ve realized he was being stalked and slowed.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked. “It won’t be pretty. You think we’re gonna fight, you gonna punch, maybe throw some kicks. She’ll be impressed. It’s not gonna work like that. I don’t know what kind of training you have, but whatever it is, it’s not gonna be enough. This isn’t the dojo. We’re not gonna shake hands and bow. And your girl will be worse off when you lose.”

“Stop talking.” Rogan’s voice was iced over. “Show me.”

“Fine. Your funeral.”

Dave swung. It was a slow, wide right haymaker. Rogan leaned out of the way.

Dave threw a left. It fanned Rogan’s chest with plenty of space to spare.

“Slow,” Rogan said.

Dave rolled his eyes.

“Every generation you breed bigger, slower, and dumber,” Rogan said.

“Keep talking. We’ll see what kind of noises you’ll be making when I make you swallow your teeth.”

They moved in a circle.

Dave snapped a fast right hook. Rogan moved out of the way like his joints were fluid.

“When the other families want a big dumb thug, they call you and here you are. Any job, any time. Kidnapping. Pain. Theft by brute force. Brute is the key word. You’re a House of idiots.”

Dave locked his teeth. Rogan hit a nerve. He was pissing Madero off on purpose.

“Soon you’ll breed out what little brainpower you have.”

“Done?” Dave growled.

“Almost. Just wondering when you will start wearing leashes. This generation or the next?”

Dave hammered a shockingly fast jab. Rogan dodged by a hair.

Jab, jab, hard right.

Rogan kept moving. Dave was backing him into the Jeep. The aegis saw it and scurried to the side, keeping the gun ready.

Dave drove a long straight jab, but palm up, turning it into an uppercut. Rogan ducked. Dave unleashed an insane hard right. Somehow Rogan dodged and Dave’s fist hammered into the Jeep. Metal screeched. The hood buckled from the impact. Dave growled and shoved the Jeep back with his left hand. The vehicle rolled thirty yards back, all the way to the tree line.

Cold sweat drenched me. If Rogan took just one punch, even a glancing hit, it was all over.

“The fight’s right here,” Rogan said.

“You made me hurt my baby,” Dave said. “That’s extra. I’m gonna kill you for that.”

He wasn’t joking. He would actually kill Rogan.

Dave charged like an enraged bull. He pounded after Rogan, erupting in a whirlwind of punches.

Jab, jab, cross.

Left jab. Right uppercut.

Left hook, right cross, left hook to the body.

The hook grazed Rogan’s side and he flew five yards, landed hard, then rolled to his feet. Fear punched straight through my chest and down into my legs.

Dave chased him. Rogan backed away, trying to dodge a wild barrage of punches. Dave was on him, swinging, his breathing labored and heavy. His face turned purple. He was sucking air in shallow gasps.

Jab, overhand right, hook, cross.

Rogan stepped into the punch, sliding between Dave’s arms, wrapped his left arm over Dave’s right, catching it in the bend of his elbow, so the giant man’s forearm rested on Rogan’s shoulder. He locked the fingers of his hands together and twisted, throwing all of his weight to the right. A loud pop echoed through the park. Dave howled, a raw, terrible cry of pure pain. He sounded like an animal screaming.

Rogan moved away. Dave straightened, his face contorted by rage. His right arm hung useless at his side. Rogan had snapped his elbow like a twig.

The aegis shivered in place, her face pale.

Dave charged, reaching for Rogan’s throat. Rogan backed up at the last minute, sapping the speed out of Dave’s attack, moved in, turning all the way to the left, so his right arm slid over Dave’s left, and bent his elbow, trapping Dave’s arm in his armpit. Rogan’s fingers locked on Dave’s wrist. There was another sharp pop. Dave screamed and collapsed on the ground, his wrist still in Rogan’s hand. Rogan moved his left leg over Dave, clamping the man’s arm between his legs, stepped all the way to the right, and twisted again. Another crack. Dave was screaming his heart out. The aegis shrieked like a dying bird.

“Rogan, stop,” I called. “That’s enough.”

“Are you done?” Rogan asked.

“Fuck you!” Dave spat.

“Dave!” the aegis cried out.

“The man isn’t done. He’s still got two good legs left.”

Rogan picked up Dave’s left leg, pulled it straight, and rolled back, sitting around it, so his right leg was locked over Dave’s thigh. He would snap Dave’s knee.

The aegis flung her gun across the lawn and looked at me, her face desperate.

I ran to Rogan and dropped on my knees by him. “Enough. Please. Please.”

“Is it enough?” Rogan asked.

Dave moaned. He was purple like a plum now, his breathing so fast, he wasn’t getting in any air.

I put my hands on Rogan’s steel-hard calf. “Please. He can’t even talk anymore. He can’t tell you to stop.”

Dave raised his palm and slapped the ground.

Rogan released his leg and stood up in a single fluid movement. His voice could’ve frozen over the Gulf. “Don’t come after her. She won’t stop me next time. Tell your brothers. You come after her again, I’ll go through your House until none of you are left.”

Dave deflated slightly, his skin turning a more human color. Sweat drenched him. He sucked in air, leaned on his side, and vomited.

The aegis knelt by him, a water bottle in her hand.

I wrapped my hand around Rogan’s arm. “Let’s go home.”

We got into the car. I slid into the driver’s seat, started the Range Rover, and drove back to the street before Rogan decided to go back.

He leaned back in his seat, his face calm. He had to be hurting.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded.

“How bad is it?”

“I’ll live.”

Dave was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Daniela once told me that Rogan hated feeling helpless more than anything. He would go to any length to avoid it. My going into Rynda’s house while he was across the city made him feel helpless and scared. He needed to let it out. He needed to hurt someone, and Dave had presented himself as a threat to me. Rogan broke him and would’ve kept on breaking if I didn’t stop him.

The Belize War had changed Rogan. It changed everyone, but it had torn him apart and he had to remake himself to survive. He served as the army’s ultimate weapon. He would walk into a city, reach into the deepest part of his soul, where the magic was wild, and let it out, and the city would crumble and fall around him. He inspired fear. They gave him scary names. The Butcher of Merida. The Scourge of Mexico. Huracan. As if he weren’t a man but some terrifying legend come to life. And then he ended up in a jungle, miles into enemy territory, with soldiers depending on him for their lives. Using magic would’ve saved him but his soldiers wouldn’t survive. So he didn’t use it. He walked them out of that jungle, but very few people knew what those weeks in Belize had cost him. He would never again fit into the civilian life. Rogan would never be “normal.” He left the military five years ago, but it made no difference. He was still in.