— Chapter 60 —
Dog Fight

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N O A H

I'd always been a firm believer that everyone was capable of dying twice.

Once at the very end, and once after losing everything.

I'd died once before... and sometimes, when I closed my eyes for long enough, I could see it. A pool of water. Drowning. Drowning, and yet never completely dead. And sometimes, when I felt that water seeping into my lungs and ghosting along my fingertips, I was reminded of what dying felt like.

Cold.

Lonely.

Quiet.

For a moment there, I'd convinced myself that there was no coming back. That once you lost everything, you lost yourself—and you could never be the same again. Because a part of you was gone. The same part of you that could feel love and laughter and happiness... and all that remained afterward was a hollow vessel, empty and broken. A shell.

I killed my old self, but the new me was never better.

There's a kind of freedom in being dead. In having nothing left to lose. For one, change didn't bother me like it used to—things came and went, like they always came and went, but it didn't matter anymore. People, places, material things... none of it mattered. The word living itself lost meaning. We're all dead in the end, I used to think, so what's the fucking point? Who cares?

But something was different. On those asphalt roads, in that race... something changed.

For a small, fleeting moment... I didn't want to die.

Somewhere, somehow, I found myself thinking that if I just passed one more turn, got through one more corner, and avoided those civilians without getting us all killed... then it would be okay. It would be okay, because I'd get another chance to see him again. To apologize.

Elliot was in my corner. For the first time in a long time, I had something to lose. And I didn't care about living so much, but for god's sake—I didn't want to die either.

I can suffer through it for a while, I supposed.

For him.

Coming into the last corner of the track they'd laid out for us, I'd been holding strong ahead of the other riders. Two of them had fallen behind, with one colliding into a wall and the other toppling his bike to avoid a passing car.

They played on the aggressive for the whole race.

Of course, they didn't have the speed on their bikes that mine did, but they made damn sure not to give me any chances to pass them. Anytime I got too close they would veer into my way and break-test me, fighting tooth and nail not to let me in front.

If only I'd realized that the game was rigged.

Midas cheated.

I thought something was off when the drones didn't follow us into the tunnel. Things were fine on the first hundred yards in; I managed to hang onto first place by the skin of my teeth. But I didn't even get halfway through that tunnel before one of the idiots behind me veered their front wheel to my rear.

Our two bikes toppled. Mine hit the cement wall. The other turned into scrap metal as it skid to a stop on the asphalt, and I didn't register that I was lying in the middle of the road until I found the strength to pull my helmet off. The last motorcycle halted not far ahead of me.

I thought it was an accident at first. That shit had gone wrong, or that someone had gotten themselves killed.

I didn't realize it was a setup until I felt myself being dragged up off the floor.

They didn't even give me a chance to react as a leather-padded fist collided with my face. Another rider hunched me over to shove his knee in my gut. Coughing up blood, I was lucky to hear them snapping at each other over all the buzzing in my head.

"Hurry up," one hissed. "If we don't kill him, we don't get fucking paid."

His stocky partner scoffed. "Why's that old man want him dead anyways? I thought he wanted this stupid shithead to win."

"Who cares." The first man beat his fist into the side of my jaw and pulled a gun from the back of his pants. "Stop struggling."

I thought for sure my nose was bleeding. Something was definitely bleeding. They didn't let up off the blows and they didn't waste time pulling their punches. My energy was gone. I could have let them kill me, sure, and I could have let them have their way... but I just didn't.

In fact, I think I nearly killed them.

"Get his arms!" the stockier one yelled.

I slammed my helmet into his head. The biker veered back at the force. He had his helmet on, so I figured all he suffered was a little confusion, but it bought me enough time to shove the other rider down and knee him in his tinted visor. It shattered. He pummeled his fist into my side, conveniently the same side where my stitches had recently been removed, and his friend got the privilege of striking my jaw with the palm of his hand.

