***

CHAPTER 15

Blake Moreno Bowmen

***

He lost. How? BD was known to win a few races with that hideous car of his, but never when Blake or Rhodes joined. Even so, a cheering crowd was gathered around the vehicle as it revved in victory. Music blasted from a speaker system, a trap rap song deafening the crash of waves close by. Money got swapped around, losers swore loudly, and women clung to whoever was mad enough to place their bets on the Northern brute. Amber's familiar yelling came from the other side. She was shoved into a van by guys twice her size, and they drove off with BD following right after.

"This is bull!" said an annoyingly posh voice.

Blake looked over to where the East gathered by their cars. Their cyng vented at them, half sober now.

"It was a bet," their driver replied.

"Screw the bet! BD cheated! It's so obvious!" Rhodes continued.

"An early turn—"

"—is an early burn," the twins added.

For once in the pimp's life, he was right. There was no doubt that BD cheated. And the insult was worth his life.

Stomping footsteps approached, and Blake turned to an angry head of curls. He leaned against his vehicle. Further away from the others, the blue underglow of his car cast Lynch in a cold light.

"Blake, you're not letting them take Amber, right?" he asked.

Large brown eyes bore into the cyng's soul. Blake looked away. His lungs itched, but he would not smoke in front of the kid.

"There's nothing I can do."

"There's nothing you want to do!" Lynch corrected. "You're just too embarrassed to see her. I know how shy you get."

Blake's ears warmed, and he shoved the kid's head away.

"Shut up," he said. "It's not like that."

Where Lynch lacked in reading a room, he made up for in reading the cyng of the West. After everything Blake said to Amber and learning what she went through... He would rather face his mother.

"But... But they might hurt her?" Lynch pressed, curls drooping.

Since when did he get attached to the girl?

The rest of his kin showed up, all waiting for an order. Enrique, Calvin, Jack and Lynch. Nobody spoke, but their eyes said enough.

"If we can't keep this bet," Blake said, "who's to say we can keep the one with the East? Besides, the more I learn of Amber, the worse she gets. No todo lo que brilla es oro."

"YOU GUYS HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!" a voice bellowed.

Jessica Marigold stormed upon the West like an angel of wrath. She stopped right in front of Blake and shoved at his chest.

"You have to get her back!" she continued.

"Ave María, shut the fuck up, Jessica," Blake pushed her back. She was lucky he could not do more. What was it with these two Marigold girls walking all over him? If he could not handle these bitches, other bloodlines would think they could try their luck next.

Jessica had an icy glare. Even while trembling, she stood tall in her heels, turning to the group's fighter.

"Enrique," she said, softer this time. "Please."

Enrique Garcia looked like he wanted to die. The bulky guy had been in plenty of fights, but nobody could give him a pained expression quite like his ex. He turned to his cyng, head lowered.

"She's not wrong, Blake," he said. "We all know BD. He's going to... Do you really want sloppy seconds?"

"I don't care what happens to her, and I don't need to have sex with the girl to win the—"

Jessica was staring. If she knew about the bet, Amber would too.

"If you cowards won't help, I'll ask Owen," she said with a look that could give his mother a go. "I'm sure Amber would be eternally grateful to him," she added and stormed off to the East.

Blake's kin had a different expression this time.

"If we rescue Amber, it will surely earn you points," Calvin calmly explained. "You'll stand a better chance at winning. And not to sound harsh, but you could use all the help you can get. You're not the best in the romantic department. And besides..." Here it came. "If you prove BD cheated and get Amber back, the one who won the race would be you. You'll get that date with her."

Blake sighed. Calvin never missed a detail.

"Yes, please, Blake. Listen to the ginger!" Lynch pressed.

"Strawberry blond," Calvin corrected with a sharp look.

"Beanpole got a point," Enrique added.

"Just pile the insults on your first kin," Calvin grumbled.

The corner of Blake's lips curled. This was annoying.

"You guys do realise that getting her back means going into Northern territory?" he asked. "She's likely taken to Isabella. We'd have to fight our way in."

"What? You scared?" Enrique smiled.

"BD crossed us first. We have every right to go into Northern territory to retrieve the girl," Calvin said.

