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Rachel

My stomach churned as I ran down the stairs. I couldn’t shake the image of Dante’s face. He looked… he looked fucking broken.

It’s an act, Rachel. Remember what Macbeth said!

But was it an act? I didn’t think anyone could fake a look like that. I didn’t think I was even capable of hurting him like that.

I hadn’t even meant what I said. It wasn’t how I wanted to approach the topic at all. But, as always, I suffered from verbal diarrhoea. He hurt me, and I had to lash out and make him hurt, too. And now I might have fucked things up for good.

“Rachel!” my mother called as I walked into the bar, and I did a double take as I saw her stiffly sat in one of the booths, distracting me from all thoughts of Dante.

“Mother,” I said cooly, shooting a glance over my shoulder at the empty staircase. I saw Macbeth come from the kitchen and make his way up the stairs, and hoped his meeting with Dante would calm him down. I’d have to deal with our problems later.

“You’re looking well,” my mother said as I sat opposite her.

“That’s a lie.”

“That’s a lie,” she admitted with a wry grin. “Your hair looks awful.”

“Thank you. Are we done here?” I said, getting back to my feet.

“No! I’m sorry. Sit. Please,” she said in a small voice.

“What do you want?” I said with a sigh. “I’m tired, mother.” I could already feel myself slipping back into the blank, aloof personality I always portrayed around her.

“I wanted to see how you are.”

“I’m fine, as you can see.”

“Don’t be difficult, Rachel.”

Ahh… there it was. Don’t be selfish, Rachel. Don’t be difficult, Rachel. Don’t be anything other than what I want you to be, Rachel.

“I never did thank you for saving me, Rachel. From the fire,” she added when I didn’t respond.

Of course it was the fucking fire. What else would I have saved her from?

Beige hell. That’s what. But knowing my mother, she wouldn’t have considered that saving.

“Mmm,” I mumbled, because I had nothing else to say.

“Rachel… Please.”

“What, mother? Yes, I saved you. But I wouldn’t have had anything to save you from had I just stayed away. We both know it.”

“It happened. We have to move on.”

Well, well, well. Who are you and what have you done with Rebecca Brooks?

“I’m surprised you’d come here. Especially given what Dante did, and the things you said to me.”

“Well,” she said, twisting her lips. “Dante came to see me.”

“He did?” I said, my mouth falling open.

“Mhmm. He said he would pay for all repairs on the house. Or pay for a new one entirely. He didn’t apologise, though.”

“No,” I said with a bark of dry laughter. “I can’t imagine he did.”

“He also told me a few things, Rachel. Thing I wished I had heard from you.”

“Like what?” I said, squirming uncomfortably. I sighed in relief as Vienna chose that moment to bring over two beers. “Thanks, Ven.”

“Always happy to help,” he said with a wink, repeating his words from the tattoo shop. “Looks nice.” He grinned and then walked off.

“That beard is disgusting,” my mother grimaced.

“He knows,” I said with a small grin. “He says he keeps it to annoy his ex. He’ll tell her it still smells of her. It pisses her off.”

“Smells of her? How can it smell of her?” I raised my eyebrows and gave my mother a pointed look. “Oh,” she gasped, shooting a look at Vienna. “Oh,” she repeated, this time in disgust. “I’ve a mind to go shave it off him myself.”

“He’ll snap your arm off and beat you with it before he lets that happen.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

I didn’t answer, I just picked my beer up and took a grateful sip, memories of mine and Dante’s game playing in my mind. I put the beer back down. Alcohol was not my friend. The last person I wanted to loosen my tongue around was my mother.

“So…” she said, shuffling uncomfortably. “About Dante.”

“I was hoping you might have forgotten,” I said sheepishly.

“You should have told me, Rachel.”

“What exactly did Dante say?”

“He told me about what really happened with Alex and the things you went through.” Her hand reached over the table to cover my own. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Dante had no right.”

“I’m glad he did. It makes things… easier to understand.”

“You mean easier to forgive?”

“That too,” she admitted. “I know you weren’t happy with us, but you also weren’t the easiest person to live with.