"Don't you shoot that fucking gun!" the other hissed, knowing full well he was in the line of fire. If only his buddy had bothered to listen.

I heard the firearm go off and jolted with adrenaline. Alarm bells were ringing in my brain. The bullet didn't hit me—not that I knew of at least, but for a second there I thought for sure I was a dead man.

If only my father could see me now, getting my ass absolutely handed to me. No doubt he'd have been shaking his head in disappointment. Thought I taught you better, kid, he'd say. What did I tell you about fighting dirty?

And I'd answer that there was no such thing as a dirty fight. You either live or die... and you only get one chance to choose.

Fighting for a breath, I ducked beneath an oncoming fist and maneuvered behind the first attacker. Tackling the gun out of his grasp, I kicked it a good distance away before it hit the floor. Hooking my arm around his neck and pulling his chin up over my shoulder, I pressed down on his throat until I was sure I'd cut off the last of the poor fucker's air supply. I elbowed him in the side—once, twice, three times—and shoved his mass onto the other oncoming biker.

I didn't give them the chance to get their shit together. My hand struck the stockier biker's jugular. His friend took a grip on my hair and figured he'd pay me back by putting me in a headlock, and the stocky biker came up to finish the job.

Instead, I kicked out—twice, exactly. One foot got the bastard right in the groin. The other kicked him across his helmet. When I saw his head bounce off the floor, I knew for sure he wouldn't be coming up for a while.

Fuzzy black spots stained my vision. Digging my fingers beneath the last rider's arm and elbowing him in the side, I hit the back of my head against his nose and fought to get air into my lungs for long enough to stay conscious. With his grip loosened, I let him feel my weight and dropped myself down, hunching him over in the process and throwing him onto the ground.

The biker groaned. I kicked the helmet off his head and pulled off my leather gloves. Standing over his body, I pummelled my fist against his jaw until I couldn't tell whether the blood on my knuckles was his or mine.

His face was battered and mangled and fucked-up... but at least he wasn't dead.

That wasn't a blessing he was prepared to give me.

"Tell your mother I send my condolences," I muttered, wiping away the blood under my nose. "Poor woman's never going to recognize your fuckin' face."

Leaving them to writhe on the asphalt, I groaned against my pain and went to find the gun discarded on the road. It felt foreign in my hands. Wrong. Burning... like I had acid in the grooves of my fingers. The silver metal of a bullet stared me right back in the face when I checked the gun's chamber.

Midas wants me dead.

Those four words hadn't truly registered in my head up until that point. With my body a wreck, I dragged myself to the nearest functioning motorcycle and lugged my battered ass on board.

He threatened the Stray Dogs. He threatened Elliot—and he almost had me killed.

Midas changed the game.

Ripping into the road, I got myself out of that tunnel and found train tracks waiting for me on the other side. Whatever this place was, it was secluded and from the looks of things, abandoned. Part of it met the shore of commercial docks, and part of it was surrounded by hills to keep the place out of view. Aside from the tunnel, a few severed train tracks and a gravel road, there weren't many ways to get in and out.

Of all the places to race, they picked the hardest one to find. I wished that I'd thought of it. That I'd found it sooner.

"Here they come now!" The faint voice of an announcer carried through the air. Coming up on the crowd, I watched people shove and push and claw their way to catch sight of me, their yelling a mind-numbing drill in my ears. "Who is that coming through the other side? Lord-fucking-almighty, who the hell is coming through that tunnel? Could it be? Is that—?"

He didn't get to finish.

I pointed the gun in my hands to the sky and fired.

I'd only fired a gun once before in my life. I knew how to load them, how to clean them, how to assemble and disassemble them... but I hadn't ever used one since my father died.

It was a jolt to the system. Everything stopped. My muscles tensed, my head emptied, my chest contracted and my lungs were devoid of air—I still gasped for it anyway. The faint echoes of a single round of gunfire looped over and over in my head. My hands trembled, and I could feel blood on my fingertips from where I was clutching my wounded side. There was a good chance I was having a panic attack.

