"Learned that from you, Bo," Jo called over his shoulder, grinning through a mask of blood.
I was too busy to reply. Harley had circled behind, coming at me with the switchblade drawn, eyes wild.
“You think you’re a big man now?” he spat. “All grown up, with a new master and a pack of lapdogs?”
I felt the old fear rising, the one he used to carve into my bones. But it was different now. It was a fuel, not a leash.
He slashed at my face, fast and low. I caught his wrist, twisted, and drove my knee into his ribs. He grunted, but didn’t drop the blade. He came back, elbowing me in the temple, hard enough to see stars.
Then his arm wrapped around my neck, pulling me off balance. I thrashed, digging my heels in, but he was strong—stronger than I remembered, or maybe I was just tired.
He hissed in my ear, “Told you I’d always find you, Bodean. You’re never getting free.”
I bit down, hard, on his forearm. He yelped, loosened his grip, and I used the moment to whip my head back, catching him right on the bridge of his nose.
He reeled, blood streaming from his nostrils, but the switchblade never wavered. He raised it, ready to end the fight.
That’s when Jo tackled him from the side, a freight train of muscle and rage. They went down together, but Harley rolled with it, coming up on top. He buried the knife in Jo’s shoulder, twisting it.
Jo didn’t scream. He just grabbed Harley’s wrist, wrenched the knife free, and drove his head into Harley’s face, again and again, until Harley’s grip faltered.
I scrambled for the knife, found it on the ground, and came up with the point at Harley’s throat. Jo pinned him, one huge hand on his chest, the other holding his broken arm behind his back.
Harley gasped, blood pouring from his mouth, but even then he wouldn’t shut up. “See?” he coughed, “This is what you wanted all along. You wanted someone to hurt you. You wanted someone to make you—”
I pressed the blade until he gurgled, cutting off the words.
“Never again,” I said, not sure if I was talking to him or myself.
The world went quiet for a second. Just heavy breathing, the sound of blood dripping on the porch, and Ma’s skillet landing with a dull thunk on the last standing biker’s head.
Knox stalked up, gun still drawn, and leveled it at Harley’s temple. Ransom and Quiad flanked him, both bruised but upright.
Jo looked at me, eyes softer than I’d ever seen. “You okay?”
I nodded, though my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He let Harley go, and Harley slumped to the deck, coughing and sobbing. “You’re done here,” Jo said. “If you come near him again, there won’t be anything left for the cops to find.”
Harley curled up, all the fight gone.
The family gathered up, Ma at the center, holding her skillet like a trophy. Knox holstered his gun and put an arm around her shoulders.
She glanced at the blood on my face, then at the knife in my hand, and smiled. “Well, at least now we know you boys can handle yourselves.”
Ransom laughed, then immediately winced and clutched his ribs. “Next time, warn me before you start a bar fight in the front yard, Ma.”
Harlow checked the pulse on the biker he’d choked out, then shrugged. “He’ll live.”
Quiad just started dragging the bodies into a neat pile at the end of the driveway.
I looked at the mess—the porch, the yard, the way the lights flickered off the broken glass and splattered blood. It felt like the aftermath of every dream I’d ever had, only this time I was awake and it was over and nobody was dead.
I let go of the knife. Jo caught my hand, squeezed it tight.
“It's done,” he said.
I nodded, dizzy, but I believed him.
