The Dark Side of Chicago

Shiloh ran away from home after the death of her mother, determined to keep her promise to leave their past behind. But, eight years later, she's forced to face it, and must now make a hard decision.

The Dark Side of Chicago

Jenna Malin © 2017

I sat on the wooden bench in the park, staring out at the water pushed into a spontaneous wave of rhythm by the relentless wind. The early morning sun reflected off its surface, making it shine like it was made of diamonds. The glare from the light burned my tired eyes but I didn’t look away. For some strange reason, I couldn’t. Every time I tried, something held me back from doing so, like my mind was trying to protect me from seeing something.

I flicked the zippers of my black leather jacket in thought. What was it? A sudden burst of bitter wind blew my bangs into my eyes. I pushed them away with a polished finger and kept staring out at the water.

My mind swam. I felt the vague vibration of my phone ringing in my right jacket pocket, but I didn’t reach to answer it. I felt like it should mean something important to me. Maybe I was supposed to answer it �" something inside of me told me it was important �" but I didn’t. Instead, I just wrung my dry, cracked hands together in my lap and watched the barren trees around the lake dance in the winter breeze, scratching each other as they fought to reach the uncertain sky first. The sky, fleeting and indecisive, was clear and bright one moment then thick with neutral, swirling grey storm clouds the next. The clouds slowly made their way across the sun, stealing the water’s shine and replacing it with a cold blanket, sending a chill down my spine as darkness fell.

“Ms. Manitoba?”

The sudden deep voice broke me out of my catatonia and I stared at the man the voice belonged to on my right. He wore a dark and heavy calf-length trench coat, no doubt hiding a very business-like suit underneath. His leather-gloved hands were massive as he shoved them deep into his pockets. His face was kind enough, with deep brown eyes that could warm a cold soul and a youthful yet carefully styled head of black gelled hair. His lips made a thin line as he seemed to effortlessly plaster a sympathetic look on his face (if it was genuine, I couldn’t really tell).

Wait. That was me. Shiloh Manitoba. He was talking to me.

I swallowed the lump of anxiety in my throat before speaking. “Yeah?” My voice came out weak and hoarse and I mentally slapped myself.

“I’m Detective Dean Peterson,” he introduced himself with a pitiful half-smile and a raised brow line. “Are you okay to answer some questions?”

I raised my eyebrow for a moment before I remembered what I was actually doing at Marquette Park that morning. I turned my pounding head around to face the path a few yards up the hill from where I was sitting, where a duo of uniformed men were wheeling an occupied body bag into an ambulance.

I finally found my voice �" my real voice �" and asked, “Is anyone ever okay?”

xXxXx

We walked down the sidewalk of the park. The detective walked on my right, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the crime scene. He was easily a foot taller than I was and most definitely played football or some kind of stereotypical sport in high school �" maybe even college. I looked straight ahead and kicked a rock that got in the way of my feet farther in front of me.

“I can’t imagine what must be going through your head right now, Ms. Manitoba,” the detective said, breaking the silence.

“Shiloh,” I blurted, looking down at my scuffed combat boots as I approached the rock once more and kicked it again. My brown hair fell into my face and I tossed my head to the side to clear my vision as I looked back up. “I prefer Shiloh.”

“Of course, my apologies,” he replied, shoving his hands in his trench coat pockets. He looked down at me. “How’s your head?” he asked, nodding towards the small bandage on my temple. I winced as I remembered its existence and lightly brushed over the bump with my fingers.

“Hurts,” I admitted reluctantly as the throbbing returned to that particular spot. Don’t play it too cool, I reminded myself. Don’t raise suspicion. I drew in a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. Nerves are normal. Be normal.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get it checked out at the hospital?” he asked as he observed my discomfort. “We can make it happen.” I shook my head �" which I instantly regretted as the throbbing increased �" and changed the subject.

“You said you had questions,” I deflected and shoved my hands back into my jacket pockets. My shaking fingers found my Shadow patch that I’d had to rip from my jacket before the cops arrived and I squeezed it tightly. Maybe I could drain some courage from it. Or even a little badassery would do. “I already told the police what happened.”

Detective Peterson shrugged. “With all due respect to the Chicago PD,” he started with a nod, “they’re generally more muscle than brains, if that.” He shot me a cocky smirk. “Luckily for me, I was blessed with both.” I rolled my eyes, but didn’t repress a pity-chuckle. “I’d like to hear what happened directly from you, if you don’t mind,” he continued, his professional demeanor swooping back in almost as quickly as it had left. 

Deep breath. Just like you rehearsed, Shiloh.