People were screaming. People were a blur. I watched them running in all directions, worrying for their lives, but I didn't move. Not once. Not until the crowd around me dispersed enough for me to understand what I was looking at.

To my right, backed by security with submachine guns pointed my way, stood Midas, grinning like a feral fucking cat.

Chains was the real surprise. Standing a few yards down and holding a Glock in his hands, I watched his yelling get drowned out by the panic of the crowd.

But he wasn't calling for me. He was gesturing to something in the distance.

To the left of my vision, not far from where Midas and his security were standing, I caught the flash of a Stray Dogs jacket. Its wearer was curled over with their hands covering their ears, big eyes peering out beneath pale-brown hair.

Elliot.

Just like that, the world went sideways. I saw Midas and the armed guns behind him. I didn't think; I didn't care to. Acting on my reflexes, I climbed off that fucking motorcycle and went running Elliot's way.

I had to get to him first. I had to get him away from this mess. I had to keep him safe.

He found me.

"Noah!" Elliot called, basically running into my arms. I hadn't realized just how much I missed the sound of his voice.

"I'm here, I'm here." The words tumbled out of my mouth between broken breaths. "Are you okay?"

He frowned, "Me? Noah, you're bleeding!"

I watched him do his best to carry some of my weight, hooking his arm beneath mine. He patted my cheek and felt around with his hand, trying to find my injuries. "That bad, huh?" I wheezed, canines sticking out of my smirk.

"We have to get out of here," he stammered, ignoring me. "Before they—"

My head shook quickly. "No," I insisted. "I can't leave yet."

"They've got guns!"

I gripped his hands and gave him a desperate glance, silently pleading for him to listen. Chains was coming up on us in the distance.

"Elliot, go with Chains," I told the pretty bartender, clasping his gentle fingers beneath my own. "Get out of here. Get out now. Please."

I could see the panic swarming through those darling eyes of his. "What?" he stammered. "But we can't just leave y—"

I cupped his cheeks and drew in a breath.

"Trust me, Alley Cat," I pleaded. "Go. I'll be okay."

His hazel irises wavered for just a brief moment before finally giving in. I watched him run off with Chains in the other direction just as Midas and his security were storming my way.

"Drop the gun!" One of his goons yelled, watching me through the sight of his weapon.

I grumbled under my breath and kicked my gun away.

"Hands behind your head!" They barked again. I could hardly process the instruction.

Midas clapped his hands together. "What a fantastic race that was!" He jeered. "How on earth you managed to survive is beyond me, truly!"

"I won that race, Midas, and whatever's in those bags is coming home with me."

Midas laughed as if he found the notion absurd. "You didn't win anything. That prize money is for people who succeed fair and square."

"That race was rigged from the start and you know it. You're only sorry I didn't cross that finish line in a goddamn body bag."

"You're accusing me of cheating?" The gangster scoffed, amused. "An audacious claim."

I wondered, "Is it all about the money to you? Did you think that you could fool some gullible people into betting heavy on me just so you could profit when your boys turned me to roadkill? Is that it?"

He raised a brow and contemplated it for a brief moment.

"Like I said on the night we first met—it's just business." He shrugged. "Skin-deep. And you, my friend, are just an obstacle."

"And Sage? Was she another obstacle or did you just buy her off?"

"An obstacle, no. That charming young woman just knows a good business venture when she sees one, and it never hurts to have friends with connections. Suffice to say... not everything revolves around you, Edge."

Sadly enough, I wasn't surprised by his answer. Sage always did have a tendency to let money and business rule over things like ethics and loyalty.

I drew in a breath.

"You're getting people killed, Midas."

He shouted back, "So what?!"

The switch in his demeanor forced my mouth shut.

