Page 23 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)
As we hit a stretch of straight road, I take a long look in the mirror as Seven ducks his head over his shoulder. And because I have a lifetime of karma tugging at my soul, I catch a glimpse of the enemy rounding the last curve.
“Noah!” Seven screams.
I look at the road.
Look at the concrete slab with a sign that reads: brIDGE OUT AHEAD
I slam on the brakes.
Rip the wheel to the left.
The car spins sideways.
Right into the path of the enemy.
The impact sends the car rolling with screeching metal, breaking glass, and a view of the SUV flipping forward, landing upside down.
Blood rushes to my thumping head as my eyes peel half open.
If I open them any further, I fear they’ll rip out of my head.
My fingers dangle against the deformed roof, fingernails scratching over exposed steel.
I glance over to find Seven isn’t in the car with me.
To my left, the SUV is also flipped over slightly downhill.
One of those sorry sonsabitches is in the same predicament as me, but he doesn’t appear conscious as he hangs upside down.
In the rearview mirror is where I find Seven, lying on his back, dragging himself across a minefield of shattered glass.
A cultist steps into view, carrying a gun in his bleeding hand.
He inches towards Seven in measured steps.
It’s as if he’s matching Seven’s pace with intention to taunt him. To prove there’s nowhere left to run.
I reach for my seatbelt and push the ejection button.
My body lands against the roof of the car with a thud.
Shards of glass slice through my palms as I crawl through the broken window.
Just out of reach is the pocketknife. I grab it as I force myself to my feet.
Every step feels like torture. Each limp tears something within my body. My boots crunch over broken glass.
“I’m not going back,” Seven screams. “You’re going to have to fucking kill me.”
The man is dressed just like the guy back at the motel. No fashion sense whatsoever. Cops without badges, but there’s a reckoning coming for him.
“Let me tell you something, pretty boy.” He shakes the gun at Seven. “Don’t get it twisted. If my brother back there dies, your body will be delivered to Silas in pieces.”
“You’re not going back either,” I say softly as I plunge the knife into his back.
His entire body seizes forward. He manages to pull the trigger, firing a bullet into the sky as his hands flail around.
I remove the blade and spin in a quick circle so that I can meet his gaze as I stab him in the gut.
Twist the knife and watch as his eyes bulge, a storm of pain ripping through his body.
He takes a step back and stumbles over his own feet, collapsing to the ground on his side.
Blood seeps from his wounds, pooling into a river that flows downhill until it meets the trail of gasoline leaking from my car.
The same combustible river that leads straight to the SUV.
Right to the man who awakes just in time to see his brother take his last breaths.
He screams in equal parts agony and rage. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
I ignore his screams as I retrieve my duffel bag from the back of my car—my most prized possession. The only thing I’ve ever loved and it’s now destroyed. It was the one gift Kevin gave me that was irreplaceable.
Because it wasn’t something new.
It wasn’t something that was his idea to bribe me when he’d hurt me.
It was the only nice thing he ever did for me.
Restored my father’s old car so I could have something to remember him by.
And now it’s gone. Sure, it was always going to be gone when I eventually ran it over the edge of a cliff, but the plan was that I would go with it. In some fucked up way, the act of offing myself in the same car my father died in would have brought us even closer in the afterlife.
Seven and I match each other’s limp as we hobble away from the wreckage, finding a place in the grass just off the side of the road to take a quick rest. I grab a fresh pack of cigarettes from my bag and a lighter.
Seven is too dazed to notice as I tear off the plastic wrapping, grab a cigarette with a blood-soaked hand, and place it between dry lips.
I toss the rest of the pack into the woods behind us, and that grabs Seven’s attention.
“Noah—”
“Not a fucking word.” I flick the lighter and inhale as the flame connects with the end of the cigarette. Hot smoke hits the back of my throat. Cutting, scratching, burning. I drop my hand to the side and exhale, watching as a cloud of smoke dances from my mouth.
“Fuck it.” He steals the cigarette from me and raises it to his mouth.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” I smack him in the back of the head and steal it back. Give him a death glare. “If I ever catch you smoking, I swear I’ll beat your ass.”
He moves his mouth to speak but instead chooses peace. He really is a changed man. This is the second time today he’s refrained from saying something stupid when all I want is silence.
I inhale another long drag, finding great pleasure in the way the chemicals relieve the throbbing in my head. Mama and Kevin might have been onto something with these cancer sticks. Fucking magical.
Another scream from the wreckage shatters any sense of peace .
It’s the same tired threats, over and over again. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Yeah, says the man who is clearly paralyzed or some shit because he hasn’t moved a muscle. The only hope he has at killing me is to keep screaming loud and long enough until my fucking head explodes.
I look at Seven with a wry smirk. “I’ve always loved to play with fire.”
And with a flick of my wrist, I burn it all to the fucking ground.
The cigarette embers ignite the gasoline-soaked path, ripping across the road, wild and free. The blaze travels in both directions, racing towards an inevitable explosion. There’s something cathartic about watching it all go kaboom.
As we sit in the grass, spectators to our world going up in smoke, I find myself confused at how the fuck I got here.
Somewhere along the way, I became a murderer with three souls to my name.
Three bodies to Seven’s two. When I left New York in a manic frenzy, I never could have predicted this was how my life would go.
Always believed I’d go out in my quiet way, not in a battlefield littered with cops, cultists, and dead twinks.