Before I can argue more, he disappears into the darkness.
I run in the opposite direction.
The path between the shipping containers is narrow and uneven, littered with debris that threatens to turn my ankles with every step. My hands are still half-numb from being bound, and my legs feel like they belong to someone else after hours of sitting in that chair. But I force myself to move anyway, picking my way through the maze as quickly as I dare.
I duck around a corner and find myself in a small clearing between four massive containers. About a hundred feet away, I can see the gap in the fence that Kyle mentioned.
Just before I step into the clearing, a loud shot shatters the quiet.
“What THE FUCK!”
I throw myself behind the nearest container, pressing my back flat against the cold metal, just as Aaron stomps into the clearing.
My breath comes in ragged gasps that sound obscenely loud in the sudden silence. I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the noise, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.
A flashlight beam sweeps across the ground maybe ten feet from where I’m hiding. I press harder against the container, willing myself to melt into the shadows.
“Phoenix!” His voice carries across the salvage yard, that false calm barely masking the fury underneath. “There’s nowhere to run, baby girl. You might as well come out now before I get angry.”
I don’t respond. I barely even breathe.
“Make this easy on yourself. Come out now, and maybe I’ll forget about the extra trouble you’ve caused.” He pauses and I practically hear his teeth grinding. “Make me find you, and I promise you’ll regret it.”
The footsteps are closer now. Maybe twenty feet away. Maybe less.
“KYLE!” The name rips through the night like a gunshot. “Get your ass out here! NOW!”
My stomach drops.
I peek out to watch as another biker drags Kyle out from around a storage container and drops him at Aaron’s feet.
Even from this distance, I can see that the kid is shaking. His hands are raised slightly, palms out, the universal gesture of surrender. Whatever he’s saying is too quiet for me to hear, but his demeanor is pleading.
Aaron’s response is not.
“You think I’m fucking stupid, boy? Where the fuck is she? Where did you tell her to go?”
“I didn’t—I swear, I just?—“
The first punch catches Kyle in the stomach.
He doubles over, a whooshing exhale of pain audible even from where I’m crouched. Aaron doesn’t give him time to recover—just grabs a fistful of Kyle’s jacket and hauls him upright before driving another fist into his face.
The spray of his blood is nearly black in the darkness.
Kyle staggers and would have fallen if Aaron wasn’t holding him up. The other bikers have formed a loose circle around them, watching without intervening. Some of them look uncomfortable. None of them move to help.
“You let her go.” Aaron’s voice has dropped to something low and dangerous. “After everything I’ve done for you. Everything this club has done for you. You cut a million fucking dollars loose.”
Another punch. Another spray of blood.
I watch from my hiding spot, every muscle in my body locked in conflict.
If I run now, I might still make it. The guards are all focused on the spectacle in front of them. If I stay in the shadows of the storage containers, I might be able to avoid being noticed. I could slip through the gap in the fence, disappear into the darkness, find help.
But Kyle is taking this beating because of me.
The sounds coming from the courtyard are getting worse. Flesh on flesh, Kyle’s increasingly desperate attempts to shieldhimself, Aaron’s grunts of exertion as he works out his rage on a kid who weighs maybe half of what he does.