"Boston is no different from any other city in this god-forsaken country!" he spat. "It's crooked, right down to its dirty cops and the biker clubs that run its streets. You might think there's something here worth protecting, but all I see is a crime-infested swamp with too many mouths to feed."

My brows pressed together. "So you think your version of 'population control' is doing everyone a favor?"

"People die every day! What difference does it make whether it's sooner or later?" He gritted his teeth. "I'm not evil, son. I just offer incredible odds. Ordinary individuals come here to bet with pocket change and walk out with thousands. All the money in these duffle bags goes back to the people in one way or another—people like me, who never knew where their next meal was coming from or if they'd be able to sleep with a goddamn roof over their head. And from what I hear... that used to be you, Edge. Your family."

My stomach caught in my throat.

My fingers itched. My skin crawled. I had a million thoughts in my head and every one of them was as disgusted with him as the other.

I spoke, "The people you're killing have families of their own. They've got parents, siblings, kids... people that depend on them. You don't have the right to decide that their lives mean nothing."

He laughed into the air.

"What the hell do you care? Tell me—why does any of this matter to you?" Midas barked. "You've lived the last ten years of your life wanting to die, and yet here you are, trying to protect the lives of others. Tell you what—there's a fine line between stupidity and hypocrisy my friend, and you'd be surprised at how often the two go hand in hand."

My fists clenched by my sides. "Your ends don't justify your means, Midas. I won't let you hurt these people."

His grin tugged to each end of his crooked face, devilish eyes slicing through me.

"I won't let you stand in my way."

The roar of a heavy engine echoed in the background. Midas' lackeys, with their guns still aimed for me and ready to fire, inched closer. I sucked a breath in through my teeth.

Well, you fucked that one up, I thought to myself, taking a few hesitant steps backward. Not the worst way to go.

Midas snarled at his security. "For god's sake, somebody shoot him!"

I blinked my eyes closed, expecting a downpour of bullets to come my way. A deep breath filled my lungs. Sounds of exploding gunfire reduced only to flat, monotone ringing.

It's so loud. My hands felt like they were burning. There's blood on your hands. The darkness around me began to form shapes—shapes of old furniture and a faceless silhouette bleeding out onto a carpet racked with cigarette burns. Look at your hands.

Get out of my head.

My thoughts screamed back, Look at your hands!

Racked with terror, I forced my eyes open, too panicked to question how I was even still alive to do it. The furniture had evaporated and the silhouette was gone. I was hunched down to the ground with my hands were mere inches from my face...

...and they were splattered with blood.

My blood.

"What the hell are you waiting for!" a voice howled over the gunfire. "Edge! Edge, get in the fucking car!"

Reality hit me like a fucking freight train.

A wall of smoke was circling around us, plumes reaching for the night sky and blinding the faint shadows of Midas' oncoming security. Their guns flashed a hundred bullets a minute. Shielding me from the onslaught was a four-door sports car—and Chains was sitting halfway out of its passenger-side window, firing bullets of his own from a standard-issue handgun.

He screamed again, "Get in the car or we're all fucking fucked!"

My legs moved on their own. I tugged open the car door and stumbled inside, only to be forced back into a leather seat once the car burst into movement. Squealing tires damn near rendered me deaf. "Go, go!" I managed to catch Chains yell.

There's so much blood on your hands. Don't you feel guilty?

Gentle palms grazed my cheeks. Crimson blood poisoned the grooves of my fingers. A voice cried, "Noah, are you okay? Oh, please—tell me you're okay."

I whispered, "Get out of my head."

A shock of cold splashed down on my skin before I could fall unconscious. Water. I lurched up in my seat just as a familiar woman's voice ordered, "Not yet! Sleep when you're dead!"

Sage?

I was seeing everything in high resolution. We were in a sports car. Sage was in the driver's seat with one hand on the steering wheel, and the other holding a now-empty plastic water bottle. Chains, beside her, had his arm out the window whilst firing at the enemy behind us. His ammo didn't last long.

In the back seat with me and covering his head, Elliot.

