Page 25 of Kings Fear No One
My eyes remain on the window, watching Brody and Amos blow smoke. The final moment of my life. By the time they find me, I’ll be in a gory puddle on the floor.
Two.
The laundry truck sits outside the open door, the engine running. Its hum will be the last sound I’ll hear other than my pounding heart.
One.
The path ahead is clear. There’s no one standing in my way.
I dig the wood in deeper ‘til I’ve punctured my skin. One more push will really do it.
Now’s my chance.
My mind flips on a dime. I make a snap decision that’s unexpected even to myself. But my body rushes into motion of its own accord. I sprint toward the door, diving into the pickup truck. Behind the steering wheel, I shift gears and slam on the gas.
Brody and Amos look like they’re about to shit themselves when they realize what I’ve done. The cigarettes tumble out of their mouths. They scream at me and open fire. Shots that land nowhere as I speed away, crashing through the wired fencing.
By the time any of the guards are able to hop in another truck and hit the roads, I’m long gone.
I haven’t had a single thought or drawn a breath.
I’m blacked out, operating in a trance. It hasn’t even registered—I’m free.
Miles turn into hours turn into a plum sky and then twittering morning birds. I drive ’til I recognize the highway and the cities on the signs. Pulsboro comes up, letting me know another fifty miles. The truck’s running on fumes when I click my turn signal and cross through familiar roads.
I find the saloon. The house out back where the patio’s full of club members, new and old.
I approach as everybody’s busy celebrating. People take notice as I pass them up and they look like they’ve seen a ghost.
Mace is chatting up some girl when he finally sees me. The color drains from his face. Then it hits him.
I’m back from the dead.
8
LOGAN
Returning to the real world is a mindfuck after you’ve been in captivity for years. The slightest sounds and movements set you off. Everybody everywhere feels like a threat. You no longer trust your own judgment or perception of reality.
It all feels like some sort of simulation.
I don’t adjust well. I’m aware of this from the moment I first set foot on club property and dozens of eyes flick toward me.
The dead man walking back into normal life.
So many things have changed since I was gone. So much that it’s damn near impossible to process. Instead of trying to, I retreat to what I know, focusing on the only purpose my broken life has left: revenge.
The destruction of the man and his followers who did this to me.
The same people who still have captives they use and abuse… including the woman I promised would escape with me.
Everybody thinks I’m insane for how hard I push to put together a mission. They thirst for revenge after what’s been done to me, but want to go about it smartly, strategically. Take their time so they can figure out who and what they’re dealing with.
I allow for none of that, making it clear if they don’t come along, I’m going alone. I’m taking out Abraham and the Chosen Saints as an army of one.
“We need time,” my younger brother Mace says. “A plan to map out.”
“We need to act,” I snap. “Now.”