The idea of facing Amber drained the life from Blake. Even so, a weight lifted. He needed a night with her. Not to sleep with her or advance his standing in the bet, but to... make amends for tonight. Not apologise, of course, but tell her he knew what it felt like to...

Blake took out his phone, checked for messages, and sighed. The cyng of the West turned to the person who had stayed quiet.

"Jack, can you hack?"

"Lol, that rhymed," Lynch giggled.

The salty breeze brought a chill, but Jack did not seem to mind. Pale skin and bleached hair, in the blue underglow, he looked carved from ice. Wearing nothing but tattoos and chains under his tattered jacket, he stood perfectly still. Watching. The eyes of the group.

"There's plenty of cameras around," Jack said, cold and clipped. "I'm sure one of them caught the early turn."

"Then get on it," Blake ordered. He turned and walked over to the East, Enrique following behind. Rhodes was still going off at his kin, but the group tensed when Blake approached.

"If BD screwed us over, we have every right to go North and kill him," Blake said.

Rhodes eyed him.

"Can your hacker get proof?"

"Jack's working on it."

"What about Goldie?" he asked nonchalantly.

Blake smirked. The pimp sure could put up an act around her.

"Well, whoever rescues her first, gets her gratitude."

"It's a new race then," Rhodes mirrored his smile.

"Yes," Blake said, lighting a cigarette. "But don't forget, this means I won the race. I'll be sure to cash in on my night with her."

Rhodes tensed his fists, and Blake laughed, walking away with his cigarette dangling from his lips.

"I got the proof," Jack said as he passed.

The cyng of the West could always rely on his hacker. Jack was the one who figured out Amber's boyfriend was fake after all. If only he could mention her parents before Blake made a fool of himself. He shook the scowl from his face and approached a nearby car, hopping onto the bonnet and gaining the crowd's attention in an instant. Music softened, and all eyes turned to him.

"BD cheated!" he announced. "Nobody cheats a cyng. West or East. Let the next few hours be a lesson to you all. We ride North."

He stepped off the car and walked to his Alfa Romeo, getting in the driver's seat with his first kin in the passenger seat. The crowd was quick to disperse, everyone with a scar across their palm heading to their cars. They grabbed crowbars and bats from their trunks and buckled up.

Rhodes pulled up next to Blake and sent a nod. West and East were on enemy terms, but for tonight, they could set their differences aside. Blake floored the gas and led the pack.

Mostly forest with a few residential areas, the North was different from other territories. But the most critical factor was...

"The cross is coming," Calvin said beside Blake.

Unlike West, East, and South, the North had only one road to enter. One heavily watched road. Their greatest advantage.

Or it used to be.

"The North's gotten arrogant. We're not slowing down."

Calvin spun to his cyng. "At least let the kith go first! We don't know what kind of defence they have waiting!"

Blake sped faster, swerving right off the main road and onto the border. The turn came up ahead, and he swung left, speeding past the cross and into Northern territory. Stray shots sounded, but like the cyng expected, security was lax. He was not slowing down.

"What?" Calvin asked. "Are they focused on the bridge?"

The bridge was the last cross. Over a river and only wide enough for a single car, it was the perfect location for a trap.

"We'll be fine," Blake insisted.

The stone bridge came up ahead, and the cyng flew past with only a single guard in sight. Ahead, a looming forest flanked the road.

"This is too easy," Calvin said. "It doesn't feel right."

Blake snickered.

"The North's grown a big head. That Xavier is nothing but a con artist. He'll learn not to underestimate the rest of us."

As predicted, the road posed no threat. Tall shadowy trees zipped past as they raced and only once they neared the large iron gate leading into the estate did Blake hold back. He slowed down, and his kith barrelled ahead. Heavy reinforced trucks smashed through. Guards shouted warnings, but the vehicles flooded in. Northerners came running, managing a single shot each, before getting gunned down by men on the back of the trucks. Not risking parking too close to the mansion, they stopped in the middle of the road and got out.

Blake slammed his door and looked over to where Rhodes stepped out as well. The two cyngs locked eyes, then took their time up the driveway. The cyng of the West flicked his switchblade; the cyng of the East cracked his knuckles. Both of their kith rushed past and stormed the front door, breaking it open and smashing the guards with their weapons. Automatics flared in the night.