"What the fuck!" I called, trying to piece together whatever the hell was going on. Bullets were piercing through the windshield, and glass was flying over our heads. "Sage, what the fuck are you doing?"

She spun the car around and kicked it into high gear. "Go-karting," she deadpanned. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing? Saving you three fools!"

I hissed to her, "Whose fucking side are you on?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Chains interrupted. "Haul ass, Princess!"

Sage floored the accelerator and nodded to an incredibly pale-faced Elliot beside me. "Why did you bring the goddamn bartender? Are you trying to get yourselves killed?"

"I'm right here?" Elliot stammered out, pressing his brows together.

Chains caught me glaring at him in the rear-view mirror and sighed. "Don't look at me, man," he said, "Ms. Monopoly over here was the only option we had."

I shook my head and shouted to the Stray Dogs in the car, "I thought I told you both to leave me behind!"

"We weren't about to let you be killed!" Elliot cried out, pressed flat against his corner of the car. "Can we slow down?!"

Perfectly calm, Chains confessed, "Speak for yourself, man. I was ready to cut our losses. Had a real touching eulogy planned out for you and everything."

Sage scoffed, "You pointed a gun at my head and yelled at me to go back for him!"

"Hey, hey—going back was Elliot's idea." Chains shrugged. "I just took it upon myself to make his argument more convincing. Even if it was a goddamn suicide mission."

I asked Elliot, "You were coming back for me?"

He choked back his own panic.

"You can't ask me to let you be killed!" The bartender's voice broke with every word. "Don't ever ask me something like that! I can't, I can't—"

"You could've been hurt!"

Gunfire was an echo hidden behind the roaring of our engine. Elliot shouted back in a desperate panic, "Can we argue about this when we're not all about to die?"

"Nobody's going to die!" Sage countered.

Chains put his hands together in prayer. "Oh, God," he said. "We're all gonna die."

"NOT HELPING!" the rest of us yelled.

Driving the car into the tunnel, I listened to our squealing tires and the gunfire splitting my eardrums. Our windows were shattered, some of them gone completely, with glass shards littering every inch of the interior. Stray bullets rattled under our feet. Faint headlights were all that illuminated our path.

My gaze caught on Elliot. He was focusing so hard on calming his breathing that I lost all resolve to argue with him in an instant. My hands reflexively found his—they'd been clenched so hard that his knuckles had gone white.

His terrified hazel eyes snapped up to meet mine, and for a small moment... they didn't look so terrified.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

He didn't get the opportunity to answer.

"Sage—" Chains suddenly said, pointing to the road ahead of us—"Sage, look out!"

Sage, Elliot and I focused our attention down the dark tunnel. Something was standing in the middle of the road—someone. And we were heading up on them way too fast.

I finally realized.

Someone was standing in the middle of the road, unmoving, completely unbothered by the car hurtling his way. A young man with a scar over his eye, a neck tattoo of a spider, and a gun. He stood there with the weapon in his hands pointed right to our shattered windshield—and the wound in my side began to burn in familiarity. Terror shot through my system.

Horrified, I screamed out to the others in the car.

"Everybody get down!"

I threw myself over Elliot as the stranger started firing bullets through the gap that had once been our windshield. Our car swerved. Whether it was to avoid hitting the stranger altogether or to save the three of us from getting shot to death, I didn't care. The sounds of gunfire dulled my senses—I was seeing double, the ringing in my ears burning through my head.

Sage must have slammed her foot on the brakes, because the car lurched to a stop.

The man bellowed, "Out of the car!"

My breathing was shallow. My hands trembled as they held Elliot's panicked figure in my arms, his face buried into my shirt from the sheer terror of it all. But he was still breathing—he was okay.

Trying to gather my senses, I called out for Chains.

"I'm good," the biker wheezed in reply. "Fuck, Edge. You really know how to make a guy feel alive, you know that?"

"Get out of the car!"

