Page 92 of Wings
"I know," Alex said quietly. "I know."
The office held five people and about a thousand pounds of history. Brothers by blood facing off across choices that couldn't be undone. The weight of my new patch pressed against my shoulders, reminder of oaths sworn just minutes ago.
Duke let the silence stretch until it sang with tension. Testing us all, reading the angles, calculating odds like the wartime commander he'd never stopped being. When he finally spoke, his words would reshape all our futures.
"Let’s talk details," he said. "Let's see what kind of ghost you're trying to become."
Alex stood in the center like a penitent, papers spread across Duke's desk with shaking hands.
"Thursday night, 11 PM," he began, voice gaining strength as he fell into the familiar rhythm of operational planning. "Houston connection sends their payment north in a modified Escalade. Two bikes for escort, another follow car with soldiers. Standard convoy setup."
His finger traced routes on a hand-drawn map, surprisingly detailed for someone whose brain was half-melted from whatever cocktail kept him functional. "They take Highway 47 toavoid weigh stations, then cut through industrial district. Right here—" he tapped a junction, "—they stop at Stanton warehouse. Used to be a furniture distributor, Serpents bought it through a shell company two years ago."
"I know the place," Thor rumbled. "Cameras everywhere, only two access roads. Suicide box if they lock it down."
"Except they won't." Alex's smile held no humor, just the bitter knowledge of someone who'd watched his death approach in slow motion. "Thursday night's when they divide the Houston money. Venom, Tomb, and Slash meet there to take their cuts before it goes to the mother chapter. They keep security light because too many bodies draw attention, and who's stupid enough to hit three Serpent officers?"
The room digested this. Venom would be there. The Iron Serpents Prez. He’d been dark for months. The tactical advantage sang like a siren song.
"Guard positions?" Duke asked, all business now.
Alex produced another paper, this one a rough blueprint marked with X's and times. "Two at the main gate, always prospects trying to earn their stripes. Two more roving the perimeter on fifteen-minute cycles. One sniper on the roof—usually Bones, he's got a thing for height. Inside, each officer brings two soldiers. Total of twelve, thirteen guys max."
"Against how many of us?" I asked, already running scenarios.
"Doesn't matter if we're smart about it." Alex met my eyes, and for a second I saw the strategic mind that had made him valuable to the Serpents before drugs ate it away. "Hit them during the count when they're spread out. Smoke grenades through the skylights, flash-bangs at the exits. In the chaos, a small team grabs the cash while everyone's blind and choking."
"Convenient that you know all this," Thor said, skepticism dripping from every word. "Almost like someone's setting a trap."
Without hesitation, Alex started stripping. Shirt first, revealing a torso that looked like a medical school diagram of addiction. Track marks up both arms, bruises in various stages of healing, ribs visible enough to count. He turned slowly, showing the lack of wires, then dropped his pants to prove the point completely.
"Jesus," Kiara breathed, quickly looking away.
He was a skeleton held together by desperation and whatever drugs still flowed through dying veins. This wasn't my brother anymore—this was what remained after choices ate a person from the inside out.
"I'm a lot of things," Alex said, redressing with movements that showed how much the display had cost him. "Thief, junkie, piece of shit who hurt the only good thing in my life." His eyes found Kiara again. "But I'm not a rat. The intel's good because I was supposed to run security for the warehouse stop. Venom trusts—trusted—me to keep the prospects in line."
"Even if this is real," I said slowly, voicing what everyone was thinking, "why should I trust you after everything? The flowers you sent Kiara, the bear, the photos. You've been escalating for weeks."
"Because I lost my fucking mind!"
The words exploded out of him, raw and ragged. His composure shattered like cheap glass, tears cutting through the grime on his face. "The drugs, the pressure, watching her be happy with you—it all got twisted until I couldn't see straight. You don’t know whati t’s like. I became someone I don't even recognize. Someone who threatens women, who stalks and terrorizes because I can't handle my own fucking failures."
He dragged both hands through greasy hair, leaving it standing in desperate spikes. "You want to know why you should trust me? Because I've got six hours before they figure out their books are fiction. Because every dealer I owe wants pieces ofme I don't have left to give. Because I looked in the mirror this morning and saw Dad staring back, judging me. I don’t want to die an asshole. I want to help you. I want to make ammends. Only question is whether I take some Serpents with me or die alone in some warehouse when they find me."
The mention of our father hit like a physical blow. Dad, who'd drunk himself to death, who'd spent his last months begging for forgiveness that never quite reached his eyes. Alex had his eyes now—but the expression was different. Alexmeantthis.
Then, to my shock, he broke completely.
"I'm sorry." The words came out choked, barely human. He turned to Kiara fully, and I watched my brother collapse in on himself. "Not the bullshit sorry I used to give you. Not the manipulative sorry that came with flowers and promises. Real sorry. The kind that knows it doesn't fix anything but needs to be said anyway."
His knees hit the floor hard enough to make everyone flinch. Not theatrical, not calculated—just a body that couldn't hold the weight anymore. "I turned into a monster. Sent you those flowers knowing you hated them. That bear—Christ, what kind of sick fuck does that to someone they claimed to love?"
Kiara's hand found mine, but she didn't look away from the wreckage of my brother. Her spine stayed straight, queen surveying the ruins of a would-be usurper.
"The photos were worse," Alex continued, words pouring out like pus from an infected wound. "Following you to work, documenting your life like I had any right to it. Making you check your mirrors, second-guess every shadow. I watched you get smaller, more afraid, and some sick part of me felt satisfied. Like if I was miserable, you should be too."
"You made me afraid to exist," Kiara said quietly, each word precise as a scalpel. "Afraid to go to work. Afraid to come home.Afraid to be happy because you might be watching, might punish me for daring to smile without you."