“Well, I couldn’t sleep,” I started. Not necessarily a lie. I hadn’t even been to sleep but obviously he didn’t need to know that. I squeezed the patch tighter in my hand. Detective Peterson nodded, urging me to continue. “So I decided to take a walk before I had to open the store.”

“And what store is that?” he asked and pulled out a tiny notebook and pen from the breast pocket of his trench coat.

“The record store off Cicero and 64th. I’m the store manager.” My nails were digging into my palms so I loosened my hands. He jotted it down quickly before nodding at me to continue. Deep breath. My phone buzzed again in my pocket but I ignored it. I’ll talk to him soon enough. “I’ve never run into problems when I walk around here this early, so I wasn’t really paying attention.”

The detective raised his eyebrow. “You walk around here by yourself often?” he asked, his tone tinted with surprise.

I shrugged. “I don’t sleep much,” I admitted. That was safe to fess up to, right? “I had my headphones in when he came up from behind me and hit me.”

“Did you see what with?”

“No,” I told him, “but from the way it felt, saying that it might’ve been Thor’s hammer wouldn’t be too far out for a guess.”

He chuckled and flashed a smile. “Well then it must feel worse than it looks,” he joked. “Is that when the second man intervened?” My heart lurched. Relax, I reminded myself. Just stick to your story and everything is gonna be just fine.

“I think so,” I said and brought my fingers up to my eyes. “Everything really blurred together after that.”

“What’s the next definitive thing you remember?” he prodded.

“Sitting next to a dead guy,” I responded. I hated the way I let my voice shake. Let yourself be nervous, he told me. The Pigs are suckers for the weak ones. I took in another deep breath as we neared the entrance to the park where a small crowd of curious passersby flocked in front of the yellow tape in hopes to catch a glimpse of the dark side of Chicago. I cracked my knuckles nervously.

“Are you sure the deceased was the one who attacked you?” he asked.

Insert shaky breath here. “I’m not really sure of anything,” I admitted and ran a hand through my tangled hair. “But I’m pretty sure a guy who was trying to kill me wouldn’t bolt before he got the chance to finish me off.”

His eyebrows knitted together and he looked away from his notebook to meet my eyes. “What makes you think he was trying to kill you?” he asked. For a moment, my pace faltered. I swore to myself. The moment I realized what was happening, my thoughts instantly jumped to the conclusion that whatever dumbass picked me out of anyone to pull a weapon on didn’t intend to leave me alive.

At least, that’s the kind of impression you get when the barrel of a gun is pressed to the back of your head.

Except you’re not supposed to reveal that detail, dipshit. Think fast.

I shrugged, trying to buy myself an extra second to spin a quick lie. “I don’t know,” I lied and rubbed the sore spot on my head. “It all happened so fast and I just… I don’t know.” Pigs are saps for weakness. Be weak. “It just scared the hell out of me. My brain just went straight to the worst-case scenario, I guess.” There. That works. Some of the spectators pointed in our direction as Peterson guided me to the sidewalk.

“That’s a pretty normal reaction when something like this happens,” he reassured me as one of the officers standing guard lifted the yellow tape and motioned for us to walk under it. Nice save. Peterson held the hand clutching his notebook out in front of us to warn the surrounding busybodies to back off. “Now going back to this mystery savior of yours. Did you notice anything about him that could help us track him down? Did he have any tattoos or scars that you could see?”

Yes and yes. I shook my head. “It was still kinda dark at that point,” I lied. I squeezed the patch tighter in my hand as camera flashes threatened to blind me. “And after getting nailed with whatever-it-was, it wasn’t like I could see straight anyway.” The street was so much louder than the park; a cacophony of car horns, squealing brakes, and street vendors bargaining with people who couldn’t understand their foreign dialect and kept walking as if they weren’t there. Such an increase in volume cranked the pressure in my head up from a five to a nine, and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. Peterson pushed our way through a small crowd who were trying to force their way to the front. If these a******s want to see the dark side of Chicago so badly, why don’t they just hit up the nearest alley?

“Who do you hate dealing with more?” I asked Peterson, who looked back at me curiously as we finally reached the edge of the growing crowd. “Reporters or nosy tourists?”

He scoffed and led me towards the bus stop. “I have to choose?”

I shrugged. “Unless there’s another kind of person you hate more.”

“Defense attorneys,” he responded immediately, “hands down.” I scoffed. Typical. “But we’re getting off topic.” My heart rate instantly spiked again and I inwardly swore. That was kind of the point. “Is there anything else you can tell me about this guy? Was he tall, short, black, white?” I thought for a moment. I can throw him a bone… can’t I? My phone buzzed in my pocket again. I ignored it. Again.

