Page 42 of Total Carnage
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and angry, but I blinked them back. No weakness, not now. Raven Stansfield didn't break; she broke others. And right then, I vowed to shatter the world he'd built, brick by filthy brick. Vin wasn't dead, but my father's soul sure as hell was.
"Happy trails, kiddo," he'd said, the day he bought me my first bike. The wind had felt like freedom back then. Now, it was just another lie in the guise of a fond memory. My childhood was nothing but a carefully staged play—one where the villain wore the mask of a loving father.
"Fuck this," I muttered to myself, the taste of betrayal stinging my tongue. There was no room for softness, not anymore. Raven Stansfield didn't do soft. I was all edges and angles, the girl who'd learned to fight because tears were useless currency in a world run by monsters. I tugged on the door again, and again, it didn’t budge. I glanced at the ceiling and something in my head clicked.
I hoisted myself up, fingers finding the edges of a ceiling tile that had seen better days. With a shove, it gave way, revealing the dark belly of the crawlspace above. I didn't pause to second-guess the plan—there was no room for hesitation. The air was close and musty. Pulling myself into the gap, I ignored the protest of muscles still sore from the fight that landed me in this hellhole. The darkness clung to me like a second skin as I crawled. When I reached a grille and peered through the slats, the sight below twisted my guts into knots. Men worked with mechanical precision, chopping cow parts with the indifference of a clock ticking towards the end of a shift. The reality of what lay beneath me struck hard, and my body revolted. Vomit surgedup, and I heaved, the acidic bile burning my throat. It was a rookie mistake, one that cost me dearly.
The grille buckled under the convulsion of my retching, and I plunged through the opening, landing with a wet splat among the discarded remnants of once-living creatures. I lay there, dazed, covered in gore, and reeking of stomach acid—another piece of refuse in a room made for butchering.
"Fuck," I muttered, spitting out the taste of bile and blood. No time to dwell on the fall or the filth. The echo of boots thundering down the corridor was motivation enough. I scrambled to my feet, slipping into the mess, a vivid reminder of how quickly fortunes could change.
"Over there!" a guard shouted, his voice slicing through the cacophony of machinery and my pounding heartbeat.
Adrenaline flooded my system as I bolted for the windows, their grimy panes offering a glimpse of freedom just beyond reach. Gunshots cracked the air, a lethal chorus to the soundtrack of my escape. Pain exploded across my back, hot and searing, a thief come to steal my breath and strength. I stumbled, the momentum carrying me forward even as my body screamed in rebellion.
"Vin..." The name was a talisman, propelling me onward despite the agony that threatened to drag me into darkness. I focused on the light, on the thin line between captivity and liberation. It was a race against the bullet's kiss—a dance with fate I wasn't willing to lose.
The world tilted, a hazy tilt-a-whirl of grimy windows and blood-slicked floors. My legs betrayed me, buckling under the weight of the lead buried in my flesh. A ragged gasp tore from my lips as I clawed at the concrete, each breath a battle waged within my chest.
"Vin," I rasped, the name a shard of glass in my throat. It was all I could manage—his name, a prayer flung into the void. Hewas a ghostly sentinel in my mind. A spray of bullets chewed up the wall beside me, a staccato beat urging me to move or die. But my body had other plans; it faltered, succumbing to the crimson tide that spread beneath me. "Come on, Raven, you've survived worse than this," I told myself, but it felt like a lie wrapped in bravado. The shadows crept closer, seductive in their whisper for me to just let go, to sink into the cool embrace of oblivion.
"Live hard and die free," Vin's motto echoed in my skull, bitter and sweet—a reminder of what we'd lived and what we might never see again. I tried to picture him one last time—those penetrating eyes that had seen through all my defenses, the hard lines of his face that softened only for me. "Vin, I..." Words failed; there was so much left unsaid, so much love and rage intertwined like barbed wire around my heart. With a final surge of will, I pushed against the pull of darkness, reaching out for something—anything—to anchor me to the living.
But the darkness was a jealous lover; it wrapped cold fingers around my consciousness, bidding me to dance one last waltz. And as I thought of Vin, of the ride-or-die bond that tethered our souls, I let the night take me, hoping against hope that somehow, he'd feel the echo of my thoughts across the miles.
