Chapter Text
Tora’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, the thwick-thwick-thwick of the wipers pushing through the rain in the dark parking lot. His headlights slice through that ink blackness as he waits for the call.
He hopes it’s soon.
He hopes it’s never.
Hoping is for idiots and fools.
He hopes he’s neither.
But he knows he’s both.
His burner phone rings, buzzing on the passenger seat. Once. Twice. A third time before he answers the unknown caller.
“We failed.”
The two words are a punch in the gut, and he has no choice but ask, “Who’s left?”
“Q, D, you, and me.” A pause. “There’s a few gone on their end, but I don’t know who yet.”
“What about G?”
“Didn’t make it.”
Closing his eyes, he tips his head back. He’d known Ronzo—Gyu—since they were barely teenagers. He wasn’t even supposed to be near the site. He was just supposed to tail them. It was his call Tora had been expecting.
“So…what do we do now?” Goliath asks, his usual cocky, loud voice dimmed and flickering.
He has no fucking idea. He was supposed to wait for the instructions on exactly where Vincent and his men were meeting. He was supposed to post up, assemble his rifle, and wait for them to arrive. He was supposed to end it for good.
“Meet me at the first house,” Tora orders before hanging up. He lights a cigarette, and his hands shake, though he hardly knows why. This was always a possibility; one he’d been half expecting for months since they first started planning this all-out attempt at finishing this mess.
But they did have a plan. They’d spent months preparing, scouring Ares Street for unwitting allies, setting Quincey up to take power, spreading seeds of dissent in the Balthuman ranks so they started cannibalizing each other. It was supposed to be over by daybreak and now he sat in a fucking empty parking lot with no goddamn idea what the hell to do now.
He smacks the steering wheel again and again, his rage bubbling over, spilling out, escaping from the carefully contained jar he’d trapped it in.
It's supposed to be over.
It's supposed to be done.
He's supposed to be fucking out.
But it's not over. And it's not done. And he isn't out.
Taking a long drag, he flicks the ash out of the cracked window and pulls out of the lot.
There isn’t a plan B. They all knew, and fully understood, that if they failed, they were all fucking dead. Vincent would burn Ares Street and his own men alive to weed out those who wanted him six feet under. Quincey might be safe. Maybe. He's the only Balthuman left, and the heir to the Altan clan at that. But if his father finds out he was in on this plot to corner him at one of the warehouses, he’'' be just as fucked as the rest of them.
Tora tosses the burner phone out of the window as he goes. He’ll activate another once he gets the whole story from his brother. Until then, his loose plan B is whatever he could fit in the trunk of the car he bought yesterday in cash. He has all the money he’d accumulated over the years, fake IDs, a passport that might pass the test if he drives across the border and doesn't try to fly, some clothes, his guns. His whole goddamn life fits into the trunk of a sedan with fake tags. And the worst part is, his whole goddamn life is probably over anyway.
He turns down a narrow, residential street and cuts through another until he hits the abandoned cul-de-sac. Twenty years ago, the cluster of little ranchers on the outskirts of Narin had bikes in the yards and cars in the driveways and lights behind windows with flowerboxes. But then the economy did a nosedive and the car parts factory shut down and all the little ranchers with their little families did a nosedive too.
Goliath’s shitty Honda is parked against the curb. Tora stops behind him and scopes out the empty houses. Some have kicked in doors and other graffiti on the once pristine siding. He looks to one that used to be yellow. Yellow with black shutters and a bright red mailbox. The box’s post is still there, sprouting up among the overgrown grass.
He heaves himself out of the car and lights a new cigarette. He’s been smoking more than ever since the night he last dropped her at home after their brief time in Felicia’s Bay. But he doesn’t care. He won’t live long enough for a cancer diagnosis to hit anyway.
His childhood home is decrepit in every sense of the word. The floral wallpaper his ma put up in the living room before he was born is peeling off the walls, curling down to the water-stained carpets. He rounds a burned-out couch and a pile of broken bottles to go to the kitchen.
Goliath sits on the filthy counter, sneakers knocking against the cracked cabinet doors as he swings his legs. His face is gaunt, hollow in the moonlight. “Hey.”
“What the fuck happened?”
“Dunno. Gyu and Damien were in the surveillance van. Martin pulled alongside them in traffic and just started…the van was trapped between two Balthuman cars. I gave ‘em cover and Damien rammed his way out, but Gyu was hit in the chest. It was quick.”
He grits his teeth, cigarette burning to the filter.
“Shing Ma radioed to call the whole thing off. Dunno how, but someone told Vincent we were followin’ him. I was in the secondary car, so nobody saw me.”
“And Quince?”
He shrugs. “Haven’t heard a word. For all I know, he’s still sittin’ pretty at the docks, playin’ his part. Sent Brian down there to get him as soon as they started shootin’.
