Page 57 of I'm Sorry

“They will always be your family, but no, Benny. Just no. You can’t come back. You are doing so well in Northgate, making a life for yourself, getting an education.” He doesn’t get it.

“Weston, I couldn’t keep her safe… with the background I have, I couldn’t keep her safe. I haven’t figured out who or why there was a hit put on her, but whoever it is hired Chaos to take her out. What the fuck does that mean? Why? Why Lennox Ford? She’s never hurt anyone.”

“You never could have known, nor would you put that together.” His practical delivery still doesn’t change my mind. He’s trying to go at this logically and while I appreciate that, I’m too far in my head and the bottle to listen to him.

“That’s the thing, it’s ingrained in me. I should have known.” A while ago, we turned sideways, both of us leaning against the wall and stretching our legs out before us. I let my head fall back against the unforgiving wall with a thump.

“Does her father have enemies?”

A guilty thought I’ve had since the attack is riding up into my conscience. “Do you think it’s because of me? Something from my past?”

Wes sits up and swings his legs beneath the table as he thumps his fist on the top of it. “No, Benny. This was a direct hit. You know how these things work. They wouldn’t come after your girl or your family without a warning first,” he insists.

“Things could change. All of these organizations can do whatever the fuck they want.”

“But they don’t because all of them, even Chaos, know that isn’t how shit works. They don’t want a war. Regardless if you defected, everyone knows you don’t mess with what was once Danica Dark’s.” That is true, but with the way things have been going for the Sinners and Devils and their battle with the Rogue-whatever-they-call-themselves, I wouldn’t put it past them to pull something like this. I explain that to my brother, but he doesn’t think it holds any merit.

“They’re focused on turf, not vendettas.” That makes sense, but with the state I’m in, nothing is going to ease my mind. Fucking alcohol. This is why I never used to drink, because it solved nothing and always made me feel worse, like tonight. But then again, I am well past the point of catching a good buzz to ease my mind.

“Benny, look, I know this hurts.” His voice quivers and it makes me curl in on myself because my brother is infallible and doesn’t show much emotion. He isn’t cold, just not a softer kind of guy. “I know how much you love your girl. But you can’t come back. I need you there and safe, looking after yourself. You will find her. I know you will. But you’ll do it the right way and if you need the Devils tobackyou or to help when you do find out where she is, we will be there. But youcannotcome back to this organization. I thought I was doing right by you when we were younger by bringing you here, but I was wrong, and now that you’re out and safe, I won’t let… I can’t lose you, baby brother. I just fucking can’t.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE

TRACE

It’s beenfour months since we lost her.

I’ve always said there is something freeing about being on a bike, hauling ass around a track.

But true freedom is deciding for yourself.

Those decisions have landed me here.

Don’t get me wrong, I will always love my bike, but I’m afraid my father and losing Knox has completely ruined my joy of racing Superbike. I want nothing to do with it. Do I still want to race competitively? Yes. The drift scene caught my attention, swiftly and accurately. It feeds the need in me to compete and when I started winning… Well, that was the end of that.

In the four months since we lost Knox, I’ve certainly caught the attention of the Hellions. Through loyalty and sheer determination, they’ve named me their junior enforcer. I’m not thrilled with the term “junior”, but I understand I’ve only been here for four months. It helps that I picked up drifting so well and am already winning competitions, in turn winning them money in the street drifting circuit.

Will I go legit one day? Maybe. But I’m afraid I’m already addicted to the life that comes with joining the Hellions. There is no other freedom like this. At least none that I’ve found. Even being low in the ranks, the rush… is like no other. The power that runs through your veins is unmatched.

Is that a good thing? Probably not. Did I ruin my life by giving it to the Hellions? To be determined. But I’m convinced nothing can possibly be worse than what I’ve already endured.

I’ve just come off the track, ending an amazing practice run. Well, it was amazing, but I still have some work to do. It’s raining like crazy and rain isn’t something I have faced all that much in my short career. I know this track well, but with the surface slick, it’s as if I’ve never been on it before.

When I come to a screeching halt and yank up the e-brake, Spencer, my apparent new best friend and personal guard, leans his forearms on the door frame.

“That was a great follow, brother. The door tap, fucking stellar. But I’m telling you right now, you don’t get more angle on that lead coming around the back sweeper, they’re not going to give it to you.” Spencer is only trying to help, but I want to tell him to fuck off. I got away from my father for a reason. I don’t need my friend in my ear telling me I’m not good enough as well.

The big difference between drifting and bikes is speed doesn’t help you in drifting. Style, angle, spacing, and fucking judges… I hate judges, but whatever. It hasn’t been that bad. Despite anything we’ve done thus far, not being a truly sanctioned event, there doesn’t seem to be any favoritism or cheating. When you’re betting on races, people tend to honor truths. There is a lot of money involved in these sorts of events. Also, a lot of gang members and people willing to kill for the slightest infraction. If you want to live through the end of some of these events, then it’s best to remain as honorable as possible.

I have no reason to cheat because I’ve found another thing I’m good at. Do I get a lot of dirty looks and people that think I’ve gotten it easy, or am getting special treatment because Ilya is like a father to me already? Yes. I sure as hell do. Do they steer clear of me? Also yes. I’ve gained quite the reputation as well. I’m not the biggest guy around, having maintained a lean build because heavy people don’t win Superbike championships. But muscles are no match for guns, anyway.

“I know. And I’ll get there,” I say, my bass-like voice strained from the vicious flashbacks of my times working on my father’s team.

“Hell yeah you will.” Spencer isn’t one to smile much. They’re rare. But he gives me a ghost of a smirk as he pats me on my shoulder. Little does he know just how much those four words of encouragement ease my soul.

The rumble of my S15 cuts out when I hit the kill switch. Not everyone here has a car fitted out to pro specs. There are a few who all end up racing one another repeatedly, but most of us have street legal cars that have been modified to help us on the track. Keeps it interesting. The guys on my crew race around me and my car as I exit the driver's side, asking a million questions about how it felt. I tell them everything they need to know, then make my way to the appropriate concessions to use the bathroom and grab some water.

I’m not quite in the big leagues just yet and don’t have a proper trailer. There is a small one for me to relax in, but it is often filled with my brothers. Ilya is in there now, conducting business and passing out orders. It’s what he does in between his own heats. The line for the bathroom is a little backed up, but whatever. Events like these are neutral ground—a meetup of all the local gangs in the area. That doesn’t mean that fights and shit don’t break out, but you can’t just openly attack. The only way we make money at this is if we all coexist.

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