Page 103 of Wolf.e

I try to wrack my brain to remember who came back to Harmony and who stayed in Benson.

Flipp. Flipp came home.

I pull my phone out and thank my lucky stars Gabriel programmed his main men into my phone a couple weeks ago. As I wait for him to answer, I also let the inevitable sink in. Flipp is fifty years old. He isn’t in the best shape so I’m not sure he could even help me.

He doesn’t answer anyway so I continue my pace. I argue with myself. I can’t go there. If I do and he’s involved with club business, he will be furious I showed up. If he’s in trouble, am I ready at all to help him after only a month of training with him? I’m hitting my targets and I’m stronger but in a moment of real pressure would I help him or make it worse?

I remember his words from before he left and it solidifies my fate.

If I’m going to be late for any reason, I’ll text you.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I yell into the quiet house because my decision is already made.

I’m already pulling on my jeans and my boots. If I get there and all is fine, I’ll just turn around and come home. I go over my plan in my head as I tie up my Doc Martens. I can park on Hwy 6 and walk the last bit in. I’ll take one look and if everything seems legit, I’ll just sneak away. He’ll be none the wiser and I’ll beat him back home.

I grab my gun and check the mag, holstering it at my waist with shaky hands, then without giving it another thought, I’m charging through the front door and down the front steps of Gabriel’s house before I lose my nerve, making sure to pull the damn AirTag out from under my front seat, tossing it into the grass before I enter the address of St Henry’s into my nav.

In any other circumstance, I would’ve dwelled on this for the next hour, but I know with everything in me that something is wrong. For the first time in my life I don’t think, I just do… and hope to God I’ve made the right choice.

As the dark highway passes by out my window, I realize I don’t know what scares me more, finding out nothing is wrong or finding out that something is.

I’ve been hit by shrapnel, I’ve been shot, I’ve seen a lot of men die. I’ve seen my own death at least a dozen times. The reason I always survive is because I anticipate the enemy’s next move. But how do you anticipate an enemy’s next move when you don’t even know they fucking exist?

I’m in and out of consciousness, I don’t know how much time has passed. Has it been an hour? Six? I have no idea. I woke up here after Jake hit me. I hang from the center of the room, my arms outstretched and aching. I can feel dried blood on my face and the throb in my head where Jake hit me with a fucking pipe. The tops of my feet graze the floor and they’re zip-tied together, I think.

Jake. My brother, by all accounts.

Now, he stands in front of me with Marco fucking Foxx and I know for the first time in my life, my enemy has the better of me.

Subconsciously, I hear parts of the conversation like a fever dream. It brings me right back to the sounds of the almost dead men screaming. I can hear them so clearly. I’m back in that cave. I know I need to fight. I know I need to find my way out, to save anyone who can be saved but I can’t do anything except listen in horror as I see her face in my mind's eye.

I let the darkness take me.

Icy water hits my face, and my eyes surge open, cloudy with the forced influx of water and my own blood. I shake my head and raise it. Yep, definitely bleeding. Pretty sure I’m bleeding from quite a few places, actually.

I have no idea how much time has passed since they dragged me in here, but it’s enough that I’ve faded in and out like this at least three times. A few hours? Longer?

“We’re gonna do this one more time.”

I look up at Jake, my jaw set. At least that’s not broken yet.

In my periphery, I see Marco snort two lines of coke off the table.

“I don’t want to make this more painful than it needs to be, man. Fuck,” Jake says, his eyes pleading.

Mistake number one: Never go weak with your victim.

“Just give me the accounts and this’ll be quick.” He holds a gun to my face for the fifth time tonight. I didn’t give him my personal bank account info any of those other four times, so I have no idea why he’d think this time would be any different.

I’ll sit through another hundred days of this before I ever let the fucker in the corner snort away the $1.3 million I’ve managed to personally save.

“Fuck!” Jake yells. “This is all your fault.” He makes his way to the table and nervously carves out a bump of his own. I don’t know how much powdered courage it takes to betray someone who’s been like a brother to you, who’s always been good to you, someone who’s always given you way too much fucking grace.

I’ve been asleep for half of this, but my guess is a lot.

“It was supposed to be me. Not you. He always compared every fucking thing I did to you!” He bends down, keeping his gun on me and snuffs some more of that false courage up his nose.

Marco stands and smacks Jake in the back of the head. “Stop fucking rehashing history to a dead man.”

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