Page 11 of Found Through Fire

It surprised me the first time I saw Uncle Mark and Aunt Jaz together. She’s tall, with model legs and black hair that has those “beach waves” that I have always wanted, and her beautiful face has not changed at all in the years that I have known her. Uncle Mark is average height, with red hair and green eyes. He’s as pale as me, and that’s hard to find. He’s usually scowling at everyone with his intense cold stare, but it melts completely when he looks at Jaz and Sophia.

Nodding, he walks over and gives me a hug. He pulls away and looks down at me with concern in his eyes. “What’s up, Will?”

“I met Jackson today, and when I saw him, I noticed that he had a Lost Knights patch,” I say, looking at his face so that I can read his reaction. His brows furrow in confusion. We both look to my dad, guilt plastered on his face as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Your mom and I knew. She was already hesitant to be around Mark and Jaz when she realized that it was the same club. When she got to know them, she knew that it was Blake’s chapter that was the problem.” He turns his attention to Mark. “She thought it would end up one of two ways: that you would figure out that Will was Blake’s and tell him because of loyalty to a ‘Brother,’ or that it would cause waves in your club. She didn’t want either of those things because you, Jaz, and your chapter meant so much to Will and the rest of us.”

“So, her piece of shit ex, the one that stole her boy, was a part of my club all this time? She never named a person or a club because she said she didn’t want to start a war over her family?” His voice is thick with disbelief as his expression grows colder.

We met Uncle Mark when I was twelve. I was in remission from leukemia for three years at that point. Almost dying took itstoll on me mentally. Even with all the therapy that my parents put me in, I couldn’t accept that my body tried to kill me.

I spent a lot of time in my room before my dad had enough and made me start training with my brothers and the rest of the soldiers again. He said I needed to start to trust my body to protect me and survive. Since that first day, I threw myself into training. I was still home-schooled, which was the only option for me when I was sick. Since I was stuck in bed all the time, all I had was to do my schoolwork for a distraction from the chemo, doctors, and non-stop loud-ass machines. I was able to skip ahead a few grades by the time I left the hospital, which bothered my brothers. Mom even threw in some different languages to switch it up sometimes.

At eleven, I was a pretty good fighter. My dad taught me fighting styles that were better for small, but fast fighters. I even became a better shot than half of the soldiers—definitely better than my brothers.

My dad wanted me to learn how to trust my body not to kill me, but we never imagined that it would be tested so soon.

Mom spentan hour convincing me to go to the mall with her before I reluctantly gave in. She was trying to get me out of the house more to give me back the childhood excitement about the world again. I tried to act like a normal kid around her, but I think she could see it. The fact that I had to let the child-like part of me die when I survived.

Mom was taking forever in the store. I sighed, rolling my eyes, and left her there. As I made my way to the food court, Ipassed a dark hallway that led to the bathrooms. The last thing I remembered was being grabbed from behind, the needle going into my neck, and then everything fading into darkness.

When I started to come out of it, I kept my eyes closed, listening to make sure that there was no one else in the room. I could feel the cold, damp surface under me, but everything around me was quiet. My stomach recoiled with the smell of stale air, mixed with the distinct iron tinge of blood and damp mold.

I started to do a mental inventory of my body—nothing hurt. Not knowing if anyone was there, opening my eyes was a risk, but instinctively, I knew I needed more. I tried to open my eyes just a crease. But the shock of it hit me like a freight train.

My eyes flung open, my head surveying the room. To my horror, I was lying on a cement floor in what looked like a cage that was built in a basement. I thought I was alone, until I looked to the cell next to me that held a very pregnant woman who was sitting on the floor. She had a black eye and a busted lip, but besides that, she was gorgeous. She had long black hair, tan skin, and a face that could’ve been in one of those magazines that my mom would read in my hospital room to pass the time.

She looked over at me when I tried to sit up. “Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?” she asked in a raspy voice with a thick Spanish accent.

“Except for the whole kidnapping thing, I’m just dandy,” I replied, holding my head to try and keep the room from spinning. She gave a small laugh and kept looking me over, checking for injuries. I could see the genuine concern in her eyes. It reminded me of how my mom looked over my brothers and I when we came home after training.

“How old are you, sweet girl?” she asked me, looking more upset the longer that we sat there.

“I’m twelve,” I answered. I didn’t know why, but I trusted this lady. Clearly she wasn’t the one that took me, and she looked just as upset about being here as I was. “Do you know how long we’ve been down here?” I asked after a few minutes of awkward silence with her staring as I avoided eye contact. Talking to people was never easy for me.

“I woke up a few hours before you did, so awhile,” she replied, turning her eyes to the wall. I let out a breath. She was nice and everything, but I hated it when people stared at me.

“My mom’s probably freaking out. I forgot to tell her that I was going to go get a snack. Do you know who took us?”

“I think they’re called the Silver Saints. It’s a Motorcycle Club, and they aren’t nice men,” she answered. I could tell that she was trying to put it in kid terms for me. She didn’t know that I had been raised around the soldiers and my dad talking about strategies to take down gangs and cartels. He tried to keep my brothers and I away from it, but with all the time we spent with him, it was hard for them to drop it altogether when kids were present.

I know about MCs, their territory, and the “wars” they had with each other. Dad always said he’d never take a contract for an MC.

“Do you know why they took us?” I asked after going through everything that I could remember about MCs that I’d overheard.

“Well, they took me to win a war with my husband and his club. I’m not sure why they took you, honey,” she responded sadly.

So she was tied to an MC somehow. My mom and dad always seemed to hate MCs more than anyone else. Which was weird, because my mom was always the first to want to stay out of my dad’s business. She said that, being a nurse, she wanted to save lives and didn’t want to hear about people taking them. Butwhen something was said about an MC, you could almost feel her anger.

I wasn’t sure if they took me because of something to do with my dad, or just because I was small and alone. I watched too many crime documentaries, so I’m going to go with the second reason until I get more information. Dad always said, “You can only make a plan with the information you have now.”

Two guys walked into the cage they had us in. They were all wearing their vest-things that said Silver Saints on them. The first guy was average height. His face was covered in scars, and his long, red hair was greasy, like he hadn’t showered in a week. His nose was crooked like it had been broken a few times. He looked like a cracked-out Chucky doll.

The second guy was bald. He was taller than the first guy, but not by much, and he had a pot belly. He looked annoyed with being around the first guy, who now went by Chucky in my mind. Fatty saw that I was awake and said, “Well, nice of you to wake up. We’ll take some pictures to send to your old man later.”

So it does have something to do with Dad. He grinned and then looked at the lady. I couldn’t believe I didn’t ask her name. My mom would be mad that I forgot my manners.

On second thought, I might get a pass for the whole kidnapping thing.