Only the stranger didn't give Elliot a chance to obey. Yanking open the door to his side of the car, the tattooed gunman snatched the back of Elliot's shirt and dragged him out of my grasp onto the road. I wanted to fight, but the familiar gun being pointed at my face froze me in my place.

I watched the stranger shove Elliot away from the car. With his gun raised, he kicked Elliot's knees back and forced him to kneel down on the asphalt. I tore myself out of the car as the guy yanked the back of Elliot's hair and forced the barrel of the gun to the side of his head.

"Let him go!" I hissed, finding some balance on my feet.

Chains followed suit and climbed out of the car, steam seeping from its bonnet. Sage's coughing was faint in the background.

"I warned you," The stranger told me, nodding to the gash in my side. "I warned you to stay away from here and you didn't listen."

Elliot forced his eyes shut and tried to stay calm. The gun digging into his head had left his face contorted into one of terror. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest—he was going to die. If I didn't do something now, he was going to die.

It didn't make any sense. It wasn't like all the other times I'd had guns put to my head—for once, I was shaken to my roots. Because I didn't value my life like I valued Elliot's. My own life meant nothing to me. His life meant everything.

And for that, my soul cried out at the thought of him having to lose it because of me.

"Let him go," I repeated to the stranger, holding my hands up to convey that we meant no harm. "He's got nothing to do with this."

The young man with the scar over his eye stuck his gun in my direction, and I found myself letting out a relieved breath that it wasn't being pointed at Elliot anymore.

Gun still in the air, he scowled, "I'm on orders to have you shot on sight."

I shook my head.

"You don't have to kill anyone," I said as I inched closer. "You're just a kid tied up with the wrong crowd. Let him go—we can help you."

"It's you or him," He spoke, ignoring my efforts in favor of yanking Elliot's hair again. "Come with me, Edge. I'll shoot these two dead if you don't stop wasting my time—and I promise you, I won't have a moment of hesitation."

The stranger's composure was becoming strangely unnerving. There was no fear, no variation in his tone of voice, nothing that conveyed emotions of any kind. Whether he was just obeying orders or inflicting terror on people for a sick sense of enjoyment, he didn't seem phased by what he was doing.

Elliot's voice cut through the air.

"Han, let us go!"

Trying to loosen the stranger's grip on his hair, he thrashed desperately to be freed, but the stranger didn't budge in the slightest.

Han... finally, a name. But why the hell did it come from Elliot's mouth?

Elliot pleaded, "Han, please. You don't need to do this. Just let us go." Han clenched his jaw and put the gun back to Elliot's head, forcing his silence.

There was no mercy in those unforgiving eyes. He would shoot Elliot if he had to. And for a kid as young as him, you had to wonder just how hard he'd been pushed to have reached a lack of conscience like that.

But before the situation could escalate, a footfall of leather heels approached behind us.

"What a show."

Sage, dusting off her hands and clothes, had a humored smirk crossing her lips.

Han pressed his brows together. "Sage? I—"

"That was a $200,000 car you just shot to bits," she sighed, interrupting him. "Unbelievable."

Han clenched his jaw while conflict poisoned his stance. "What are you doing? You know Midas wants him killed."

She ignored him and blinked tiredly at the bartender in his grasp. "Let him go, Han."

Han, who'd been so resolute on his decision to cause us harm only moments ago, faltered at her order. "But—"

Sage cut him off before he could continue. "Whether you listen to me or not is up to you," she said, her eyes flicking briefly to Elliot. "But... I doubt you'd want to incur the wrath of a retired police officer, the councilman's son, and... half a biker gang."

The snide comment toward the end made Chains grit his teeth, but he said nothing.

Han's attention shifted from Sage to Chains and I, then to Elliot. Finally, with a look of frustration, he let out a huff of air and shoved Elliot away. The relief had to have been showing on my face—only Han didn't plan on freeing the rest of us so easily. His gun quickly pointed to me, ready to fire. And from a distance like this, I knew he wouldn't miss.