“He was definitely strong,” I started as we approached the bus stop on the corner. Always be specific when you lie. “I remember he tried to pick me up and he could’ve easily, but I was half out of it and I freaked out. I think I thought he was the guy who hit me. The next thing I remember he was gone.” Peterson scribbled furiously into his little notebook. “Whether he’d gone to get help or left to avoid the cops, I’m not sure.”

“What happened next?”

“I blacked out.” I spotted the bus approaching slowly from down the street. “When I came back to, the paramedics were standing over me.”

“They said you’d been there for a while. You were freezing,” he added. “Any idea how long?”

I shook my head and my brain rattled around in my skull like a pinball. “Your guess is as good as mine. The last time I remember looking at the clock it was just as I left my apartment. That was just past four in the morning.” The bus honked obnoxiously as it approached.

Peterson couldn’t hide his disappointment at my lack of specific detail; however, he scribbled down the last bit of information I offered and safely tucked his notebook back into his breast pocket. “Are you sure you don’t want to get checked at the hospital?” he asked me again as he watched me cringe with discomfort. I nodded as the bus came to a stop and opened its door, begging more passengers to board it. I reached into my back pocket for spare change.

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured him as people weaved past the two of us and onto the bus. “I’m shaken up, I’ll admit, but it’s nothing some down time and coffee can’t fix.”

He nodded. “Yeah, take it easy today, and,” he reached into his other breast pocket �" how many of those things did he have? �" and pulled out a business card, “if you remember anything that could be helpful, give me a call. Any time.” With a still-trembling hand, I took it and nodded.

“I will.” Before he could question me further, I turned and ascended the stairs into the bus, quickly depositing the change as it moved forward, and not once looking back. The bus driver nodded at me as he pulled away from the corner and I made my way further into the bus, avoiding all eye contact with the other passengers. I scurried to the vacant seat in the back corner and collapsed into it, acutely aware of familiar dark eyes silently observing me from my left as I settled into the torn up cushion.

Relief flooded over me. I did it. I pressed my fingers gingerly against my pulsing forehead to counteract the pressure that was constantly increasing as time crawled by. I silently willed my heart rate to slow down �" the faster it beat, the harder my head pounded. My nerves settled heavily into my stomach, like silt at the bottom of Lake Michigan and it lurched. I groaned.

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” a deep, bitter voice muttered to me from my left.

I sent Blaze the sharpest glare I could manage. “Maybe if I hadn’t been too busy covering our asses from the damn cops, I would’ve considered it. Maybe,” I grumbled. He matched my sneer with his own, his hardened face glowering down at me. If he wasn’t one of the few people I felt safe around, I would’ve been unnerved. 

Blaze shook his head and scanned the bus for any sign of suspicious activity from the passengers. “A quick text or something so I knew you'd actually woken up would’ve been nice, Tobi.” My stomach lurched at that nickname.

“Don’t call me that, Jason,” I shot back mercilessly.

He glared at the use of his real name. “I didn’t enjoy knocking you out the first time, but I won’t hesitate to do it again, you little s**t.”

“I dare you, b***h.”

We shared a long, equally menacing scowl. If any of the passengers were paying attention, they might’ve thought we hated each other, until his burly arm reached over and, with a calloused finger, gently tilted my face to my left. He brushed my hair out of my eyes to get a better look at the knot he put on my forehead. “How’re you holding up?” he asked softly.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Honestly, I’m probably gonna be sick when we get to the shop,” I admitted as I peeled the bandage off of my forehead, agonizingly slow. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered faster in my aching stomach in agreement. Blaze nodded and turned his massive body to face me, placed his elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his dark hair, which already looked like he’d done that ten too many times in the last hour. “Blaze, what the hell was that all about?" I asked in a hushed tone as I leaned closer to him. "Was it the Diamondbacks?”

He shook his head and looked back up at me. His dark brown eyes were confused and worried; two emotions I’ve rarely seen cross his features. That made the butterflies in my stomach angrier and they bounced off the walls of my stomach even more forcefully. My mouth watered as another wave of nausea washed over me. “No, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to go after you," he reassured me despite the uncertainty in his eyes. He must’ve noticed my discomfort; he rubbed my knee in an effort to soothe me. "Not after last time, anyway.”

I gulped, forcing down the bile that was rolling up my throat. "Then who the hell was it? That couldn't have been a random, bloodthirsty psycho, right? Am I gonna have to pack up and leave again? I haven't noticed anybody hanging around outside the store or the shop lately and no one's been tailing me I don't think..." My heart was pounding in my head again, making my hands tremble. Blaze grabbed them and squeezed them tightly.

