Page 94 of Heartless
I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. I was brought six meals by people I didn’t recognize, and barely touched the food. I was offered books to read, but refused them all. I passed the time by pacing my cage like I always used to. By staring at the walls—none of which had cracks that lead to glimpses of an outside sky. When I was feeling particularly masochistic, I thought back to all my moments with Mariposa.
I held on to every detail, sometimes wishing I had a pencil and sketchpad so I could draw my memories into something real. That one sketch I made of her was still in my room, and I yearned to fold and unfold the paper in my hands for one last look at her, stretched out and unafraid of me.
I often had to remind myself that I didn’t deserve anything of hers, not even her likeness on a piece of paper. She had almost convinced me otherwise, but that truth would never change.
When the jailhouse door opened and booted footsteps approached my cell, I didn’t react, thinking it was just my food for the day. But the footsteps stopped, my visitor motionless at my cell door, until I looked up.
Reaper stood there with something in his hand. He said nothing for several long moments and I wondered if he was going to make another attempt at killing me. If so, I couldn’t blame him for trying.
“Have you decided what to do with me?” I asked after he continued to stand there and do nothing.
“Yes,” he said, holding out the first item in his hand. “We have.”
It was my cut, complete with my name and patches still affixed to it. So they had been in my room, and had probably searched through my things for all I knew. I just hoped my drawing of Mari hadn’t been destroyed.
Reaper opened his hand and dropped the garment on the floor, the worn-out leather making a soft swishing sound as it hit the concrete. His eyes never left mine as he unscrewed the cap on the other item he held—a can of lighter fluid.
He bathed my cut in a generous amount of gasoline, the stench quickly filling the stale air of the jail. I watched as he emptied the can of flammable liquid all over the vest I designed and proudly wore for years. Even now, I’d pick that thing up from the floor and put it on if he asked me to.
Reaper tossed the empty can away, letting it clatter against the wall, before he took out a matchbox from his cut pocket. He removed a match, struck it against the side of the box, and dropped it onto my cut.
The leather caught fire in a deepwhoofsound, fire consuming the cut in a sudden rush of heat. Flames licked the air almost to chest level between us, illuminating Reaper’s face as we stared at each other across the blaze.
For a moment it reminded me of bonfires out on our rides, my brothers’ faces lit up, glowing orange as they laughed, drank, and talked shit. But this wasn’t any kind of unifying event. This fire was the opposite, a clear severing of me from him. Me from the club, and from everything that made me see how good life could be.
The one part of my life that had been worth living, burned away before my eyes.
Reaper stood there until my cut became nothing but ashes on the ground, the flames dying down slowly until there was nothing left to consume. Then he produced a set of keys from his pocket and proceeded to unlock my cell door.
“You have one hour to gather your belongings from your room,” Reaper said. “And then you will ride. You’ll ride as far as you can the fuck away from here. If I even hear whispers of you being near the Four Corners territory, Iwillend your life. And this time, no god will be able to stop me.”
“Yes, president,” I said numbly.
He opened my cage and headed for the door. “Two escorts are waiting for you outside.”
I wasevery bit as numb on the way to the house—theirhouse, not yours anymore—as when I watched my cut burn. My escorts were two soldiers from General Bray’s army. Other than us, the place was empty. No one was around, not even for me to say good-bye to.
I stood in the doorway of my bedroom for a while, eyes just flicking around to the few things I owned. Aside from a few changes of clothes, weapons, and my tattooing equipment, I had nothing worth taking.
Where would I even go? What would I do?
The first thing I reached for though, was not any of my essentials. I went for the drawer in my nightstand, pulling it open to reveal the folded piece of paper in the bottom. I stuffed it in my pants pocket without looking at it. With my limited time, I just needed to know it was on me and safe.
My necessities were packed within minutes, all of it stuffed robotically into my saddlebags under the watchful eyes of my escorts. What to do with the rest of my time? I could just take off and not look back, be gone from the Steel Demons without a trace. That didn’t feel right, but it wasn’t like I could go around saying goodbyes either. Not face-to-face anyway.
A thought hit me as I eyed my guards. They were posted just inside of my door, still and solemn as statues. I couldn’t do anything about them hovering over me, as much as I would have preferred privacy. I had limited time and a few things I wanted to say, so I had to make it count.
I pulled out my sketchbook and a pen, ripped out a blank page, sat down at the desk, and proceeded to write.
It wasdusk as I went out to my motorcycle, everything I owned fitting on the vehicle that carried me, even saved me. My guards relieved themselves of their duty the moment my machine roared to life and I started on the road heading out of town. I switched my headlight on, deliberately turning down a side street in one of the smaller neighborhoods in search of someone, anyone who could do the one final thing I needed.
I almost gave up hope and started weighing the risks of doubling back to the house to leave the letter there. I’d be shot at, for sure. And even with Hades determined to make me live out my life until its natural end, I had my doubts about how far his protection would go.
My headlight caught a flash of reflective paint and my heart jumped. A horned skull grinned at me, shining in my light against the night falling. I accelerated to catch up and see who it was—Slick. Fuck, maybe the gods were looking out for me in some twisted way. I could not have run into anyone better.
“Slick!” I called out, slowing my bike alongside him. “I need a quick favor.”
“Look Shadow, man.” He shook his head, quickening his pace. “I’m sorry about everything, but I can’t be seen talking to you. You’re supposed to be gone and Reaper will—”
