Page 47 of True Bastard
Gunshots rang out.
“Kyllian! Go!” Aunt Karen shoved me toward the back door, her face a mask of pure terror. The guttural roar of a motorcycle engine outside, followed by the shattering of glass, confirmed the nightmare unfolding. Karter, her small body trembling, clutched my shirt, her innocent cries piercing the tense and cloying air.
Firestride.The name echoed in my mind—a beacon of desperate hope and a terrifying prospect of returning to the Brotherhood. Every instinct screamed against it, against stepping back into that suffocating world of leather and violence. But Karter’s innocent trust was a weight I couldn’t bear to drop.
Gunshots. Closer this time, rattling the farmhouse’s old bones. Aunt Karen’s voice cracked, raw with a primal fear that was clear. She wanted me to take Karter to the Brotherhood. My entire being screamed against it. But Karter’s small hand tightened around my shirt, a fragile anchor in the storm of my terror.
“Go! Now!” Aunt Karen’s voice was a desperate shriek, a final push toward the back door. Gunshots, closer still, reverberatedthrough the farmhouse. The choice was impossible, a cruel bind where neither option offered solace.
To protect Karter, I had to walk back into the very hell I’d escaped, to face Firestride, the man who embodied everything I despised about that world. The thought of failing her, of not being strong enough to carry this burden, was a pain sharper than any I’d felt before. With Karter’s small body pressed against mine, fragile and innocent, I fled into the encroaching darkness, to the sound of gunfire, the only sound in the chaos, a terrifying echo of the life I was forced to re-enter.
Running through the trees, I didn’t stop, not even when I heard my aunt’s blood-curdling scream followed by another gunshot that silenced the dense forest around me. Gasping for air, I looked around, unsure of where I was when I heard a car whiz by. Heading toward the sound, a few minutes later I broke through the tree line and stumbled upon a dark back road. Seeing a vehicle approach, I didn’t think. With Karter clutched tightly in my arms, I ran into the middle of the road and waved my arm frantically to get the vehicle to stop.
A battered pickup truck screeched to a halt, its tires spitting gravel as it swerved to avoid hitting us. The driver, a grizzled man with eyes as hard as the desert stone, stared at me, his gaze a mixture of suspicion and something akin to pity. He was a relic of a bygone era, a man who likely knew the back roads of this state better than his own name. He saw the terror etched on my face, the child pressed against me, and perhaps, for a fleeting moment, he saw a reflection of a world far removed from his own. “You need a ride, darlin’?” he rasped, his voice rough like sandpaper.
“Please,” I managed, my voice a desperate plea. “Can you take us to Rapid City?”
“Sure, darlin’. Hop on in.”
The truck rumbled down the desolate highway, a beacon of fragile hope in the encroaching darkness. Karter, bless her innocent heart, had finally drifted off to sleep in my arms, her small breaths a steady rhythm against my racing pulse. Each mile we covered was a victory, a small step away from the horror at the farmhouse, a step closer to... I didn’t know what. Safety? Sanctuary? Or just another pit stop on a road paved with bad decisions? The driver, a man of few words but sharp eyes, seemed to sense my unspoken turmoil. He drove with quiet efficiency, his silence a strange comfort in the aftermath of chaos.
As the outskirts of Rapid City materialized, a familiar knot of dread tightened in my stomach. The city lights, once a symbol of opportunity, now felt like a spotlight, highlighting my vulnerability. Aunt Karen’s instructions echoed in my mind:“Take Karter to the Brotherhood. They will protect you both.”
The Brotherhood. The very name sent a shiver down my spine, a visceral reminder of Firestride, of the opulent prison, of the degradation. But Karter’s small hand, clutching my shirt, was a tangible weight, a silent plea I couldn’t ignore. Inferno. The name was a whisper from a dark legend, a shadow I’d only heard in hushed tones. But Aunt Karen had trusted them, and entrusted Karter’s safety to them.