"You can let them go too," Sage mentioned, as if she were reading his mind.

He glared at her and gestured his gun to me. "Have you lost your mind? You expect me to let this bastard go? Midas would have us—"

Sage smiled.

"I owe them both a favor," she said simply, "so consider this as them cashing in. You have about five seconds to get that gun out of my sight."

Han didn't move his gun. Instead, his scowl turned to me. It felt like he was imagining it now—succumbing to the desire of firing a bullet into my skull, and watching the life drain out of my eyes.

But as his boss's smile began to disappear, Han finally put the gun down. Sage fixed up one of her curly buns and chuckled. "Good dog."

Elliot, who'd been too terrified to move up until this point, scrambled to his feet and put distance between himself and the stranger—the same stranger he appeared to know on a first-name basis. I took hold of Elliot's arm the second he was close enough for me to do so, helping him stand steady on his legs.

"Go," Sage told us. "Get walking. I doubt you have much time before they come through here."

I glared. "We're taking the car."

"You're not taking anything," she snapped. There was something strange in her tone, like she was warning me. "The car's staying here."

I ignored her and turned my attention to a shaken Elliot. Sage rolled her eyes. "Get in the car."

Elliot didn't need to be told twice. Chains followed suit, lowering his arms once he was sure the danger had passed. But as he was heading for the car, Sage gave him a charming glance and licked her glossy lower lip.

"Not even a kiss for me, Sammy?" She asked.

Chains—Sammy—bared his teeth at her as he passed, puffing out the collar to his black jacket.

"Not even, Princess."

Sage smiled at the comment. With Chains and Elliot back in the car, she tilted her head to me. "My sincerest apologies for the hassle, Edge," she said, feigning innocence in that icy stare of hers. "I'll make sure my friend here learns a lesson for his disobedience."

Her friend—Han—paused at the words. Whether they were some kind of a threat or the promise of cruel punishment, it seemed as if the kid went pale from hearing it come from her lips.

I looked from him, to Elliot and Chains in the car, then back to Sage—pulling her aside until Han was out of earshot. "Something else I can help you with?" she inquired.

Under my breath, I professed, "I need more."

She paused to raise a stunned brow. For a moment, all she offered me was a stare and choking silence. Just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore, she finally uttered, "You're out already?"

"Who cares?" I grumbled. "Do you have it or not?"

"It's because of the nightmares, isn't it?" she imposed. "They're back, aren't they?"

I said, "Fuck off. You're a dealer, not my therapist."

Sage tore her arm out of my grasp and glared at me. "I offered you Blitz as temporary solution. You used it back then, and it worked, then you got clean. I only gave it to you this time because I thought you could handle yourself. It wasn't an excuse for you to go junkie-trash on me."

My answer was bitter... cold.

"You owe me."

She observed me and took in a long breath, trying to read whatever she could from my demeanor. I could see her nose flare and the conflict in her eyes. I could also see her shoulders drop once she finally gave in.

"I'll have someone drop it off in the morning," she decided, conceding to my wishes. "But you better make it last this time, Edge... because as of midday tomorrow, I'm having you blacklisted."

My fists clenched at my sides. "Blacklisted? You can't—"

She cut me off and adjusted her jacket, voice sharper than a knife.

"Consider us even."

I caught her passing Elliot a glance before she walked away. My teeth gritted together—I didn't call after her.

Han's stare didn't falter as he reluctantly moved himself to the side of the road. But something about him was different. That emotionless expression of his wasn't there anymore. Instead... his eyes looked plagued with trepidation.

I got into the back seat of the car in silence. Chains, now our designated driver, started the car with a roar of the engine and got us moving through the rest of the tunnel.

By the time any of us looked back, Sage and Han were only specks in our rearview. That didn't fill me with as much relief as I thought it would.

