My eyes opened to the sight of an angry snarl and twisted lips on Santos' face. Instinct told me to swing my fist and defend myself, but my wrists were bound together behind my back. Sitting on my aching knees, I jerked against the wooden pole running lengthwise along the center of my spine, keeping me in. The sun beat down on me, pulling me further from unconsciousness. And that's when an ache radiated up the side of my body, and I flinched.

"Welcome back!" Santos' raspy voice rang in my ear as he emerged from behind me. He definitely understood sarcasm as he clapped his hands in faux joy. "Good to see you awake, comrade."

Bearing the pain of my bad eye, I scanned my surroundings, trying to remember how I got into such a predicament. The wooden village that housed two dozen or so folk, the prison, and the loose gravel that dug its way into the flesh of my knees all meant I was back at camp, in the middle of the courtyard. And it hit me. I had willingly returned in a few hours' trek with Aiden and the two attackers, who I had previously helped escape from their imprisonment.

Upon returning, Santos and his friend had beaten me unconscious.

What had they done to Aiden? Where was Santos' friend now?

"Had a nice little vacation?" Santos grinned, folding his burly arms over his bloodstained shirt.

"Where's Aiden?" I didn't recognize my own voice as my dry tongue and busted lip distorted it. Many familiar faces surrounded me― some frightened with wide eyes and quivering lips― but none of them were Aiden. The dried reddish-brown blood smeared on Santos' shirt sent me to the worst conclusion. "You hurt him?"

"Who? Me?" Santos gasped, taking the sarcasm too far. "I would never." He walked toward the crowd and they backed away, keeping decent space between them and him.

So many questions cluttered my mind. How long had I been tied up and on display with the sun scorching my skin and blood seeping from the wounds I knew were there but couldn't see? What happened to me while I was out? What had the crowd witnessed that frightened them so much? What would Santos do with me now? Where was Aiden, was he okay, would I see him again?

My neck muscles strained to balance my heavy head, but it fell forward regardless. The muscles in my thighs ached and I squirmed. "I need water."

"He needs some water." The voice was familiar. I looked up to see the guy who had caused my eye injury, invaded the keeper's house, and escorted me back to camp as a bargain. "Just give him a sip, please." The lines above his brows dug into his forehead. Was he really concerned for my life?

"You wanted this," I managed to say.

"My family," the man said. "I couldn't leave my family. They need me." He pointed into the crowd, zeroing in on a frightened woman embracing two young girls.

"Back away, Jack." Santos warned the man as he puffed his chest out in an attempt to intimidate him, which seemed to work because he took a few steps backward.

"Gonna torture me?" I growled, not hiding my rage. "In front of them?"

"I'm being the leader you've failed to be." Santos' hair swayed atop his head. "Doing this is part of the job. Someone acts out and lets all the prisoners go, well, I have to punish them. They need someone who steps up and takes care of business. They respect me because of how I run things."

"They fear you." I glared, bearing the intense pain in my eye.

"Ah, same difference." Santos moved forward, so close the foul stench of his body odor acted as pungent smelling salt and accelerated my alertness. He knelt a mere foot away. "You're gonna be the example."

"What's wrong with you?" Images of Samuel and Christie popped into my mind to be erased by images of Aiden.

"I'm a bit cranky that I didn't get to hunt you down like I planned, but hey, Jack here was kind enough to guide your ass back here for me." I sensed the cynicism again, but it became apparent to everyone when he kicked a pile of gravel toward Jack's wife and girls. "Fucking family. Family, family, family." His fists tightened and the muscles in his arms bulged. "Everybody's reason for doing what they do is their fucking family. You know all about that, huh, Luke?"

I shook my head, not wanting to speak the truth about the only thing that kept me going. "You're the way you are because of family too," I said. "Because you don't have anyone to care for or someone to care for you. Now you're a monster, and I'll never be like you. I'll go crazy, I'll die before I turn into something like you."

