Page 27 of Haunted

“I prefer the term’ morale officer,’ “Knox counters, dramatically bowing. “Someone has to keep things interesting while you three brood in corners.”

Vane crosses his arms, leaning against his motorcycle. “Interesting is one word for it. Catastrophic is another.”

The familiar rhythm of our banter settles me. This is how we’ve always communicated—sharp words hiding genuine affection, insults masking the unspoken truth that we’d kill or die for each other without hesitation. In our world of blood and shadows, these moments of normalcy keep us grounded.

“Speaking of catastrophic,” I say, wiping my hands on a rag, “how’s the Hunt preparation coming along?”

Knox’s expression brightens. “The other masks arrived this morning. Pristine and terrifying, just how I like them.”

“Terror is only effective when applied properly,” comes a quiet voice from the doorway.

Landon enters. While the rest of us command attention through the force of personality, Landon’s power lies in his stillness. His Ducati Panigale V4 is the only white bike among our machines—clean, elegant, and deceptively dangerous.

“Look who finally emerged from his lair,” Knox teases. “Did you run out of books to read, or did the silence finally driveyou mad?”

Landon’s mouth quirks slightly. “I was updating our surveillance systems. Someone needs to ensure we don’t all end up in prison because you can’t stop sending dick pics on unsecured lines.”

Vane barks out a laugh. “He’s got you there.”

“One time!” Knox protests, throwing his hands up in the air. “And it was a very artistic shot.”

I shake my head, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility ease slightly. This is why we survive—four broken pieces forming something stronger together than apart. Our humor isn’t just a coping mechanism from losing our mother so young; it’s armor against the darkness we both fight and embody.

I shrug into my leather jacket, the material familiar against my skin like a second layer of armor. Around me, my brothers are doing the same—Knox with dramatic flair, Vane with his competitive gleam in his eyes, and Landon with quiet focus. There’s a ritual to these moments before we ride, a silent acknowledgment of the freedom waiting beyond the garage doors.

“Last one to the ridge buys the first round,” Knox challenges, already pulling on his gloves.

I don’t respond to the childish taunt. I never do. But I feel that familiar spark of competition ignite as I fasten my helmet, adjusting the strap.

The garage door rises with a mechanical groan, revealing the darkening sky—deep purples bleeding into fading orange as sunset sinks at the horizon and twilight falls over Ravenwood. Perfect riding conditions. Minimaltraffic. Maximum visibility. Reduced police presence on our usual routes.

I throw my leg over my bike, settling into the seat. With a flick of my wrist, the key turns and the engine awakens with a thunderous roar—raw power vibrating through my thighs and spine, reaching deep into my chest where tension finally starts to unravel.

We ride out one by one, a procession of gleaming machines. The formation is instinctive, with me in the lead, Vane flanking right, Landon left, and Knox bringing up the rear, where his unpredictability causes the least disruption.

The first stretch of road is still within city limits. Buildings blur at the periphery of my vision as we accelerate, weaving between sparse evening traffic. But it’s when we hit the coastal highway that everything changes.

The road opens before us, a ribbon of asphalt hugging the cliffside. To our right, the ocean stretches endlessly, reflecting the dying sunlight in shattered fragments of gold. The wind tears at my jacket, creating resistance. I push through with nothing but wrist movement and body weight.

This is the only place I truly relinquish control. The empire I’ve built requires constant vigilance, meticulous planning, and iron discipline. But here, leaning into a curve at one hundred and twenty miles per hour, there’s only instinct and reaction. Physics has become my only master—a relationship far simpler than the complex web of alliances and threats I navigate daily.

I open the throttle wider, feeling the surge of acceleration push me back against the seat. My brothers match my pace, our engines harmonizing into a song of power and velocity. For these precious minutes, we aren’t the fearsome Blackwood brothers ruling Ravenwood’s underworld. We’re simply four men chasing the horizon, outrunning our shadows.

I push the bike harder, feeling it respond instantly to my command. The connection between man and machine is an alliance I’ve cherished since I was fifteen—the first time our father let us take out his old motorcycles on the back roads of our estate.

Knox was thirteen then, barely able to reach the pegs but insistent he could keep up. He crashed within twenty minutes, grinning through a bloody lip and declaring it “fucking worth it.” Even then, he embraced chaos like an old friend.

Glancing in my mirror, I catch sight of him now, performing a needless wheelie despite the cliff edge mere feet away. Some things never change. Knox operates on impulse, making him both our greatest liability and our most unexpected asset. His unpredictability has saved us as often as it’s endangered us.

Vane rides differently—calculated aggression in every movement. He takes curves with confidence, always finding the perfect line through any obstacle. In business, as in riding, Vane sees patterns others miss. Where Knox is chaos, Vane is strategic fury—a weapon I’ve learned to aim with care.

Landon remains the enigma, standing back slightlyand observing everything. While Vane acts and Knox reacts, Landon analyzes. His quiet counsel has prevented more disasters than I care to admit, but deep down, he’s the most fucked up of all of us.

I remember the night our father died—the four of us riding until dawn, no destination in mind, just the need to outrun grief we weren’t equipped to process. We returned as the sun broke the horizon, and a kind of peace in the chaos of our family solidified between us. Whatever came next, we would face it together.

I signal to pull over at Eagle Point, the overlook offering a panoramic view of Ravenwood.

We remove our helmets in unison, the silence between us comfortable until Knox breaks it.

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