"Shiloh, it's okay," he comforted, his rough thumbs brushing my knuckles. "I've got Keys digging up everything he can find..." His voice faded from my ears and I stared right through him at the passing cars and buildings, all blurs of color, and panic took over. The barrel of the gun pressed into the back of my head, cold and alienating, the click of the hammer echoing in my hollow skull, the bullet crashing through my teeth, splinters spraying the concrete below me, blood spattering the pavement like Jackson Pollock on a canvas, I was left to bleed, to empty, to decay-

"Shiloh." I crashed back down to the dismal, cold Earth. Blaze held my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him through burning, watery eyes. He knitted his eyebrows together, confused by my tears.

"I-I could've died," I stuttered through the lump in my throat. His face softened and he wiped the moisture away with his fingers, all the while shaking his head.

"I wouldn't have let that happen, kiddo." He brushed the bangs from my eyes, careful to avoid the sore spot. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

I shook my head repeatedly, despite the pain, as he dropped his hands from my face to rest them on my knees. “I mean, I know I’ve seen a lot and I’ve been through worse but I’ve never been so close-”

“Shiloh.” He grabbed my hands and squeezed them tightly as the bus squealed to a stop and passengers stood up all around. Blaze and I were among the few to remain seated. The air between us grew heavy and frigid as our eyes remained locked and I watched him struggle to find the right words to say. His dark eyes spun as fast as the thoughts in my own head before his lips straightened into a fine line �" he had nothing.

A sob forced its way out of the depths of my chest and my hand flew to my mouth. The dam behind my eyes broke and the tears fell free and uninterrupted. Passengers eyed the two of us curiously but kept whatever comments or judgments they had to themselves. I squeezed my eyes shut �" a futile attempt at keeping it together �" and Blaze immediately pulled me into him and held me tight as the bus started moving again. His leather jacket was cold against the feverish skin of my forehead but the sensation was welcome and comforting. The stale scent of leather mixed with cigarettes and motor oil instantly began its work of soothing my nerves and creating a sense of safety, no matter how false it may have been. For as long as I could remember, that was the smell of home.

“You know you’re safe with me,” Blaze reminded me softly. The bus rocked us back and forth, unintentionally providing a small modicum of comfort to us both and I nodded into the crook of his neck. “I know we don’t know anything right now, but we’re gonna keep an extra eye on you until we do, okay?” He pulled away from me and looked into my aching eyes as I wiped the smeared makeup from them and nodded silently. Talking was becoming exhausting. Blaze let out a tired sigh and brushed his finger lightly over the bump on my forehead. “We’re gonna keep an eye on that, too.”

I forced back a cringe as his fingertip brushed over the sore spot. “Out of everything I have no control over at the moment-” I sniffled and wiped my nose on the shoulder of my worn out t-shirt, “-I’m pretty sure I can take care of a bump on the head.”

Blaze raised a condescending eyebrow. “I knocked the s**t out of you, kid.”

I shrugged him off and scooted back into my own seat. “You know I’ve had worse,” I reasoned.

Blaze shook his head. “Not to the head, you haven’t,” he argued. I rolled my eyes but didn’t push the issue further. Honestly, it hurt too much, and I just wanted to sleep. “You can forget about opening the store today,” he continued with a crack of his neck. “I’ll have Diesel take care of that.”

My heart skipped a beat. “No way,” I said, shaking my head vigorously to recompose myself despite the pain. If there was anything I needed right now, it was a distraction from whatever it was that happened this morning. Moreover, if there was anything I really didn’t want, it was for Diesel, of all people, to think of me as weak for not being able to handle a little headache. “You guys have better things to worry about,” I refuted, fighting the blush burning my cheeks. Blaze eyed me curiously; I must have been failing. “Besides, me lying low at the shop wouldn’t accomplish anything. If we keep business running as usual, we avoid suspicion from the cops, anyway.”

  “It’s not the pigs I’m worried about, Shiloh!” he spat. His outburst took me by surprise. I flinched and he pointed an accusing, grease-stained finger out the window behind me. “We can’t just say that whoever got the jump on us this morning was acting alone and move on ‘business as usual’-” he mocked me with the air quotes “-cause no one travels that route at night on purpose-”

“Because of us.”

Blaze nodded furiously in agreement, struggling to keep his voice down. “You’re damn right because of us. Everyone knows to stay the hell away from there. The only reason anyone wouldn’t know that is if they’re new around here and the only reason they’d know that and do it anyway is if they were looking for us.”

My heart plummeted to my toes and my breath caught in my chest. “You don’t think it was a coincidence.”