Tora puts his cigarette out on the countertop and crosses his arms. He doesn’t know if he wants to start breaking shit or screaming or driving to Balthuman Manor and taking his chances. He doesn’t know anything anymore.
“We gotta find out what’s up with Quince and get the hell out,” Tora says at last.
“Damien’s packin’ up. Told Brian to leave too once he found Quincey. They’re too attached and Vince’ll smoke ‘em both.”
“Good call. I’m ready to bail too. Dunno how far we’ll make it though if Vincent knows we were wrapped up in all this.”
“I ain’t leavin’,” he tells him, the rhythmic thumping against the cabinets seeming to get louder. “Far as the Balthumans know, I ain’t even in Narin. I’m on the other side of the world.”
“Ya can’t stay here. If—”
“I’ve been here, big bro. I’ve been here for months makin’ my bag. Got a few things in the works that I wanna see through before I head out.”
“If Vincent—”
Goliath hops off the counter. “I’m stickin’ around. But you gotta get out. Everybody knows Damien’s yours just like all the rest of the old crew.”
He knows he’s right. All the guys he’s taken under his broken wing have grown up to be loyal to the Balthuman Clan only because he allows it. Only because he was tied to the clan. Only because he knows he can keep them safe if they stay on his side of Ares Street. But if the Balthumans turn on him, he knows they’ll all be in the crosshairs.
“That’s it then?” Tora asks, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t eaten in since he was nearly six years old. When Goliath was just a baby. When they were once a family. They’re still related, but it barely, it feels like. Even though his very face is reflected back at him, it’s like looking at a stranger.
“That’s it then.”
“I’ll have a burner. I’ll let ya know where I settle once shit cools down.”
“Maybe ya shouldn’t. Vincent ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Tora’s jaw tightens. His brother has always been a little shit, always been too loud and brash and sneaky. He’s stabbed him int the back more times than he could count. He’d lied, sold him out, and nearly got him locked up for life. But damn, he’s the only one Tora has left with eyes like his, a smile like his, memories in the same dingy old house before everything went to hell.
“I’ll let ye know where I settle,” Tora says again in a way he hopes leaves no room for discussion.
Goliath takes a breath and nods, then in a bizarre display of brotherly affection, pulls Tora into a hug. It’s his first in months since that last night outside her apartment. At least this one doesn’t feel like a complete goodbye.
Tora claps him on the back, eager to get some distance before the night catches up with him and he falls apart. “Bail if shit gets dicey, alright?”
He nods again and doesn’t move as Tora turns away.
When he gets in the car, he takes another burner from his glove compartment and the list of burner numbers for each person, coded so no one else could unscramble them if they tried. H dials the first of Brian’s numbers and it rings until he picks up.
But it’s not Brian.
“Hello?” Quincey’s voice asks.
“Where the hell are ya?”
“Driving home.”
“Don’t. Everythin’ went to shit. We gotta leave.”
“Not me. Brian…he gave me a black eye and split lip. I’m going to play it off like I was attacked as well.”
“Ya old man—”
“Won’t do anything to me. You need to get out of Narin, but I can’t. But you need to leave immediately. My father’s put a price on your head and Ares Street wants to collect.”
Tora takes a deep breath. “Ya hear ‘bout Gyu?”
“Yeah,” he says softly after a beat. “Yeah, I did. I’ll do my best to have him properly buried.”
He swallows. It still doesn’t feet real that the lanky kid he’s known half his life is just…dead. Fucking dead. “Everyone’s gonna be gone by mornin’.”
“Not everyone. But…but there’s someone else who’s in danger too.”
“We’re all in danger, Quince,” he says as he turns on the car and thinks if he wants to head east to the shore or west towards the mountains. He’s never had a choice before but now he has a need.
“No, honey. It’s…it’s Poppylan.”
Her name is a bullet to the gut that makes the car swerve. “What about her?”
“You need to go get her, Tora.”
“And drag her into this shit? I don’t fuckin’ think so.” He pulls out of the cul-de-sac and heads toward the highway.
“She’s already involved. They already know about her, you know that.”
“I haven’t even seen here since—”
“They’re going to find her, Tora,” he snaps. “They’re going to realize you’re gone and they’re going to go for her.”
His heart’s in his throat, his stomach drops. His insides are at war against this rising panic that makes his blood run both hot and cold. “But I stayed away.”
“That isn’t enough. You made it no secret on Ares Street that she was off limits. Do you really think my father won’t send someone after her? Really won’t pluck her off the street and use her to get to you?”
The wheels screech on the wet asphalt as he whips the car around. The truck that was behind him blows their horn, but Tora ignores it. “How long do ya think I have?”
“An hour maybe. I’m ten minutes away from the manor.”