Blake strolled up the steps, stepping over the glass in the foyer and stopping in front of the stairs. He looked over, and Rhodes was there too. Downstairs first, their nods seemed to say. Rhodes headed to the left entrance and Blake to the right.

The cyng of the West entered a spacious dining hall with arched entryways and an elegant twelve-seater table. Moonlight peeking from the wall-length windows was the only provided light, a cold glow glittering upon crystal chandeliers. Northerners rushed into the room from the other side, unarmed this time, and charged at them. Blake dodged, plunged his knife into a man's shoulder. A cry tore as his attacker collapsed to the floor. With his long legs, Calvin could kick anyone before they neared, and Enrique finished them off with a brutal barrage of fists. Jack strolled behind, hands in his pockets.

"Jesus, Jack, can you lend a hand for once?" Enrique panted from the floor, fists bloody.

"My piercings could rip," Jack said, stifling a yawn. "Grandpa seems to manage."

"He's going to get tired soon. Just help out," Enrique argued.

"Twenty-one sure is old compared to you babies," Calvin grumbled, kicking a Northerner's teeth in.

They cleared the dining hall and checked the kitchen. Nobody. Not even a servant in sight.

"Hey, leave the food," Enrique called out to Calvin.

Blake's first kin was illuminated by the fridge as he got whatever leftover dessert the North had. He scowled at the group.

"Leave me be. I'm a growing guy."

"That's why my fridge has been so empty..." Blake thought.

"I've been tired of watching him tiptoe around the community house for late-night snacks," Jack commented.

"I do no such thing!"

"The cameras don't lie."

"Relax, Beanpole," Enrique said. "Everyone's got a weakness."

"Like Jessica?" Calvin shot back, and Enrique stiffened.

Blake left the kitchen and searched the rest of the right-wing while his kin followed along, bickering amongst themselves while still taking out thugs.

"Keep Jessy out of this!" Enrique snarled.

"Still not over your ex," Calvin teased. "Sucks to get dumped."

A Northerner ran up to them, and Enrique stepped forward, blocking their attack.

"It was a mutual decision!" he yelled, fist connecting with the thug's face for emphasis. The guy was out cold.

"That's not what your chat history says," Jack spilled.

"CAN YOU STOP HACKING INTO MY CHATS?"

They reached the music room, and Blake stopped. A grand piano stood in front of a large window. He went to check outside.

"She's not here," he said, turning to his kin.

"Maybe the bedroom?" Enrique suggested.

Blake's lungs tightened, his breath turning icy.

"Watch out!" Calvin called, but it was too late.

Blake turned as a Northerner speared towards him, tackling the cyng. They crashed through the window and landed in the garden bed outside. Glass and shrubbery cut his back, but his attacker took the brunt of the shards plunging down. It was too dark to see. Trapped, he sliced at the man on top of him. Screams ripped the young cyng's ears, but he kept hacking and carving until the man stilled, and he was slick with warmth. The feeling strangled him, and he scrambled away, pushing his attacker off. He stumbled to his feet on the pebbled path.

Blake looked up, wide-eyed, and his kin stared from the window. He instantly changed his expression. Pocketing his switchblade and mustering a warped grin, he showed a thumbs up.

"I'll get back through the front," he said and left them.

The cyng sauntered away, back straight, and only once he was out of view, did his legs give way. He crashed to his knees.

"Get off," Blake whispered, clumsily trying to smear the blood from his arms and hands. He only made it worse. The sight, the warmth... It was so familiar he could hear those cursed words ringing in his ears.

"It's up to you now. Make me proud, Little Brother."

Through the darkness, a glint of red shimmered across rings of silver. Blake stared at his bracelet, the steely wire coated in that warmth, and his insides twisted. He used the crook of his arm to stop from retching.

"Get off," he repeated, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face further. Steely strings coiled around his heart, pulling at him so hard he felt old wounds tear and rip.

He was fine. He was fine.

Rapid shots echoed.

The sound brought him back, and he looked up, the ringing in his ears gone. He staggered to his feet. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he walked on and rounded a corner that led to the driveway. There, in front of the house, a woman shot two men down. She spun around and aimed her gun at the entrance, where a man held his hands up.

"Whoa! It's me!" Rhodes yelled.

Blake stared as if the gun was pointed at him.