He scoffed and sat back in his seat, scowling at me. “No such thing, Sunshine. Have the last nine years taught you nothing?” I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but I didn’t back down. He’d never deliberately been condescending towards me before and I wasn’t about to let him. I knew that this sudden display of ridicule was only coming from his being worried for my safety, but it didn’t give him the right to treat me like new blood.  

“They’ve taught me not to run and hide like a little b***h at the first sign of trouble,” I spat back at him. It was his turn to be shocked at my outburst; a wave of shock flashed across his eyes a split second before he replaced it with indignation as I continued. “The second I back off out of fear is the second I sign my death warrant.” I crossed my arms and leaned into the seat. “At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what some a*****e biker used to tell me.” His dark eyes narrowed as we shared a moment of silence.

“That a*****e ever tell you that you’re a smartass?”

I shrugged. “He’s mentioned it.”

Another moment of silence passed. The clouds uncovered the sun and lifted some of the darkness and tension that had made a home for themselves on the bus. Blaze chuckled and shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re gonna give me a stroke, kid.”

“What else do I have to live for?” His shoulders shook in silent laughter. “I can run the store today, honestly,” I continued. He looked up at me skeptically. “I just need a shot of whiskey and I’ll be good as new.” Blaze sighed and I watched his eyes grow weary. A small ounce of pride warmed the hollow hole in my chest where my panic kept pouring from �" he was giving up.

“I’m gonna put guys across the street to keep an eye on you,” he started and pointed a finger in my face. “You keep your eyes open and if anything �" and I mean anything �" looks suspicious just haul a*s outta there, store be damned. Got it?” I nodded eagerly as the bus came to a stop and Blaze stood up, signaling me to follow him. I stood up and looked out the window and faltered. We weren’t anywhere near the store or the garage.

“What are we getting off here for?” I asked him.

He looked over his shoulder at me, mischief gleaming from the corner of his eye. “We’re getting you that whiskey.”

xXxXx

The pint of Jack called my name from behind the counter in the middle of the store as the bell on the door announced another customer’s arrival. A sharp throb forced its way deep into the center of my brain and sent a wave of nausea straight to my stomach. I groaned and stopped mid-shelving, instinctively raising a hand to my mouth. I gulped before I turned around to see who had walked in.

“How are ya today?” I greeted two average punk-rock-wannabes with as much enthusiasm as I could manage. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t much. The moment I saw them, my tolerance instantly plummeted. The kid on the left looked like an early blink-182 reject, with spiked up hair and metal ball choker included. He shot me a disinterested glance, while the other one took the unlit cigarette from his mouth he barely looked old enough to buy and tucked it behind his ear with a scowl.

“You got any of the Sex Pistols’ albums on vinyl?” he asked, putting too much effort into convincing me that his balls had already dropped. I raised my eyebrow, eyeing them both up and down and not bothering to conceal my judgment. Anyone who knew any kind of punk rock history knew that Sex Pistols only released Bollocks before bowing out of the spotlight and that original copies of that vinyl were insanely hard to come by. Those two pricks didn’t deserve that kind of record. 

“I don’t know,” I started and turned back around to my half-empty CD stock cart, pulling Johnny Cash’s Gone Girl from the pile and examining the cover. “Are you looking for the original or the 12-track version? Or just the Submission single?” I turned around just in time to watch their faces twist �" blink-182’s in confusion and Balls’ in split-second panic �" and I nodded towards the door. “That’s what I thought. Get the hell outta here.” I turned back to the shelf and reached up to place the Cash CD in its rightful place, stretching my bruised and aching back to its limit. Their indignant muttering was drowned out by the bell as they left in a huff, which sent another sharp pain through my skull.

Why did I tell Blaze I wanted to run the store today? I asked myself, rubbing my eyes with my fingers before walking towards the checkout counter. The Rolling Stones played overhead as I reached for the Jack and swiftly took a swig. The time on the register read 12:46. Has it really only been four hours? I took another quick drink. God help me. I put the bottle back under the register as the bell rang again. I quietly groaned in annoyance.

“Damn, Princess, ain’t it a little early for that?”

God answered that prayer quickly. I hadn’t even registered the voice (or even looked up for that matter) but I instantly knew who it was… only one person ever called me that. All at once, adrenaline shot down to my gut and released the butterflies back into my stomach, fluttering with a vengeance. I took a split second to gather my composure �" god, only he could make my heart race like that �" before straightening up to face him, plastering a phony glare on my face which was hard to maintain once I met his kind blue eyes.

