Page 41 of Vandal Unbound

The words slice through me harder than any blade I’ve ever taken. Not because she meant to hurt me. I know she didn’t. She’s terrified. Shaking. Her eyes glossy with panic and grief.

It hurts because I know she’s right. Unlike her, I can already picture it happening to me again, and for a second, I can’t breathe.

It’s obvious, written all over her face, the instant she realizes what she said. “Oh my God, Vandal. I’m sorry, I?—”

“Go,” I say quietly.

“I didn’t mean to say that, I?—”

“Now’s not the time. Just go. Take Elsie home.”

For a heartbeat, Daisy looks as though she’s going to argue. But then she thinks better of it. I hold the door for her, even though my heart is cracking open and bleeding out into my chest. I thought what happened with Alvarez would be what killed me, but I think what Daisy just said to me might be the thing that pushes me over the edge.

Once she’s inside, I slam the car door shut.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy says quietly, but I can’t quite hear her through the closed window.

Elsie’s tearstained face is the last thing I see as they drive away.

An explosion in the distance reminds me there’s more at stake here than my broken heart. So I begin to run back to the clubhouse. The last time I was on a road like this, isolated from the club, was when Alvarez knocked me off my bike. But I force my feet to keep moving, one in front of the other.

Intrusive thoughts invade my mind as I run. Who am I going to face? Who am I going to see? The clubhouse sits somewhere ahead of me, hidden beyond the trees and bends in the road,but every step takes me closer to something I’m not certain I’m ready to face.

One crack of gunfire follows another, close enough that my pulse kicks harder as I jog. I try to tell myself that this time is different. It’s a different road. A different fight and a different outcome guaranteed because of the way my brothers will stand around me.

But somehow, my body doesn’t care. And what hurts is the invisible kind of ache that lives in your bones, the ghost of trauma that lingers long after the injuries heal.

The clubhouse finally comes into view through the trees, and I see smoke curling into the sky. Brothers are moving everywhere. They’re shouting, weapons drawn, and a sweat that has nothing to do with exertion forms above my lip.

All the action is focused on the other side of the club, by the water. So, when I see two men dressed in black creeping down the stairs from our front fucking door, I feel a wave of fury. It’s the bastard with the snake tattoo climbing up his throat that I remember from the beating. The one who laughed when they put a cattle prod to my ribs.

The sounds around me fade, and my vision narrows as I’m sucked back to a different place at the sight of him. I can taste the asphalt and dust and vomit. All I can smell is blood.

His eyes find mine, and then there’s recognition. The fucker has the audacity to smile before he turns and runs around the back of the building, clutching something I can’t make out to his chest.

I can’t shake the feeling that I know how this ends. That I know what happens next. Someone grabs me. Unwavering pain comes with the illusion that all my scars are fresh. My stomach clenches in sickening waves of nausea and my hands shake. Even though I hear my name called, I don’t move.

Fear keeps me rooted, unable to help myself, as panic grips me.

“V.”

The voice is distant and muffled.

“Van. Vandal.”

A body steps into my line of sight. He’s big and solid, and I take a step back, but Havoc’s hand lands on the back of my neck. “Look at me, brother.”

I’m so light-headed, I stumble.

“Look at me and fucking breathe.”

I drag my eyes to his, and he’s steady and calm.

“You good?” he says finally.

My chest burns as I force myself to nod.

“No. You fucking aren’t. Fuck’s sake.”