Below the entryway steps, Amber's aim was pointed up at Rhodes. The guy was soaked in a subtle glow, a contrast to the girl with her back to that moonlight. Her expression was shadowed. Unreadable in the dark. And although they were only a few steps apart, in that scene, the girl looked too far down to reach. Blake's fingers itched, but not for a smoke.

Amber lowered her gun. Dropped it.

"Sorry," she said.

"What the heck was that? Did I really just see you shoot those two men?" Rhodes asked.

"They're not dead."

"And the guys inside? Are they your doing as well?"

"Some of them," she shrugged.

"Who are you?" Rhodes asked, still atop the steps.

A breeze ruffled the spruce around, and distant shots died down. Amber stared at the cyng of the East.

Without an answer, he continued, "We're supposed to be saving you, and you just... walk out. Where'd you learn to shoot a gun?"

"My dad."

Rhodes huffed a 'ha', rubbing the back of his neck. He walked down the steps and said, "I'm unsure if I want to meet him now."

Blake moved without thinking.

"There you are, Cariño," he intervened, mustering a smirk.

Rhodes turned sour.

"Buzz-off, Bowmen. I found her first."

Blake ignored the pimp, walking over to Amber with calm steps. He reached out but pulled back at the sight of his sleeves and held his hands behind his back instead. The girl stared at his shirt.

"We have to leave before reinforcements arrive," he explained, shifting his weight. "The cars are waiting down the road."

"We haven't found BD yet," Rhodes cut in.

"He's out cold," Amber said.

Rhodes blinked.

"He's... he's what?"

"Out cold," Amber repeated. "Passed out. Unconscious."

Blake was gaping.

"Yes, but... What?"

The girl rolled her eyes. Hands in her pockets, she explained, "He came at me with a knife. What else was I supposed to do?"

Blake glanced over and shared a look with Rhodes. Neither of them knew what the other was supposed to think. BD was not a shitty fighter.

"Let's get you home," the cyng of the West said when nothing else came to mind. He turned and led the way.

"Shouldn't we call the—" The girl stopped herself. Her steps dragged after him, heels crunching on pebbles.

Rhodes was behind, and the three of them walked down the road with nothing to say. The cyngs both took out their phones, and Blake texted his kin to gather the men up. They were done here. The North was arrogant, but they were not to be underestimated either.

His shoulders sagged when he thought of his elder kin. They were going to have a field day once they learned about tonight.

Reaching the fleet of vehicles, one of Blake's cars swung open, and Jessica jumped out.

"Oh, my God, Amber! You're here!" she cried.

"Yeah, don't worry, I'm fine."

"No, who cares about your safety? Lynch cannot stop talking! Talk to me so I can ignore him, and he can eventually go away."

Lynch popped his head out of the car.

"Ey, I don't talk that much!" he said.

Jessica shot him a look and said, "You explained the scientific process of shampooing your hair for curls. And called it a theory."

Amber had half a smile.

"Hey, Lynch. You didn't join the fight?"

"Amber!" Lynch grinned. "Stupid Blake made me wait out here."

"You're too young," Blake interjected.

"I'm older than when you became cyng!"

The cyng of the West held his tongue. Amber's eyebrows quirked up, and she moved to get in the car with her cousin, but he stopped her, grabbing her arm. The girl's eyes instantly fixed on the gesture, and Blake pulled back. His bloody handprint stayed.

"I won the race," he said, but the girl's stare was fixed on her jacket. "Next week, Sunday. Be ready," he added and left.

The sight of that blood on her made the cyng's hands shake. He pressed down onto his left palm, dug into the burnt wound his mother left until the pain subsided his shaking. His feet managed to carry him to his car, and once he shut the door, his head slumped onto the steering wheel.

"Estúpida," he swore.

This very same night, Blake heard what Amber went through. If it was anything like his experience, he knew what he did was beyond cruel. Even for his standards. And the way she described her darkness... For the first time, he thought someone understood him. And what did he do? It might have been the first, but he knew it was by far the last time he would get blood on the girl.

Looking up, he stared at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. His hair stuck to his face with blood and sweat. His eyes were sunken. And the boy wondered if his existence had ever been good for anything. If this bet was a mistake. If Amber deserved better.

But it only lasted a beat. 

***