"My family crumbled along with this shit world and here you are, moping around because you have no family either. Family, family, family." He laughed maniacally. "You're already crazy, running around this goddamned place, building camps, inviting people in, all to replace your family that you don't have. You're too sweet, too nice, too fucking friendly." He came close, his nose grazed mine. "I saw that folded picture you carry around with you. The one you stare at when you think no one's watching."

I lunged forward, imagining my teeth burrowing into the flesh of his nose, but the pole at my back prevented me from fulfilling my wish. He laughed, body heaving.

"Where's Aiden?" I yelled, throat raw and nearly hoarse from lack of moisture.

"On my shirt."

The sight of Santos' tarnished crooked smile boiled my blood. But as his words registered, my rage poured out like a wild beast. "Asshole," I growled.

Then before I could blink, his hands were around my neck, squeezing off my airway. Panic rang out in the crowd. Women screamed, the scurry of retreating footsteps crunched and churned the gravel. Soon all sound ceased and a rapid growing black fog  swallowed up my vision, eclipsing the sunlight.

There wasn't much I could do in defense, but tightened my neck muscles and hoped he didn't crush my windpipe. Not only was air trapped in my lungs, but my blood was unable to flow. My body set off alarms, and panic made me struggle. I twisted and jerked. Instinct told me to stand, but my feet never gained traction, resulting in me kicking and flailing like Santos' dying prey. Time seemed to decelerate. Sound entered my ears like a slowed down version of a sad song. I was sure all beyond my auditory senses had too, if only I could open my eyes to witness it, but sleep was taking me under.

Out of nowhere, Santos' grip disappeared. I coughed, struggling for air as my vision returned. Someone struggled to keep Santos in an awkward headlock as they thrashed and wrestled over the loose gravel. My vision returned fully, and I made out my helper's features. The strong shoulders, the tall, svelte figure.

Aiden! He was alive.

I wanted to yell at Santos and return the favor with my fingers around his Adam's apple, but all I managed to do was cough and dry heave.

"Now!" Aiden's voice rose over the chaos. My world became a blur as Santos' burly friend staggered into the courtyard, blood seeping from a wound near his hairline, only to be caught off-guard by a handful of the camp's men. The men carried boards, bricks, stones, and anything else they could use as weapons against my assailants. Soon the courtyard was immersed in a cloud of dust as the men battled it out. The roaring of voices as they shouted, blows as they landed, scuffling, shoving, gripping, tackling.

A pair of hands on my wrists took my attention. I looked over my shoulder at Jack as he untied me. I fell forward on the loose rocks, putting my hands out just in time to catch my fall. When I turned to meet Jack he had already moved on to help some of the other men get Santos and his friend.

More exhausted than disoriented, the vision of Aiden struggling with Santos was enough to get me to my feet. But when Santos got free of Aiden's hold, and threw a swift punch at the side of Aiden's neck, my adrenaline kicked in. In no time, I was there, punch after punch landing in Santos' ribs until he balled up on the ground. My hands went to his neck, fingers enclosed the muscles, and I squeezed in retaliation. My grip tightened and I bit my bottom lip until I tasted the familiar metallic tang. The sound that spewed from my lips, laced with rage but unfamiliar, was just as surprising as the pathetic noises coming from Santos. Then Aiden's palm on my shoulder and his voice in my ear lessened my anger.

"They look up to you," Aiden said through labored breaths. "Think about it, Luke."

Seeing Santos struggle for air, eyes wide, tongue hanging out of his mouth didn't give me the satisfaction I had thought it would. Besides, if I continued I would be no better than he was. I let him go and allowed Aiden to pull me to my feet.

"Out," I breathed, chest heaving. "Don't come back."

"I'll leave," Santos said through coughs. "I'll leave but― but I promise you, Luke, I will be back." He staggered to his feet and backed away, our eyes locked. I studied his scowl; his angry eyes transmitted his warning. Ignoring every pain in my body, I lifted my head high and lengthened my spine. No longer the broken, the pained, the wounded. I'd be ready for him. Every day, I'd be waiting. My stance and his glare was an unspoken promise between us. Finally, he turned and walked toward the tree line.

