Page 10

NINE

ADRENALINE

BLANK SPACE—I PREVAIL

ASH (23)

G ripping the steering wheel, my foot presses against the clutch as I ease into first, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Looking to my left, I nod to Dom as he adjusts his mirror and clicks his seatbelt in. To my right, Kill stares off in the distance just beyond me, his hands firmly grasping the white gold pendant hanging around his neck—the same one Dom and I have—deep in silent prayer.

Turning to look out my left window again to see what his focus is drifting toward, I catch a glimpse of a petite blonde with wide hips hidden beneath an oversized t-shirt. Even with her back facing me, a sense of familiarity hits me unusually hard. But why?

Hoping she turns around before the chick in front of us drops the flags in her hands to start the race, I keep my eyes glued to the back of her head. And then I hear her laugh, watching closely as she gestures her hands as if she’s talking to somebody beside her... but there’s no one there except for Five, whose back is toward her.

My hopes are high that the mysterious girl I can’t seem to look away from is Calista, but deep down I know that it’s fucking physically impossible; she’s chained up—locked away from society where nobody can hurt her... except for her parents.

The loud revving of the numerous engines gathered at the starting line snaps me out of my daydream, and my gaze is forced off the blonde and onto the curvy redhead in front of me, her arms raised in the air, checkered flags clutched in each hand.

It’s fucking go time.

I say a quick prayer, shoot my brothers a look of good fortune, and prepare to floor the gas pedal at the signal. Bri drops her hands suddenly, and one by one the cars take off, leaving behind nothing but clouds of smoke and the potent smell of burnt rubber from thick, black tire marks on the pavement.

The adrenaline rushes through me rapidly as I speed off, switching between the clutch and the gearshift until my car is hitting my desired momentum.

Racing has always been a huge part of my life, alongside Dominic and Killian. We fell into it once we bought our first cars, turning them into racing machines that we sunk every fucking dime we had into. We built them up, selling them for better cars, and finally, we were able to buy our dream cars that we race today. Mine, a Dodge Challenger SRT Demon, boasts up to 840 horsepower, a 212 mph top speed, and a 2.3-second 0-60 mph time. Dom’s baby is a matte black Lexus LFA supercar that has a 4.8-liter engine, allowing him to go 0-60 in 3.6 seconds with a top speed of 202 mph. And Killian, Kill’s pride and joy is a Toyota Supra MK4. It races 0-60mph in about 4.3 seconds and tops out around 80mph. It’s not the fastest, but it’s the car he’s always wanted.

The three of us have been through hell and back together, and racing is the only thing that has kept us sane through everything.

As the wind whips through my open window, I can feel the excitement building. The familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with the start of a race. I shift gears and hit the gas, barreling down the road with Dom and Kill right beside me like they always have been. This is where we fucking belong, pushing the limits of our cars and ourselves.

The finish line is the only thing on our minds as we zip down the street, the roar of the engines drowning out everything else. The three of us may have come from very different backgrounds than the other racers, but out here on the streets of the underground, we’re all fucking equals.

I forget about the other cars in the race and focus on myself, seeing the checkered flags near the finish line just up ahead after the curve. Dropping gears, I ease off the pedal and grip the wheel tighter, turning just enough to take the curve with perfection and not spin out or drift out of first place.

Glancing in my rear view, I see Dom behind me and Kill coming up close behind him, the three of us crossing the finish line simultaneously. The crowd swarms around our cars as we park and get out, eager to collect our winnings from Five.

“Still wanna keep your slow piece of shit?” Dom asks Killian, laughing as he slaps his palm against the back of his shoulder.

“Fuck yeah. I still came in third, so I’ll take it.”

After collecting our prize money, I anxiously scan the crowd for the blonde girl I saw earlier, wondering if she watched the race and if she’s still here. But I don’t see her, which surprisingly has me feeling a little bummed, and I’m not even fucking sure why.

“Yo, Five?” I ask, turning around to face him.

“What’s good, Ash?” He lights a cigarette, his eyes flicking up to his apartment, a small grin appearing on his lips.

“That blonde you were talking to earlier—who was she?”

He smirks, flashing a subtle wink as Dom and Kill head for the bodega to grab a few beers and a blunt wrap. “Ah, you talking about Little Mystery?”

“I guess. The chick you were with right when the race started,” I point out, feeling annoyed that he’s beating around the bush.

“Yeah, that’s Little Mystery. Why, what’s good?” He looks at me with intrigue, trying to play it cool, but I can see the hesitation behind his eyes.

“What’s her name, and where did she go?”