You said and did some pretty horrendous things to us.

Your dad was on anti-depressants at the time.

We were both in therapy – both for ourselves and seeing a child psychologist to try to understand you better. ”

“I had no idea,” I mumbled, the guilt making my stomach flip.

“We didn’t want you to know. We didn’t want you to know the extent of how much you were hurting us. We were just trying to be there. We wanted to protect you – which, I think, is what you were trying to do as well by not telling us about Alex.”

“I didn’t want you to think it was my fault,” I admitted in a small voice. Tears sprang to my mother’s eyes, and she squeezed my hand tighter.

“It was never your fault. Anyway,” she said, pulling back and flapping her eyes in front of her face to dry her tears. “It’s not all bad news. At least I’ll be able to bring your dad with me next time.”

A crash from upstairs had us both jumping in fright. I looked at Vienna, who mumbled something to Shark.

“Nothing to worry about, folks. Dante and Mac,” he said with a shrug, and the rest of the bar gave a whoop, knowing what the brothers were like. I noticed Shark slip out of the door, though, and make his way upstairs.

“Would you like that?” my mother said, pulling my attention back to her.

“Like what?”

“For me to bring your dad!” she said with a small laugh.

“What are you talking about?”

She huffed in frustration. “Do you and that man of yours not talk at all? He took the evidence to the police. Your dad is getting out on parole. Dante showed them Alex’s crimes and made it look like self-defence.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“Don’t swear, Rachel.”

“I’m sorry. I beg your flaming pardon?”

“Wait,” my mother said, her eyes growing wide. “Did you not know?”

“I had no fucking clue,” I said, sweat beginning to break out over my entire body.

Oh god.

What the fuck had I done?

“Dante sorted the whole thing. He went to the police with written statements from other victims, photos, videos… you name it, he had it. I asked where it came from, and he said I would rather not know, but rest assured they paid with their blood. I don’t condone violence, but in this instance…

” she sniffed, her nose high in the air, letting the statement go unspoken.

Paid with their blood…

Ben’s blood.

Oh, God…

Macbeth had fucking played me.

“Mother,” I said, shooting to my feet. “I am so sorry. I’ve got to go.” I needed to get upstairs. Macbeth was alone with him.

“What? But I’ve just arrived! I was hoping—”

“Another time. I promise! Please. Please, just trust me. Dante is in trouble.”

“What?” she said in a horrified voice.

“I don’t have time to explain! Vienna!” I shouted. “Dante’s in danger.”

He didn’t hesitate. He saw the wild look on my face, the panic I was only barely keeping contained. He grabbed the shotgun off the wall behind the bar and ran up the stairs with me hot on his heals.

Fucking Macbeth. He knew what he was doing. He had planted the seeds of doubt in my mind. He had played on my weakness and vulnerability. He had lied straight to my face but sprinkled in enough facts to make it all believable.

And now Dante was the one paying the price.

Vienna took the stairs two at a time, and I raced after him like the devil himself was snapping at my feet.

We flew down the corridor, my heart beating in my ears. I could hear my blood rushing, making a roaring sound in my head.

And then Vienna kicked the door open, and the rushing disappeared.

There was nothing but silence.

Because Dante was not in the bedroom, and neither was Macbeth.

But there was blood.

And a lot of it.

A pained moan had our heads snapping to the side, seeing a stabbed Shark struggling to stand, using the wall as support.

“What happened?” Vienna demanded, shoving the shotgun in my hands as he raced to help his friend.

“They took him,” he panted as Vienna hauled him to his feet. His face was twisted in pain, and he nearly snapped Vienna’s hand as he pressed a t-shirt to his wound.

“Who took him?” I snapped.

“The Riders?” Vienna asked.

“I have no fucking idea. I didn’t recognise any of them. They came through the window.” I looked at the window, noticing the frame had been removed.

How long had they been planning this?

“Macbeth went with them,” Shark panted. “Rachel,” he said gravely, his eyes locking with mine, and said words that chilled me to the bone. “Dante wasn’t in a good way. If we don’t find him soon, they’ll kill him.”