Page 103 of Body and Soul

I pulled the SUV into the rutted gravel parking lot of The Miner's Revenge, the bar's hand-painted sign creaking on rusted chains above the sagging porch roof. The warped clapboard siding had once been white, but now wore a grimy patina of coal dust and neglect. Cracked windows leaked the sallow light of bare bulbs, illuminating the hunched shapes of the bar's grim patrons.

I cut the engine and stepped out into the gloomy afternoon, Gavin following suit. The acrid stench of stale beer and cheap cigarettes wafted from the open door, mingling with the ever-present odor of decay. Keres snarled inside my skull, his predatory instincts surging at the scent of weakness and desperation.

The bar had been the company store, back when Revenge still clung to its identity as a mining town. In those days, the miners had lined up to collect their meager wages and exchange them for overpriced necessities, their lives bound to the company that owned their souls. But they had risen up, rebelling against the company and drove them out of town. Back then, the town used to be called Allegheny, but after the revolt it was renamed Revenge, retaining the name to this day.

Now, the building was a monument to their hollow victory, a reminder of all they had lost. The floorboards groaned beneath our feet as we ascended the weathered steps, the ancient wood soft with rot. The door shrieked on rusted hinges as I pushed it open.

The interior of The Miner's Revenge was a dim cavern, the air thick with the haze of cheap tobacco and the sour reek of spilled beer. A battered jukebox in the corner leaked tinny country music, the wailing vocals nearly drowned out by the low murmur of rough voices. Mismatched tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly across the scarred wooden floor, their surfaces sticky with generations of grime.

Along the back wall, a long bar stretched, its once polished surface now pitted and stained. Rows of half-empty liquor bottles populated the shelves. A cracked mirror hung behind the bar, reflecting the hunched shoulders and wary eyes of the men nursing their drinks.

They were miners turned outlaws, their faces weathered and hard, their hands scarred from years of toil. Faded tattoos snaked up muscled arms, the ink blurred and indistinct. Leather vests adorned with crude patches proclaimed their allegiance to the Revenge Hollow Riders, the motorcycle club that had become the glue keeping Revenge together.

Suspicious gazes followed us as we made our way to the bar, conversation dying away into watchful silence. I could feel theweight of their stares, the unspoken challenge in their posture. Beside me, Gavin remained alert, his body coiled with readiness.

I approached the bar, meeting the hard stare of the grizzled man behind it. He was a solid slab of muscle and scar tissue, his hair and beard peppered with gray. Cold blue eyes assessed me from beneath heavy brows, flickering with recognition.

“Well, if it ain’t Shepherd fuckin’ Laskin,” he grunted, setting down the glass he'd been polishing. “Been a while since you darkened my doorstep.”

I inclined my head in greeting. “Bear. I see Revenge is as welcoming as ever.”

A mirthless chuckle escaped him. He took note of the telltale flicker in my eyes, the way my jaw clenched as I fought to keep Keres leashed. Bear knew about my dissociative identity disorder, having co-dommed with me on a few memorable occasions. He respected the delicate balance that existed between my alters.

“Your other half riding you hard tonight?” he asked, his gruff voice low. Around us, the bar's patrons studiously minded their own business, unwilling to risk drawing the attention of the Revenge Hollow Riders' president.

“He's always there, pacing in my skull,” I replied, a muscle ticking in my cheek. “But I've got him on a short leash.”

Bear nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. He poured two fingers of whiskey into a mostly clean glass and slid it across the scarred bar top to me. I accepted it with a nod of thanks.

I took a slow sip of the whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. The familiar bite helped ground me, sharpening my focus even as Keres snarled and raged inside my mind. Bear watched me with knowing eyes, his hands resting on the pitted surface of the bar.

“So,” he said. “What brings you all the way down to our little slice of hell? Can't imagine it's the ambiance.”

I set the glass down with a heavy thunk, meeting Bear's gaze squarely. “I need your help,” I said, my voice low and intense. “My submissive, Eli, has been taken. Kidnapped by the cult he escaped from years ago.”

Bear's heavy brows furrowed, his eyes hardening. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar.

“The Children of the Light,” I said, the name bitter on my tongue. “They’re led by a mad man calling himself Father Ezekiel. They're holed up in a campground outside of Point Pleasant. They’re armed to the teeth and fanatically devoted to their cause. They've killed before, and they won't hesitate to do it again.”

Bear's expression hardened, his cold blue eyes assessing. He knew the stakes, understood the darkness that drove me. He poured himself a shot of whiskey and tossed it back, grimacing at the burn.

“And you want the Riders to back your play,” he said, setting the empty glass down with a hollow clink. “Storm the gates of hell and help you get your boy back.”

I inclined my head, holding his gaze. “Eli ismine,” I said, my voice roughened by emotion. “I'll burn the world down to bring him home.”

Bear studied me for a long moment, searching my face for any hint of weakness or hesitation. He wouldn't risk his men on a suicide mission, not even for me.

Bear leaned back, crossing his burly arms over his chest. His gaze flicked to Gavin, then back to me. “And your family? The Laskins have a reputation for handling their own business. Why come to me?”

Gavin stepped forward. “The family’s stretched thin. I’m sure by now that you’ve heard of the coup with the Russians?”

Bear nodded. “Nikita took over, or so I hear.”

“And Nikita Volkov is Yuri Laskin’s lover,” Gavin continued. “The family is still reeling from the change. And even if that weren’t true, the Laskins like to investigate meticulously before they act. We don’t have that kind of time before the Children of the Light hurt or kill Eli. We have to move now. Today.”

Bear leaned back, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed as he considered my words. The bar's patrons continued their low conversations, but I could feel the tension thrumming in the air, the sense that every ear was straining to catch our exchange.

“All right, Laskin,” Bear said at last, his gruff voice cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke. “I'm listening. What's the plan?”

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