Page 3 of Loki's Luck

“GET HIM!” is all I hear before I take off through the bus station and toward the woods in the back. I hear two gunshots and feel a slight sting on my side, but it's not too bad, and nothing I can’t handle, so I keep running. I run and run, praying Milani got away and that somehow I will, too. This has to work. We both need to survive, and someday I’ll find her and be the best big brother I can possibly be. Maybe, for once, we can even have a normal life…

Present Day

LOKI

“We are here to celebrate one of our own, our friend, but more importantly, our brother,” Swift starts as we gather around the back of the clubhouse.

I keep my head down as our Prez gives his speech. I can’t handle the feelings running through my head. They make me want to kill something or someone. One of our brothers was taken from us and on our own fucking property, too. He gave his life to save our vice president’s woman. There is no greater honor than a death like that, but fuck. He shouldn’t have been in that situation, to begin with. I won't rest until I see the blood of the fuckers involved in this flowing through my fingers and pooling under my leather boots. I will not know peace until I see red, until I can taste the copper in the air, and I can smell the fear and regret. I thought for sure he would pull through. Dread was a tough bastard. He didn’t talk much, and, being a nomad, he would ride the open roads with two other members. I had heard he got into some trouble on the road at one point. Devin, of all people, actually knew a contact who had heard there was a hit out on Dread.

How the fuck we didn’t know that shit is beyond me. Comp is still beating himself up for not finding it sooner, but there was no way he could have known in his defense. He would have had to search the internet for years to find something that buried. Comp has become obsessed with the incident and has taken the necessary precautions since then. He has all our real names, road names, and our women’s names flagged in every system and program possible. That way, if something like this ever happens again, we’ll know about it and won’t be in the dark. We tried talking to Volt and Drift about it, but somehow, they had no idea about the hit. They mentioned running into some trouble a while back, but it was no different from any other issue they’ve encountered on the road.

Fuck, I can’t think of that shit right now, though. I need to somehow get my head on right. Well, as right as it goes… which, if I’m being honest, is so far to the left that it would be unsettling for anyone else.

I still don’t understand how any of this fucking shit happened. One minute we’re returning fire, killing the assholes who came here and took Izzy, and the next, Dread gets shot, and we’re chasing the bastards.

Looking back on that day, as we all got on our bikes, we left Grim working on Dread. Being our club brother and doctor, he told us he would save him and not to worry. Devin was by his side, so we left our injured brother in good hands to seek revenge. We were too late by the time we got to the hospital, and Dread didn’t make it. Grim tried everything he could, but it was out of his control. Every single one of us felt the impact and loss of our fallen brother. We didn’t even get to see his body since he was cremated before we could blink. Now he’s gone, and there’s nothing left. None of us got to say goodbye to our brother, not even Volt and Drift, who were the closest to Dread.

Swift finishes his speech, and some of the brothers reminisce. We all joke and laugh about the shit Dread got up to as the stories roll on. This is too fucking hard, and I can’t take it anymore. I’ve never dealt with these fucking feelings, and I don’t want to fucking start now. This is the very fucking reason I don’t get involved. This shit is too hard. I’m programmed to not care; at least, that’s how I’ve always felt. I killed the closest thing I had to a father without so much as a flinch. I shrugged it off because it didn’t matter. I walked away from my mother without a backward fucking glance, and it never hurt. So why does this fucking hurt so much? Why am I letting it? Just when I’m about to get up and leave, Devin, Piper’s dad, speaks up.

“I may not have known Dread long, but he sacrificed his life to save one of my daughters. For that alone, I will forever be grateful. I know it might not seem like it, and it’s probably hard to think about, but wherever he is, he is free. Dread is living the life he’s always deserved with new and old friends,” he says.

I look at him questioningly. Well, that was cryptic as fuck, even for me. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I walk his way, but with one last sad glance at everyone at the party, he turns and walks out. Devin’s been gone a lot lately, only coming back to visit Piper and Izzy once in the last few weeks. I think the only reason he’s here today is to celebrate Dread’s life. Something’s going on with him, and I know Piper is worried.

I shake my head. I need to deal with all my shit. I don’t need to worry about others right now. All that would do would cause more trouble. Trouble always follows me. Death, his sarcastic fucking sidekick, likes to laugh at my misfortune. Usually, he’s laughing cause I’m on the other side of the fucking gun, and I’m laughing with him. I know one day those sins will catch up, though, and on that day, death will turn his laughter on me. And what the fuck am I supposed to do then? Well, I’ll fucking tell you, I’m going to drag that fucker through the realms of hell with me. Just like I’m going to do to every fucker who hurts my family… but there is no controlling trouble or death.

It’s why I only check up on Milani and never make contact. What if someone from my past showed up for her only to get back at me? I couldn’t live with that kind of fucked up outcome. I can’t risk bringing my fucked-up ass into her life and getting her hurt. I know she ended up growing up on that farm in Alabama, and she's been happy from the looks of it. As long as she stays there and keeps her head down, I know she will be fine—I hope.

One

HALLE

“Iswear, if you don’t get your ass out of my store, I will shoot you in the face,” I tell the little punk trying to rob me. I hate working at this fucking gas station. It’s the only one in this area, which isn’t the safest part of town.

“What the fuck, lady? Just give me everything you’ve got in the register,” the kid tells me, waving the black pistol around again. I smile sweetly at him, feeling a chill run up my spine. Not from fear, nope. That little tingle I recognize so well is from excitement. To think, I almost called out sick and would have missed all this fun.

“And I said GET. THE. FUCK. OUT,” I shout, bringing the shotgun I keep behind the counter for this exact reason into view. People see a tiny blonde girl with big blue eyes and a sweet smile and think they can push right over me. Well, he’s in for a fucking surprise.

“W-What are you doing?” The kid looks at me in fear as I smile, holding the gun up and aiming it right at his head.

“I’m making sure your ass gets nothing else from me. Now,” I tell him, cocking the gun and taking a warning shot. It may have hit his toes a bit, but no significant damage was done, so he’ll get over it. “Are you going to get the fuck out, or am I going down for murder today?”

“Crazy fucking bitch; I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” he says, raising his hands in the air and starting to walk out.

“Actually, leave the gun. I like it. It’s pretty,” I tell him, eyeing the 9mm he’s holding.

“Oh, come on now; You’re going to take my gun?” he whines like the little bitch he is.

“Yes, I'm taking your fucking gun. You came in here waving it at me. Slide it across the floor,” I say, nodding to the floor.

He huffs and puffs but finally slides the gun across the floor and books it out of the place. I’m just lowering the shotgun when someone from the back of the store walks over and picks up the punk's gun. Automatically, I raise the shotgun again, just in case. He takes a quick look at the gun in his hand before walking over to me.

“Whoa, darlin’, no need to wave that toward me. I was actually about to step in to help but realized you had everything under control,” he tells me, tipping his cowboy hat at me as he places the gun on the counter. “You may want to get rid of those serial numbers before using that thing, though. The idiot didn’t think about that, I guess.”

“Thanks,” I say, placing the shotgun back under the counter and doing the same with the 9mm.

“Name’s Beau,” he says, placing his coke and candy bar on the counter.

“Halle, nice to meet you,” I say with a grin, ringing him up.

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