Page 104 of Wrath

“How far d’ya think it is back to shore?” I ask Wrath as he starts the engine and takes hold of the wheel.

“5, maybe 5.5 miles.” Wrath gives it a guess as he steers us back toward the marina. I spend the next few minutes staring at the boy in front of me and wondering what choice he’s gonna make.

“How about now?” I wait until the marina is in view.

“2 miles, just under,” Wrath calls out.

“Can ya swim?” I take my knife out again, slicing through the ropes that are wrapped around the prospect’s ankles.

“Um, kinda,” he answers, looking up at me nervously.

“Take this just in case.” I pull one of the life jackets from the locker and use the kid's prospect cut to lift him to his feet.

“Wait, no! There’s sharks in this water!” He shakes his head as I cut his wrists free and help him into the jacket. “You can’t throw me off here. I…I’ll leave Long Beach, I’ll leave Cali, you'll never see me again. The Reapers won’t find out what ya did. I promise.” Grabbing the life vest he’s now wearing, I move him to the side of the boat and guide the front of his body over the edge so he can watch the foamy waves smash against the hull.

“We don’t need your silence, kid.” I shove the scrawny prick hard in the back and send him overboard.

“You think he’ll take the message back to ‘em?” Wrath asks, looking back over his shoulder and laughing as the kid bobs up and down in the wake behind us.

“Fucker’s gotta make it back to shore, first.” I take a seat and relight the blunt.

We both thank Marshall for lending us his trawler when we get back to the marina and head toward Wrath’s houseboat where I've left my bike. As we walk around the corner, I freeze when I see a huge poster pinned to one of the lampposts. It was dark when we left the dock at 3 am, so I would’ve missed it. But it’s there, plain in front of me now.

“What’s up?” Wrath stops when he realizes I’ve hung back.

“Nothin’.” I shake my head, keeping my eyes fixed on the poster. There’s only one traveling circus I can think of that passes through here, and it’s the one Wrath’s sister left with.

“Ruck, what’s gotten into ya?” Wrath laughs at me, and when he follows my eyes and sees for himself, the smile drops from his face. He’s been trying to get hold of Freya, to tell her what happened to Willow, for weeks now. The number we have for her is disconnected and in all honesty, I don’t think he’s too mad about that. Not being able to contact her means he ain’t gotta suffer the pain of breaking the news.

“Guess you just found your way of lettin’ Freya know about Willow,” I tell him.

“If she’s still with ‘em, who knows? She might have moved on. She could be anywhere in the world right now.” I ignore the sting that that puts in my chest and shake my head.

“Ya, comin' for breakfast or not?” I move on from the subject and keep walking to my bike and when Wrath's phone goes off again, he smirks when he checks it.

“Another fuckin’ selfie from Eden?” I roll my eyes and try to distract myself from the fact Freya could be on her way back to town. I should never have let her fuckin’ leave the first time.

“Yeah…I think I’m gonna take a rain check on breakfast.” He pulls his eyes off the screen.

“Are you kiddin’?”

“Sorry, man. But if you were lookin’ at what I am, right now, you’d do the same. I’ll catch ya later.” Wrath races off down his wharf, leaving me to walk the rest of the way by myself and when I hear a loud shriek, followed by giggles coming from inside his houseboat I can make a pretty good guess at what that picture was of.

I get to my bike and, seeing a flyer tucked into the windshield wiper of the car parked behind me, I snatch it up and scrunch it in my hand.

Freya passing through here should be a good thing. Cliff is dead, Wrath is home, it would be good for them to reconnect. After the loss of Willow, he could sure do with having her around. Yet all I feel is fuckin’ anger. I don’t want Freya back in Long Beach, she’s bad for me, and yet as I get on my bike and head back toward the club, I make sure I take the route that passes the old truckers' yard where they usually set up.

Only a few trailers are parked in the huge, open space. The roustabouts are already hard at work erecting the big top and I park up and watch them from the cliff edge. Being up here is reminding me of how I felt sitting in this very same spot and watching her leave. It was the first time I ever felt real fuckin’ pain, and I didn’t understand it all. Being here now, makes me realize that that pain never really went away.

I spend far too much of my time trying to distract myself from it. Every member of the club has his role. I can be the reliable one, I can be the funny one. I can be the one who has a different fuckin’ whore every night. I just can’t be the one who fell for his best friend’s little sister.

Freya leavin’ the club should have been the best thing that ever happened to me. It should have given me freedom from my thoughts, but instead, it cut me open. It’s kinda pathetic, considering the two of us never agreed on anything.

I restart my engine and move on, heading back to the club so I can get myself something to eat. It’s still early, I doubt there’ll be anyone up yet, but I don’t wanna go home. Being home will make me think of her again and I gotta push that shit to the back of my mind

I pull through the gates and park up, then heading through the arch, I pick up one of the plastic chairs that's fallen on its side and stand it straight. The place looks empty, and Polly must still be asleep because she ain’t propped open the clubhouse door to get rid of the stench of stale booze like she usually does. I’mmaking my way toward it when I notice a trail of blood running across the ground toward the pool pit, and as I follow it I almost choke on a fly when it lands on my fuckin’ mouth. Shooing it away, I glance over the edge and look to the bottom, and what I see makes me back the fuck away.

“Shit!” I quickly pull out my cell and call Raze, and while I wait for him to answer, I take another look to check I ain’t seeing things.

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