I dial Dominic on speaker while Sava cuts plastic.He answers on half a ring, engine noise behind him.“Cassius.”
“Storage lot under Faith,” I say.“Two down.Six survivors.”
Silence, then his voice goes hard.“Understood.I’ll bring the van and two ol’ ladies.”
“Bring blankets too,” I add.“Water.And clothes if you have them.They’re all soiled.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Dom” I say, and hang up.Sava is already moving, calm and contained.She swings the rear doors wide and starts shepherding them one by one.“You’re safe.Step down.Watch the edge.”
I thread my jacket over the smallest shoulders until she stops shivering.She can’t be more than eight and it makes me wish I'd shoved my knife up that fucker’s ass and pulled it out his throat by the blade.
Headlights rake the lot.Dominic’s convoy.
I tip my chin at the bodies.“Tell your boys to scrub the cameras on the way out.I’ll have Adrian do the same for good measure.”
He nods once, voice for the girls now.“Hey, sweetheart.We’ve got you.We’re going somewhere warm, okay?”
Sava meets my eyes over a knit cap being tugged down.“You taking them?”
“You go,” I say, returning my blade to its home at my hip.She nods.Locks click.Doors open.Bike engines turn over.The women Dom brought start pulling out clothes and every man in Dom’s club turns their back.I follow suit.Sava helps and in minutes they’re all in dry clothes.I watch six lives blink back at me, one by one, as they’re loaded.It doesn’t kill the web, but it frays a strand.Tonight, that’s enough.
Once the girls and women are all safely loaded, and the taillights disappear, we finish the mess.Dom’s men roll the truck behind the storage units and I strip anything that could point to me or Sava, making sure there’s nothing left to find.Detective Blake won’t tie this to me because there’s nothing to hold, but I’m not taking any chances.We salt the ground with flames, and leave the ash off the bodies to the wind.
“Is my break over?”Faith asks, crossing the lot and lifting a white Styrofoam box.
“Yeah,” I say, taking the box.Heat bleeds into my palm; lime and cilantro punch through diesel and ash.“You didn’t see me.”
“I never do.”Her gaze flicks past my shoulder, reads the quiet where noise should be.She doesn’t ask.She never does.“Thanks, Cassius, for pushing that shit outta sight, not leaving the lot a mess.”
“Anyone comes bothering you about that, find a way to call me.”
She taps theFAITHplacard back into place, checks her little cathedrals of glass with a practiced sweep.Nothing moved.
Faith tucks a curl behind her ear, leans in just enough for her gold bangles to sing.“Thank you for the lunch break.”
I crack the box.Carne asada, heavy on the lime, extra radish slices.I eat standing there under the billboard until the last thin threads of smoke pull apart on the wind, then flip my visor down and head for the street.
“Thanks for the tacos,” I say as I pass Faith.“Stay safe.”
I point my Harley toward home and make it three lights before the itch starts.Tap, tap, tap at the knife on my hip.I tell myself I’m going straight home, taking a shower, and sleeping.I miss the turn anyway.
I peel off onto a side street, then again, and now I’m rolling past Silver State instead of my driveway.I don’t slow.I don’t look.I feel it look at me.A clean little glass box across from our warehouse.I take the corner, circle once, tell myself I’m just making sure I wasn’t being followed home.Second lap.I try to fight the compulsion but realize I’m playing a losing hand.I stop in front of the building.Even if she’s in there, I won’t see her unless she comes out.
My fingers itch to text her to come out.Let me see you, just for a second.My pocket’s empty, because my phone’s at home proving I’m still in control of this mess.It’s late.I hope she isn’t here.I hope she’s home, asleep, not under fluorescent bullshit and a security camera.
I take the long way back, and pull into my garage as the door is lifting up.I kill the engine and hang my helmet on the hook by the door that leads into my kitchen.I ditch my boots just inside, and my phone’s already ringing by the time I step inside.
“You’re thinking about her,” Sava says before I can say hello.
“Which one,” I ask, because we both know there are two in my head.The woman under the streetlight is a wound I can’t stop touching, and the woman on my phone is my only solace.
“Both,” Sava answers.She’s the only person besides my brothers who gets to talk to me like this.“It’ll never work Cassius.Not with either of them.You’ll only make yourself bleed.”
“I’m not bleeding.”
“Not yet.”
