Page 8 of Lost in Life

Turning on my heel, I storm out of the church and out of their lives.

I’m all alone now, best I get used to it.

Chapter 4

Zayn

It’s crazy what a few weeks can do. The Order has gotten more popular in recent years, drawing in new recruits at an exponential rate. Maybe it’s the freedom to release our merciless violence it grants us, or perhaps it’s the promise of leaving an old life behind. Whatever the reason, we have held several initiation ceremonies in the seven weeks that Owen has been gone.

I set down my tattoo gun and wave for the last initiate to rise, my hand cramping from the multitude of tattoos I’ve had to do today alone. Pushing off my stool, I look over the kneeling crowd. “You know why you’re here.” My voice echoes in the silent room.

Crossing my arms, I peer down my nose. “I’m not going to give you a flowery speech. I’m not going to tell you everything is shits and giggles from here on out.” Walking closer, I stop directly in front of one of the men, waiting for him to look up at me. I hold his gaze as I warn, “What I will say is, if you try to return to your old lives,” I pause, running my stern gaze over the rest of the new members. “If you attempt to cross the Order of Death in any way, I can promise you will wish you were never born.”

Turning my back to them, I walk out of the room, calling behind me, “Welcome to hell, boys.” The phrase has become my new calling card, my final greeting to each new soul that joins our ranks.

Once out of earshot, I pull my phone out, pressing the number and holding it to my ear. The call rings twice before going to an automated voicemail, a notification buzzing shortly after. Hanging up without leaving a message, I pull up the text.

T

What do you want?

I glare at the screen.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Blowing a heavy breath through my nose, I close my eyes and push down the rage threatening to consume me, reminding myself it doesn’t matter the method of conversation.

Me

I need a job.

T

Give me 20.

Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I head to my car, my body buzzing with the need to release some of the constant anger.

“If you don’t get your shit together, Zayn, you’re going to end up all alone.”

The words flow over me again as they do frequently. The broken begging of a woman long gone. A woman who didn’t deserve what happened to her because of my irrationality.

Blood. So much blood.

Her crumbled body is lying in an awkward position. Bones broken, beaten to a pulp, once flawless skin now marred by cuts deep enough to scar if she were still alive.

I shake my head furiously to clear the haunting image. There’s nothing I can do for her now. It was my fault and what did I do with the knowledge? Sure as shit didn’t change for the better.

I stare down at her grave, an overwhelming emptiness suffocating me from the inside out.

A hand lands on my shoulder, startling me from my thoughts. I look toward the person standing beside me in the otherwise empty graveyard. “We’ll find who did this.” Parker reassures, squeezing his hand.

I look back toward the gravestone and nod.

He doesn’t know that I know who is responsible for her death, that I can’t get the bastard’s face out of my head no matter how hard I’ve tried.

I haven’t told anyone, because it’s my fault this happened. But when I do find the man who stole her from me, because Iwillfind him, I’ll make sure he pays for his part in this.

Slamming my foot down on the gas pedal, I speed off toward my current safe house, needing to busy my hands before I explode.

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