Page 78 of The Order of Disorder
Withdrawal was a nightmare, but what’s worth fighting for anymore? I’m locked in a cage. I will never escape Billy’s grasp. Ryder’s dead because of him and now Wyatt probably is too. I don’t even know if Damian still works at Leathernecks, if there’s anyone there who would even understand my message. Maybe there’s nothing left for me but this, and in that case, why would I even want to be present for it?
“Floating is better than sinking,” Rox adds, as if she can see me faltering.
Never again, I had promised myself then.
Just this once, I promise myself now.
I reach out and take it, throwing it back and chasing it with the rest of the water.
“Poor Maxie,” Rox murmurs. “I hope it brings you some relief.”
I lean my head back against the fence and we sit in silence a while. Five minutes. Thirty. I don’t know. Time bends.
“I thought you were gone for good,” I say after a while. There’s a slight loosening of the tension holding me together. Conversation starts to seem possible.
Rox shrugs and leans over her crossed knees, picking up a small piece of gravel and turning it over.
“Yeah, sorry we took off so fast. We had to disappear. Maze got too loud, ya know? Pushed weight into Riverton, didn’t bother clearing it first. That’s South Range turf, and they don’t give second warnings. They burned a trap house and beat the shit out of one of Maze’s runners. We gotta lay low, but race day’s too sweet to miss. Everyone’s eyes are on the bikes, not the ghosts.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you,” I say, even though I’m not sure that’s true. It’s nice that she’s here talking to me, anyway. That she brought me water. Maybe this is all the kindness I can expect anymore. Maybe this is the best of it.
“Billy’s off the leash,” she says. “I’ve never seen him like this. He seems…mean.”
I snort a laugh.
Rox was freedom once. She was also the fast track to blackout. I don’t know which memory I’m reacting to.
“You hungry, babe?” she asks, and my stomach gurgles at just the mention of food.
“Yes,” I answer.
She stands. “The food’s a shitshow in there, but I’ll try to grab something.”
And just like that, I’m alone again. But the water’s in me, and the pill is gently wending its way through my bloodstream, making my cells unfurl like tiny flowers.
The softer I get, the louder and sharper everything around me gets. The sun creeps higher, the ambient drone of voices and engines gets more pervasive. The crowd over at the airstrip is growing—spectators, riders, bikes in a constant stream. But weightlessness creeps in, slow and steady. It evens things out. The cage feels less like punishment. Maybe I like it in here.
By the time Rox comes back, music’s blaring from the strip. I imagine I can feel it in the ground, in my spine. Like it’s moving through me.
She’s not alone. Maze walks beside her, swinging a fat ring of keys from one hand. His hair is tied back, brown eyes crinkling warmly at the corners when he sees me.
“Hey, baby,” he says, throwing me a wink. “Long time no see.” He glances at the cage. “Didn’t think our reunion would look like this.”
He unlocks the padlock and pulls the gate open with a screech of warped metal. Rox is on me first, arms around my shoulders before I can react. Maze follows, one hand steady at my back, drawing me briefly into his chest.
I’m surprised to feel my arms moving too, folding around them, returning the hug. The pill is settling in, loosening everything—my muscles, my guard, the clenched place in my chest. My head feels lighter. So does the weight of the past.
Some part of me knows better. These are the people who got me strung out and then disappeared. But right now, that part’s buried. Everything feels softer. Like maybe they’re not as dangerous as I remember. Like maybe they never were.
“Billy wants you showered and dressed,” Maze says, twirling the keys once more. “Rox’ll get you cleaned up, find you something to wear, then we’re walking you in before the second set goes off, okay?”
Billy’s name lands in my chest like a stone. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be near him. But I want out of the cage more. And above all else, I need to know where Wyatt is. If he’s okay. If he’s even alive.
So I let them lead me over the gravel path and through the hangar doors. Walking is strange after so long sitting out on the gravel, but pleasant. My bones creak back into shape, my muscles snap back into place. It’s loud and busy inside—ridersshouting over each other at the folding tables, staff barking instructions about registration and safety. A cluster of O.D. members in matching vests patrol the entrance, one of them carrying a handheld metal detector, another checking gear bags. Everyone without a patch gets frisked.
A woman in an O.D. tank top hands out wristbands from behind a table marked with a bright orange sticker: PIT ACCESS ONLY.
I scan the crowd. Nothing familiar. No one I trust.