“You know, Diesel,” I started, as he approached the counter with a raised eyebrow and a sense of stifled urgency in his step, “if you hadn’t suggested knocking me out to cover Blaze’s a*s, maybe I wouldn’t be resorting to alcoholism so early in the day to nurse the migraine from hell.” I met him at the counter, resting my hands on the cool surface of the glass and savored the wave of cologne and leather that filled my nose as I approached.

 “Hey, that part was all your idea,” he defended as he leaned on his forearms towards me, clasping his fingers together. “I only suggested we twist the story to our benefit.”

I crossed my arms, doing my best to ignore the ache in my back. “You mean risk exposing my affiliations with you guys by tampering with a crime scene and lying to the cops?”

He shrugged his toned shoulders, his leather jacket crinkling quietly in protest. “I never said it was a good suggestion,” he said with a smirk. He picked at the callouses on his knuckles, which is something he only does when he’s nervous… which also explains the faint scent of pot on his breath. I looked him over; his normally well-groomed brown hair wasn’t gelled, brushed, or styled; I could swear that he wore that same irritatingly flattering Clash t-shirt yesterday, and there was a scab on his bottom lip, most likely from biting down on it too hard. What did he have to be nervous about? Did he find something out or see something? I wrinkled my eyebrows and lowered my voice, fighting the panic resurfacing in my chest.

“Is everything okay?” I murmured breathlessly, but he waved me off.

“Don’t worry about me,” he deflected. “I came in to ask you that.” He brought his hand up to my cheek and brushing the scrape on my cheek carefully with his thumb. It sent an involuntary chill down my spine, but I pushed further.

“No, you’re acting nervous and that makes me nervous,” I argued in a hushed tone and brushed his hand away. He sighed and shook his head and I started to continue, borderline frantic, but my head started spinning. Whether it was from the concussion, the panic, or the whiskey I’m not sure, but the blood rushed from my head down to my feet in two seconds flat, forcing me back into the wall. Diesel’s voice saying my name sounded so far away �" like we were underwater �" as drums replaced the heartbeat in my head, beating nausea back into my stomach. Seconds later, Diesel had leapt over the counter and was steadying me, muttering something, as darkness creeped into the corner of my eyes. He pulled me into him and, bearing all of my weight, guided me to the beat-up chair in the corner and gently pushed me onto it. All the while, the drums in my head and my heart in my chest raced each other to the tips of my toes, all desperate for escape; my lungs failed to keep up. The gears in my stomach churned, beckoning my blood to boil, my skin to cry. Stars danced across my vision as I forced my eyes back open in time to see Diesel shrug off his jacket and throw it around me.

Air found its way back into my lungs as the weight of his jacket, radiating the warmth from its wearer, pulled me back down to Earth. The leather material was much heavier than it looked, acting more like a weighted blanket than a jacket. My head felt light and hollow, but the drumming continued harder now, no longer obstructed by the brain matter between the walls of my skull. My eyes throbbed and I squinted through them at the ice pack wrapped in a towel Diesel was bringing up to my head. When the hell did he get that? He lifted my chin carefully with his free hand and I resisted the urge to pull away but I think he noticed me flinch.   

“You’re okay, Princess,” he whispered, and pressed the ice pack gently against the tender spot on my forehead. My hands, without my instruction, shot up to cover his as the cold from the ice contradicted the warmth from his jacket. “That was probably vertigo.” His thumb stroked my chin just under my lip, which I hadn’t noticed was trembling. God, Shiloh, would you pull yourself together? I berated myself. I bit my lip to stop it from quivering. Diesel did the same �" wincing as he recalled he’d already bitten through his lip once today �" before he pulled his hands away and stood up. “I don’t know what either of you were thinking when you convinced Blaze to let you run the store today.”

“W-What are you doing?” I managed to say, albeit shakily, as he walked around the counter.

“You need to take it easy,” he pointed at me, reinforcing his statement, “and working is the exact opposite of that.” He marched towards the door. My heart leapt �" oh, no, you don’t �" and, against my better judgment, I scrambled to my feet and instantly regretted that decision. The floor was ripped out from underneath my feet and I started to fall through it, but caught my arm on the counter. Diesel was back by my side in seconds, front door forgotten.

“D****t, Shiloh,” he scolded me and grabbed me by the waist. “What did I just say?” I grabbed onto his shoulder and tried to get my feet back under me, but my knees wouldn’t hold me.

“I don’t know,” I told him. I did my best to sound indifferent, but only managed to sound like I was in pain, which wasn’t untrue, but it didn’t need to be so obvious. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your bull s**t.” He scoffed as he gently pushed me back towards the stool. But, instead of countering my remark, like he normally would, he gripped my shoulders tighter and leaned towards me.