Too bad I wasn’t of the same opinion.
Banging on the door, I looked around, holding Karter close. Then, I heard Mr. Kibbles yapping like a mighty beast when Mrs. Butler flung open her door. Not waiting for an invitation, I shoved past her and into her house as she slammed the door shut.
“Just what in God’s name do you think you are doing, Miss Ward? Do you know what time it is? And whose child is that?”
I hesitated, searching for words, but my voice trembled as I replied, “We-we just need somewhere safe for tonight, please. I don’t know where else to go.”
Mrs. Butler’s eyes narrowed, scanning my disheveled state and the sleeping child in my arms, her stern features softening just a fraction. The distant sound of police sirens echoed through the night, reminding me that danger might still be close behind. She took a breath, shaking her head and then reached out with surprising gentleness, ushering us further inside. “Sit down, child. I’ll call someone who can help. I’ve told you time and time again, Miss Ward, that you needed to find better company. Now look at you. The city has foreclosed on your house, bringing down the property values, and men are traipsing around every hour of the day. It’s like Armageddon in this neighborhood. It’s a sad day when poor Mr. Kibbles can’t even go outside to do his business with all the riffraff lurking around.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Butler. I never intended for any of this to happen.”
She pursed her lips, but something in her eyes flickered—pity, maybe, or the memory of another lost soul at her doorstep. “Well, trouble finds some more than others, I suppose. Still, you did right to come here.” She glanced toward Karter, studying the child’s peaceful, oblivious face. “I’ll get you a blanket and some tea. You look half-frozen, and that little one needs rest.”
For a moment, gratitude threatened to choke me, but I swallowed it down, keeping vigilant eyes on the window as Mrs. Butler hurried away. I pressed Karter closer, the weight of fear and hope mingling as the sirens faded, leaving only the sharp tick of the hallway clock and the soft shuffle of slippers against linoleum.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kyllian
The moonlight peeked through the curtains when I heard Karter whimper. Jolting straight up, I looked over at the sleeping little girl, who cried in her sleep for her daddy. Rushing over to her, I kneeled down beside the couch and tried to soothe the small child as I looked about the room. Everything felt unfamiliar—the room filled with old porcelain figurines watching from shadowy corners and the faint scent of chamomile drifting from the kitchen as I listened to the hum of Mrs. Butler’s voice speaking softly into the phone, her words distinct but her concern unmistakable.
The warmth of Mrs. Butler’s hospitality wrapped around me, fragile but real, and for the first time in days, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I might make it through this nightmare after all. Then the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I distinctly heard Mrs. Butler say, “Yes, she’s here and she has the child. Just get here fast.”
I didn’t think.
I gathered Karter in my arms, her whimpers now cries for a man who was her only hope. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread. The warmth of Mrs. Butler’s concern, the fragile hope she offered, evaporated in aninstant, replaced by the icy uncertainty of betrayal. Had she been offering sanctuary, or had she been setting a trap?
With Karter clutched tightly in my arms, a small, whimpering weight of innocence, I saw Mrs. Butler’s car keys hanging by the front door. Grabbing them, I bolted. The familiar comfort of Mrs. Butler’s house vanished behind me as I burst out the front door, the night air a cold slap against my face.
Aunt Karen’s words,“Take Karter to the Brotherhood. They will protect you both,”flashed through my mind, a desperate, terrifying instruction. The Brotherhood—the place that had broken me, the place that held the ghosts of every mistake I’d ever made—was now my only hope. The thought was a bitter pill, a surrender to the very darkness I’d fought so hard to escape. But Karter’s soft cries, her trusting weight against my chest, left me no choice.
Running for Mrs. Butler’s car, I jumped in. The engine sputtered to life just as Mrs. Butler appeared in the doorway. Flipping her the one-finger bird, I put her car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, her frantic calls becoming a distant memory as I gunned the engine.