“Uh, I think Addy, and she left right before the race ended. Why?” He pulls me off to the side where the noise is less hectic.

“Never mind, she just reminded me of someone I used to know, but Addy isn’t her name.” I shrug, disappointed, even though I know it's a long shot that the girl could be Calista.

Still, I was fucking hoping it was her.

“She’s staying with me for a few days, so I’m sure you’ll get to meet her eventually.” He flashes another wink, this one not subtle at all.

I shake my head, not wanting to meet another groupie. “Nah, I’m all set, but thanks.” I force a smile and pull out a smoke, lighting it as I walk back over to the guys.

I take a deep drag off the Marlboro, trying to shake the feeling of unease that lingers within me. As we leave, I can’t help but wonder if the intriguing ‘Little Mystery’ is somehow connected to my past—to the pieces of my life that I’ve been piecing together ever since shit changed all those years ago.

“Ready to smoke?” Dom asks, handing me the already rolled blunt.

“Yeah, I’m ready to get fucked up.”

Once we’re all settled back in our cars, I feel a sense of anticipation growing within me. The street lights drape across the asphalt like a finish line beckoning us, and the roar of the engines fills the night as we speed off down the road to the parking garage.

I still can’t stop thinking about that girl and how quickly she was gone, disappearing into the night like a ghost. But I push aside the strange feeling of longing and confusion that courses through me and join my brothers as we head into our rundown apartment to celebrate another victory.

* * *

The second my back hits the worn cushion and I sink into the couch, I close my eyes, feeling the effects of the alcohol vigorously coursing through me. I succumb to the darkness that overtakes me, and slowly, I begin drifting off to sleep, even as the room spins around me. But of course, that sleep is short-lived.

My eyes fling open, hearing loud, angry pounding on our front door. Killian looks at me wide-eyed, dropping the straw he just used to snort a line of coke onto the table beside the leftover residue. Dom curses up and down, angrily throwing the needle he was shooting up with—currently filled with blood—and removing the torn leather belt from around his upper arm.

“Who the fuck is that?” he asks, narrowing his pinned, hooded eyes as he gets up with a huff.

“No fucking clue,” I say, my voice raspy from the cocktail of Dilaudid and liquor streaming through my veins.

“It’s fucking three am,” he groans, stomping to the door, hardly giving us time to hide the drugs and paraphernalia scattered all over the table.

Looking through the peephole with one hand on the doorknob and the other on his gun tucked in the back of his sweats, his entire body noticeably stiffens, and every bit of color drains from his face.

Only one person gets that reaction out of him: his father.

He backs away from the door, ignoring the relentless pounding. Coming back into the living room, he picks up the bloody needle and the belt, and then sits down and ties off, determined to get high before all hell breaks loose and we’re thrust into the middle of chaos once again.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Kill asks, wiping his nose to make sure there’s no visible white powder coating his nostril.

“Nah, fuck him,” Dom spits, repeatedly sticking himself with the dull needle until he finds a vein.

“If your old man is here, I’m assuming ours aren’t too far behind him,” I point out, keeping my voice hushed while fighting the urge to vomit.

“Isn’t that how it usually happens?” He scoffs, removing the belt and stuffing the needle between the cushions.

I nod, staying silent while reaching into my pocket, my stomach churning something terrible. I pull out a bottle of pills, pouring a few onto the table in front of me. I use the bottom of the liquor bottle to crush both the Dilaudid and the Klonopin, mixing the white and yellow powders together into a fat line that makes my fucking mouth water.

There’s a break in the noise outside of the front door, but we know it won’t last. The three of us quickly get as high as we can, preparing ourselves for the vile encounter we know is about to happen.

I grab the shotgun from its place between the couch cushions, watching as Kill loads his own and Dom slides the pistol out of the back of his sweats. We’re ready for whatever comes through that door, for the shitstorm that’s been brewing beneath the surface for years. The past we’ve been trying to escape is about to crash back into our lives again, and there’s no fucking stopping it—there’s never any stopping it.

For years, the three of us have been living with a dark, disturbing secret—a secret we all share similar versions of. I still remember the first night my father snuck into my room; it was the same night he killed my mother and lost control of his urges. I was gagged to silence my screams as he forced his way into my bed. He fucking broke me—in more ways than one—and shattered my spirit with every violent, sinister act he forced upon me.

That was the night I lost all belief in God and the greater good; it was also the night that I learned how sick and twisted my father really was.

I wasn’t his first victim and definitely not his last, but I was his favorite. I lost all respect I had for my father, the man I looked up to the most. I feared him, and it wasn’t supposed to be that way. He was supposed to fucking protect me and guide me through the good and bad in my life. But he didn’t.