“It is not bull s**t, Shiloh,” he said as he stared directly into my eyes. “You cannot work today, and it’s not a weakness thing�"” he held up a finger to keep me from interrupting, which he knew I was about to do “�"it’s a smart thing.”

Tears burned my eyes and I shook my head, “Wyatt�"”

“I watched Blaze knock you out, Shiloh,” he interrupted, holding my face slightly tighter, “Hell, I’m the one who caught you. And I saw that guy holding that gun to your head.” My eyes burned hotter at the memory and I squeezed them shut, forcing the tears out of them. He wiped them from my cheeks. “You’re trying to be strong and tell us all that you’re fine, but I know it scared the hell out of you because seeing it did the same to me…”

I looked back up at him, surprised by such a statement. In reality, I shouldn’t have been. Diesel �" rather, Wyatt �" was the only true friend I’d ever had. Not one person I had ever met compared to him. It took a long time for me to recognize that, as he never had been a trusting person, but layer by layer, he revealed to me who he was. I saw parts of him that no one else knew existed, and I’d helped him fight his demons �" at least, the ones he’d let me see �" and he would help me do the same, but I hardly ever saw him afraid. Angry, hurt, maybe embarrassed, but never afraid. The admission alone was enough to make my center of gravity split down the middle, but the grim, somber tint in his ordinarily light blue eyes added a weight to his words that punched me in the chest hard enough to remind me of who Wyatt really was to me: family.

“…and, whether or not you’re willing to admit it, you are in no condition to handle all of this today.” I snapped back into reality in time to hear him make that decision for me. His voice was softer now, heavy-laden with sincerity, as he stroked my cheekbones with his thumbs, which were rough against my skin, but I didn’t mind. I hated to admit that he was right, but the throbbing in my head and back worsened as I held back the urge to cry. Actually, it worsened with every passing second, no matter what was going on around me. The ache had long spread through the rest of my body. My muscles had twisted themselves into knots and my intestines were cramping. The stress from the events earlier that morning was finally taking its toll. We sat in silence �" with the exception of the muffled bustling of the street on the other side of the door �" and examined the thoughts racing in each other’s eyes. But it was a humble moment where neither of us needed words… our eyes said it all.

Diesel lowered his hands from my cheeks and stood up straight, ready to head back to the door, but, before I could stop myself, I grabbed the bottom of his shirt before he could turn away. It effectively stopped him in his tracks, and he stared down at me for a moment, puzzled. I wasn’t sure why I was letting myself do this, but I was definitely sure of one thing: I never felt more comforted than I did when Diesel was with me. Sure, Blaze was like the father I never had… he was large, strong, intimidating, and I knew he would always protect me with his life, but Diesel just… I never had to worry when he was around. Being in his company was natural, comfortable, and safe.

And, god, I needed to feel safe.

Diesel wavered for a moment when he saw more tears fall, uncertain of what was going on in my head, before I tugged gently on his shirt. He cautiously stepped towards me, and momentarily tensed as I rested my head softly against his stomach and tightened my grip the soft, worn fabric. For a moment, he didn’t move, which nearly sent my nerves off for the millionth time that day, but he quickly recovered from his initial shock. He wrapped his arms around me and, I swear to god, I could have melted into him. His fingers weaved their way into my hair as he murmured words of comfort to me, and every tense muscle in my body began to relax.

So, naturally, some a*****e would choose that moment to walk in the front door.

The bell clanged as it opened, and the obnoxious clamor of the bustling Chicago streets followed a second after it, which jumpstarted the previously subsiding pounding in my head.

“We’re closed,” Diesel barked as he turned his attention to the intruder. I suddenly felt self-conscious of being so uncharacteristically intimate with him �" borderline embarrassed, actually �" but I didn’t pull away and he didn’t let go. Instead, I turned my face away from the door and into the bend of Diesel’s elbow.

“Not according to the sign on the door, you’re not,” the shopper retorted, with a recognizable twang in his accent. I couldn’t quite place it, but I knew it.

Diesel tensed before lifting his arm to point towards the door. “Then do us both a favor and fix it on your way out. And don’t let the door hit you.” I scoffed quietly with amusement. He would say that. I heard footsteps get closer.

“What’s going on here?”