His friend followed, battered with cuts, scrapes, and bruises. As soon as they disappeared in the trees, I turned to see Jack embrace his wife and girls, proud and relieved smiles on their faces.

"Let me get you cleaned up." Aiden wrapped an arm around my lower back and led me to one of the small rooms, my former hole in the wall. I lay back on the corn husk cot and allowed Aiden to pour a steady stream of fresh water into my mouth. 

"Where were you?" I asked, looking up at the bruised and battered man whose wonderful sea-blue eyes caught the light and my attention.

"Old Brutus had me in one of the rooms." He wiped a cool cloth over my forehead. "I smashed him on the head with a rock and got away. Then convinced some of the guys to help me help you."

Stirring at the door snagged my attention, and I turned my head to see a few of the camp members peeking in on me from the entrance. "They forgive me for leaving?" I looked to Aiden for the answer.

"If they didn't before they sure do now." He swept his thumb over my chin below my busted lip. "Get some rest. I'll get you something warm to eat."

"What about you?" I asked.

"I'm fine." He nodded, assuring. "I'll be just fine."

"Thank you, Aiden." I closed my eyes.

"You said it again." His smile was apparent in his tone. His hand rubbed my chest and I sighed, instant relief. "You'll be okay, Luke."

I nodded. "You know they'll be back."

"I know, but we'll be ready. We'll all be ready and waiting."

Fingertips on my chin again and then they were gone. His footsteps receded as he left the room, urging the people who gathered around to let me rest in privacy. As soon as I was alone, I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the small picture I had held so close to my heart for so long. I swiped my finger down the familiar crease and over the worn edges, remembering the traumatizing heartache the picture had caused and how that heartache, deep pain, and sorrow got me through some of the most dreadful times in my life. Without the picture I would have given up, or worse, become a monster. The folded paper was the cause of everything that was broken inside, what I suffered to become the very person I became.

Now that Aiden was at my side, I no longer needed a reminder, a trigger, a defense mechanism of sorts. I gripped the picture at its corners and ripped it down the middle, overlapped the pieces and tore it again.

"What's wrong?" Aiden appeared in the doorway with a cob of steaming corn from the camp's pitiful crop. "You need rest. You need to get better."

I nodded and dropped the papers to the floor beside me. "Everything's better now."

Aiden was at my side almost instantly, picking up the pieces as he had done throughout our time together. "What is this?" He examined the bits of paper.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Yeah?" He flipped each piece over, scrutinizing them one at a time. "There's nothing on these. They're blank. So why are you ripping them up like its incriminating evidence or something?"

"Because I don't need it anymore." I stared at his infectious grin. It reminded me of the smile I always longed for in a tall, handsome man like Aiden. Or my figment, Samuel. How likely was it to someday have a daughter who'd be afraid of the dark and wake up tangled in Aiden's arms as we lay in bed?

Samuel and Christie had given me a purpose, helped me understand what others were going through, their commitment to family. They gave me my motivation, the hope that there was something to look forward to. Now Aiden was all I needed.

I never thought I would go full circle and return to the place I had foolishly abandoned. Thankfully, the people of the camp welcomed me back. And the way they greeted me was better than any greeting I had ever given. With everything in me, I'd show them they made the right choice.

Aiden's method of dealing with wallowing urged me to start a countdown. But instead of 5 minutes, thirty seconds was all I'd needed to put the past behind me and work on our future, Aiden and I, and us and the camp.

I never thought I would learn to trust and appreciate someone as much as I had grown to trust Aiden. There was still a lot to learn about my helper, and I looked forward to it. I owed him more than any man could give. More than my life. And I was glad for our adventure while it lasted. Aiden was wounded too, and that made him a good man. That made us perfect.

From now on, no more looking back. No more regrets, self-pitying or excuses. No more―

Time's up.

THE END