I was only fucking twelve.

I remember breaking down in front of Calista and coming clean to her about what my father was doing. I’ll never forget how much love and support she showered me with, but it still didn’t help how I was feeling on the inside. She used to promise me that she’d make him pay for his sins, and at the time, I believed her.

I had no idea that Dominic and Killian were going through their own shit too, living in horrible, reoccurring nightmares just as sadistic as mine. It was Calista who made me aware—she made all of us aware of each other’s pain.

As a joke, just to make ourselves feel better, the four of us would make plans to run away; we even planned to kill each other’s fathers. But none of us could ever do it. Not only were they very powerful and well-known members in the community, but they were also part of this secret society that preyed on young boys and girls and exploited them in every way they could. There was no stopping them, and to this day, we still haven’t figured out a way.

Now that we’re older, we’ve learned how to fight back, and we sure as fuck fight our hardest to keep them away from us... but it still doesn't always work. Ever since they discovered chloroform, they’ve managed to get away with even more shit. And because my father is the chief of police, I don’t stand a fucking chance.

Even now, as the knocking echoes, I turn back into the scared, helpless little boy my father transformed me into.

My entire body shakes. Panic begins to clutch my throat, making me feel like I can’t breathe. Beads of sweat seep from my pores and coat my skin in a thin, sticky layer. I mentally shut down, fear and shame swirling like a destructive tornado in my mind.

As the pounding on the door gets louder, we exchange a knowing look, our eyes filled with a mixture of fear and humiliation. It’s time to face the demons we’ve been running from for so long.

We rise to our feet, waiting for the inevitable, and as the lock finally gives way beneath the blows, we’re ready. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together. We always have.

Dom opens the door, making sure his father can see that he’s armed, but it doesn’t phase him in the slightest.

“Put your fucking guns away, pansies,” his father sneers, pushing his way into our apartment with our fathers right behind him.

It just now dawns on me that even though I think we might be free, we never will be. There will never be any escape from this. This is our life, and we’re stuck living with the hell that our fathers have created for us.

As their eyes bore into us, it’s clear that we’re trapped, tethered to our own personal nightmares. And with the taste of shame, defeat, and failure in our mouths, we stand here terrified, facing our tormentors as they invade our safe, personal space once again.

“What do you want from us?” Kill demands, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger, avoiding the predatory gaze of his father by looking deeply into my eyes and clinging to the sense of safety that he knows I can provide.

His father smirks, a cruel glint in his eyes. “We want you to remember your fucking place. You belong to us, and you’ll never escape from that. Flesh and fucking blood, son.”

“Exactly. And you open the fucking door when we knock.” My father looks at me, giving me a scowl that sends a deep shiver down my spine, making me shift uncomfortably in my stance.

A sadistic chuckle comes from Dom’s father, making my blood run cold and turn to ice all throughout my veins. “Look at how fucking scared they are,” he says. “Still fucking pussies.” He spits at his son’s feet, taking a step closer, invading the protective bubble Dom’s worked so hard to build. “But don’t worry—we’re not here to have fun. We need to have a talk, so sit the fuck down.”

The three of us all sit on command, turning into useless, broken shells of the men we’ve worked so hard to be. But we’re not men, as our fathers have constantly reminded us. I don’t even know what the fuck we are other than broken.

Even as I breathe a sigh of relief, I feel the rage build within me—the need to fight back—to resist against the chains and break the bonds they’ve wrapped around us for so long. But as long as our fathers hold the power, we will forever be under their control. It’s a relentless cycle that we can’t break free from—that we were never meant to break free from. We were all dealt a shitty hand and suffered in our torment together but alone at the same time. Once terrified of the gloom, we embrace it instead, finding the place we were always destined for but never knew it.

The same darkness we tried to avoid, we welcomed with open arms, finding peace in the broken parts of each other. We used the shadows that followed us to guide our paths instead of the light we were never meant to see. We used to be afraid of the darkness. But how can we be afraid of the darkness if we’ve lived in it our entire lives?

Looking between Dom and Kill and seeing the pain in their eyes, I hold onto a flicker of hope, knowing that as long as we don’t give up, we can fight to survive another day.

“Now,” my father begins, snatching the liquor bottle out of my hand and taking a sip. “We need your help, and before you each say no, understand that it’s not a fucking option.”

We sit in silence as they continue to explain, our hearts sinking deeper with every word they speak. They’ve never been able to take no for an answer, and we’ve learned the hard way that resistance only leads to more pain.