"Are you both alright?" I asked Chains and Elliot over the roaring engine. "Nobody's hurt?"

"I am," Chains grunted. "Emotionally."

Elliot and I appeared to share the same brain, because we both muttered, "Shut up, Chains."

Alley Cat was bundled up in the seat beside me, keeping his focus out the window while taking deep breaths through his nose. His nose and cheeks were flushed red from the cold, and he kept fiddling with his fingers. He still hadn't spoken a word—I broke the silence first.

My voice was colder than I intended for it to be. "I thought I told you to leave me behind."

"I saved you," he muttered. "You're welcome."

"You could have been killed, don't you understand that?" The question was full of frustration, and my volume was beginning to let slip. "This is serious, Elliot. Someone held a gun to your head. I could've lost you."

Elliot scoffed and sat up in his seat. "How could you expect me to just leave you behind?"

"I'd rather know you're safe than have to watch you be killed!"

Chains, who was changing gears up the front, complained to himself. "I hate it when mommy and daddy fight."

I ignored him. Idiot. My attention narrowed solely on Elliot. "And that kid back there—Han—when did you plan on telling me that you knew him?"

"I met him when you first sent me to find Sage. I didn't... I didn't know he was..." Elliot stuttered, only to cut himself off midway. "He just works at the store with me."

"And you didn't think to tell me that?" I frowned in disbelief. "So... what? I told you I was shot at by someone with a scar and a neck tattoo, and that just flew over your head, is that right?"

"Don't yell at me."

I clamped my jaw shut.

Elliot's eyes quivered for a moment, and I found my anger reflected so clearly within them—disappearing only when he turned away and sunk into his seat. His chin trembled, and his arms wrapped around his torso. My stomach sank. I'd touched a nerve.

"You're right," I whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Elliot. You couldn't have known what you were walking into tonight."

Elliot bit his cheek and refused to face me.

"Look, you just... you scared the shit out of me, alright?" Carefully holding onto his hand, I confessed dizzily, "We spent all night together at Lucille's to barely sharing two words to each other ever since—and you could've died, just like that. No second chances."

He frowned as if he were trying to make sense of the words I was saying.

His hazel eyes finally met mine. When he spoke, it was with a kind of gentle softness I wasn't sure I was ready for. "You could have died."

"It's kind of in my job description," I said lightly.

Chains caught the reflection of us holding hands in the rear-view mirror.

"Wait, wait. You two..." he trailed off, sticking his head into our conversation. Attention sweeping rapidly between us, I could see him drawing the conclusions in his head. "Wait a goddamn second... you two?"

I gave him a look. "Keep your eyes on the road, shithead."

Chains slapped his forehead. Collapsing in the driver's seat from the newfound realization, he breathed, "Oh, everything suddenly makes so much more sense."

Elliot looked at me from the corners of his eyes and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"No." I shook my head. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess. Just... are you okay?"

He nodded quietly.

Chains cut the tension in the car by sticking his spare hand out to Elliot. A shit-eating grin played on his lips.

"Well," he began, "nice to finally meet you, Vacuum Cleaner. Gotta say, big fan of your work."

Referring to the spot on my neck where Elliot's hickey was beginning to fade, Chains' words somehow broke apart Elliot's pensive exterior. He paused in contemplation of the biker's words. There was shine in his eyes, then a small tug on his lips...

And finally, he laughed.

A slow, light-hearted laugh, as pure and as gentle as his usual tone of voice. And dimples.

Elliot just couldn't seem to help himself, and that humor seemed to extend past him alone. I found myself succumbing to a chuckle myself.

Then, all three of us were laughing.

It was a much-needed moment of humor, I figured. And Elliot was here, by my side... laughing, safe, and okay. That alone alleviated half of the tensions that had been weighing on my shoulders since this entire mess began.

Elliot passed the silver-haired biker an amused glance and teased him in return.

"Whatever, Sammy."

=||A/N||=

It gets worse.