“Ya sure ya good to go there?”
“Perfectly. You know my father values blood over everything else. It’s you I’m concerned about. Damien is going with Brian and Erdene to—”
“Erdene’s goin’ with him?”
“It’s not safe for her either. But you know her father has ties to clan life. They’ll be fine.”
Maybe being able to tell Poppy Erdene left too will help convince her. But, fuck, if he isn’t a goddamn coward. He ditched her nearly a year ago and now he’s going to need to try and make her come with him into the unknown.
“What if she won’t come with me?” he asks, full of self-doubt. A year ago, she’d have followed him anywhere and he threw that away.
There’s a long pause. “Tora, you know you can make her. If she doesn’t go willingly…take her anyway.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “And if you can, find a way to tell me where you end up, alright? I’ll do what I can to keep my father away from Poppy for as long as I can.”
He swallows the lump in his throat. Everyone in his life is dropping off one by one. He’s used to a certain level of loneliness, but this is a new type he can’t quite comprehend. “Thanks, Quince.”
“Anytime.”
Tora hangs up before he can say anything else and though he opens the car window to toss the burner out, he can’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. He needs Quincey to be able to get in touch with him if anything happens between here and Poppy’s or on his way out of town. The unknown unnerves him, which is why he’s so fucking scared to see her again.
He thought they’d reached a bit of middle ground in Felicia’s Bay after the break in, something they could maybe build on. But then he heard whispers all the way from Ares Street that people were asking about her and their connection, what made her so sweet that even the Tiger of Ares Street couldn’t help but take a bite. And when he dropped her off, he didn’t even say goodbye. He just blocked her number, ditched his apartment for a new one, and sent her one letter saying they were nothing to each other.
But that was a filthy lie.
She had been everything to him, which is why he had to cut her off before someone else really looked too deep into why he was so attached to some girl.
When he pulls up to the guard booth, Ben is there. He took the job after Tora moved Gyu when he was trying to cut ties. He rolls down the window as the kid opens the gate and steps into the rain.
“Hey, big bro,” he greets, brows knit in confusion. “I thought you weren’t—”
“Find a new job. Can’t explain, but ya need to get outta here and ya need to forget ya ever knew me.”
“What’s—”
“Go to ya mom’s and lay low. If ya need a job, go see old Alice. But ya don’t work here no more. Got it?”
He nods. “Got it.”
Tora rolls the window back up and parks against the curb at the entryway. He needs to hurry and get her so she can at least pack a few things. But maybe she won’t go. Maybe she won’t even open the door. If she didn’t, he’d deserve it. But he hopes this doesn’t end with her over his shoulder.
The rain seems to be coming down sideways as he steps out of the car. He hurries to the main door and presses the button for her apartment. He hadn’t even thought of what to say to her, how to make her understand. But it doesn’t seem to matter as the buzzing goes unanswered.
Jogging back into the lot, he sees her lights are on. Maybe she’s sleeping or in the shower. A glance back at the guard house tells him Ben’s already left, and he didn’t have spare keys like Gyu did anyway. Now there’s only one way to get to her.
Hoisting himself on ledge of the first apartment’s balcony, he scales the building. Bit by bit he climbs, fingers slipping on the wet stone as rain blurs his vision. Floor by floor he climbs until he’s welcomed by hanging leaves and dripping flowers.
His boots hit the concrete and he goes to the sliding door. Music’s playing, the sound dulled by the thick safety glass he had installed after the break in. It’s bright in her home, her bed unmade and empty, a new, pink carpet on the floor. He spots a colorfully painted canvas propped against a dresser, several more he can’t fully see stacked behind it.
For a second, he lets himself just stand there, water rolling down his back. There’d been a time where he’d simply open that door, having had just stepped out for a smoke. She’d scold him about cancer, and he’d tease her about replacing them with kisses and then they’d watch something or go on a drive or just sit and talk about nothing and everything.
Now he’s on the outside just trying to muster enough fucking courage to knock.
Then he sees her. Sees her for the first time in months.
She steps out from where the kitchen is, a yellow plastic watering can in her hand. Her hair is longer, tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stands on her toes to reach one of her hanging baskets. He used to do that for her when he visited. Now she does it alone. And when she turns, her back to him, he realizes she’s wearing his sweatshirt, the one from when they first met. The one he thought was lost.
Poppy turns again and their eyes meet through the glass.
The rain keeps falling but he’s no longer aware the feel against his skin. His whole world focuses on a single girl with a yellow plastic watering can. His fist is so heavy when he lifts it, knuckles still bloodied from a late afternoon scuffle with a mouthy son of a bitch at the pool hall. But he knocks only once and holds his breath as she drops the watering can on the new, pink carpet, and comes to the sliding glass door.