"Find me," I whispered into the encroaching black, a silent plea carried on my last breath.
Then everything went dark.
Vin
The night air ripped with the guttural howl of our Harleys as we tore through the forsaken quiet of Stansfield's meat-packing plant. Our bikes snarled and snapped, engines revving like a rabid pack set loose on an unsuspecting prey.
"Move, move, move!" I barked. My boots hit the ground running, the familiar weight of my leather jacket hugging me like a second skin. Gunfire erupted, a chaotic symphony to which we danced with lethal grace. I watched as my brothers engaged the enemy, their movements fluid and deadly, nothing short of warriors in this concrete jungle. The air stank of lead and fear, but I barely registered it—my mind was elsewhere, consumed by a single name that hammered in my chest: Raven.
"Vin, left side!" Moab's warning sliced through the din, and I turned just in time to see a guard aiming for my head. I moved—instinct, nothing more—and the bullet sparked off the metal doorframe beside me. Invulnerability wasn't a gift; it was a stateof mind, one I wore like armor as I plowed forward, deeper into the belly of the beast.
"Raven," I growled under my breath, the taste of her name bitter with urgency. Every fiber of my being was tuned to find her, to tear apart anyone or anything that stood between us. She was the reason I breathed, the reason I fought, and hell would freeze over before I'd let her slip through my fingers.
Another hail of bullets sprayed towards me, but they might as well have been raindrops for all the fucks I gave. My brothers covered my back, a symphony of gunfire and shouts echoing in my wake. I didn't bother to duck, didn't flinch as hot metal whizzed past. Fear was a luxury I couldn't afford, not when every second counted.
"Raven!" I roared, the sound a primal claim that echoed off the walls.
The air stank of blood and gunpowder as we tore through Stansfield’s fortress. "Clear!" Tank bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the cold concrete walls as another one of Stansfield's goons hit the ground with a final gasp.
We moved like a single dark wave—fluid, unstoppable. Our guns spoke the only language needed here, their reports sharp and deadly. Every cleared room left behind a tapestry of destruction, bodies slumped over tables and chairs, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
"Keep moving!" I snapped, the urgency clawing at my chest. “Raven!” The others followed my lead, but inside, I was a tempest. Raven's face flickered in my mind—a flash of her defiant eyes, the curve of her smile that spelled trouble. It spurred me on and fueled my recklessness. I didn't sidestep the next barrage of bullets; I charged straight through, feeling them whiz by like pissed-off bees. My blood sang with the thrill of it all.
"Vin, watch it!" Canon yelled, but I was already past caring. Each corner turned, each door kicked in, another second lost, another moment Raven wasn't in my arms. The memory of her sharp and wild laughter echoed in my ears, mocking the silence of the corridors that refused to reveal her.
The corridor ended abruptly, like the last note of a dirge—a locked door standing between me and whatever lay beyond. Raven's presence was a siren call bleeding through the steel barrier. I didn’t pause to consider the lock or look for keys. My hands clenched into fists, tendons stretching like steel cables as I hurled myself at the door.
"Open up, you son of a bitch," I growled, and my shoulder connected, metal screeching its protest against raw strength born of desperation. The second slam was a symphony of splitting wood and rending steel, the door finally giving way under the assault of a man with nothing left to lose.
The room beyond was a still-life nightmare. No guards to put down, no sounds of struggle—just silence, thick and suffocating. My boots thudded hollowly on the concrete, my heart pounding an erratic counterpoint. There, in the center of the cold floor, lay Raven, her body sprawled like a marionette with its strings cut. The sight struck me harder than any bullet could, sucking the air from my lungs and leaving a void no amount of rage could fill. I stood there, blinking. Not believing. All this fucking way after four years.
"Raven!" Her name was a prayer and a curse on my lips as I dropped to my knees beside her, my invulnerability a cruel joke in the face of her stillness. Her dark hair fanned out around her head, a contrast to the pale lifelessness of her skin. Those eyes that once burned with fire were closed, secrets sealed behind their lids. "Shit, baby, no..." I whispered, my voice breaking. A part of me knew I should check for a pulse, look for any sign of life, but my fingers trembled too much to trust what theymight find. In that moment, the world shrank to the space we occupied, the chaos of the raid fading into insignificance. Nothing mattered without her defiant spirit breathing life into it.