What? I felt the tension in Diesel’s gut worsen, his arms tighten around me, and something deep inside of my head told me to keep hiding in his embrace. He deflected the man’s question with another sarcastic quip, but my curiosity overrode my judgment. I looked over. The middle-aged man did a double-take as we made eye contact, as if he was surprised to see me, before managing to say:

 “Someone got you good, eh?” He approached the counter, an inquisitive glimmer in his cold, brown eyes, and Diesel’s arms, once again, held me tighter. Despite the protective gesture, my heart filled with helium and floated to the top of my throat. I gulped it back down and eyed the man’s neatly tailored suit, as the bells of recognition rang incessantly in my head. I had to have seen him somewhere. His salt-and-pepper comb over looked so strangely familiar to me, but his accent gave away his foreign origin. He had the beginnings of a beer-belly, two hardly-distinguishable pins on his lapels, and thickly-rimmed glasses. I was sure I would have recognized such a formally dressed man if he’d come in the store previously. We didn’t generally attract the elite crowd. He would have stood out, especially with the way he reeked of cheap aftershave. So why the hell do you feel so familiar? I probed him with my eyes.

“I think I already told you to get lost, pal,” Diesel growled, narrowing his eyes at the nosy customer. My heart raced, and the stranger’s eyes never left me, gleaming mischievously, as if he knew something I didn’t. “Don’t make me say it again.”

The stranger raised his hands defensively at Diesel’s hostility, but hardly seemed threatened; he was simply too captivated by my presence. “There’s no need for such malevolence,” he said, and lowered his hands. “From what I’ve experienced �" and, mind you �"”

“We do mind,” Diesel interrupted sharply.

The man continued regardless, while something in my gut screamed for me to tuck tail and run. Something about him just seemed so… wrong. “�"your fine city experiences enough malevolence as it is.” He looked straight into my eyes, sparkling with mischief. The knots in my stomach with every word that left his mouth, drilling fear deeper and deeper into my core. “Why,” he persisted, “I’ve only been here since this morning, and I’ve already witnessed the aftermath of a murder at the park.”

Panic slammed into me like a brick wall, my heart spurred into overdrive, and Diesel’s hand instantly flew to the blade he always kept at his waist, but I grabbed his arm to stop him from hurling it into the man’s throat. I hurried to my feet. My head rushed, yet again, but my grip on Diesel kept me from faltering.

“And what the hell would you know about that?” I challenged, despite the darkness creeping into the corners of my eyes. Diesel looked down at me, astonished, but I kept hard eye contact with the man.

“I heard something about a second attacker,” he admitted nonchalantly and shoved his hands in his pockets, “and something about a survivor, who, from the amount of blood I saw, is lucky to be alive.”

With renewed urgency, I stepped towards the counter. Diesel reached for me to try to hold me back, but I waved him off and closed the space between us and the counter in a heartbeat. “You want to see luck?” I asked the man, my voice dangerously low. He raised his thick eyebrow, either out of amusement or out of intrigue, but it didn’t matter. I leaned closer to him, my hands making fists on the countertop. “Go back down there tonight,” I started, my voice dripping with malice, as I felt Diesel step up behind me and place his fist, which was clutching his throwing knife, on my back, “and we’ll see if you’re lucky enough to get out of there alive.”

The man spotted Diesel’s jacket, fallen and forgotten on the floor behind the counter, and grinned, as if he’d had some sort of epiphany. S**t. My heart leapt. His Shadow patch. “Now, now,” he started, backing towards the door, “after seeing a crime like that, what makes you think a man of my stature would risk such a thing?”

I shrugged, and paid close attention to his face. “Maybe you’re curious.” No reaction. “Or desperate.” His eye twitched. So, you’ve got something to lose. Since I moved closer to him, I could finally see the pins on his lapels; they were crests of some kind, with two horses and a buffalo. Important people wore crests, right? That must be what he meant by being a man of stature… S**t, is he some kind of royalty? Diesel turned towards me, with his chest pressing against my shoulder, but I pushed farther. “You’re obviously not from around here, so I’ll give you a piece of advice�"”

“Shiloh,” Diesel muttered, tapping my back with the sharp tip of his blade. His phone buzzed erratically in his pocket, but went ignored.

“�"whatever it is that you’re looking for here,” I continued, despite the growing severity of the circumstances and the dread in my chest, “give it up.” The stranger’s expression never shifted. “It’s not worth it.” The buzzing stopped.

The man smirked at me before his eyes shifted between Diesel and me. “I’ve already found it,” he revealed with a wink, and then stepped backwards towards the door. He nodded in Diesel’s direction before looking back at me and pulling out a pair of leather gloves from his pockets. “You should keep your family close, sweetheart.” He pulled the gloves over his hands. Diesel’s phone started buzzing again. “Life has a way of…” he looked up at the ceiling in thought, then looked back at me, “…blindsiding you.” He backed out of the store, the bell ringing ominously as he exited.

The moment the man started walking away, Diesel bolted to the door, and pulled the buzzing phone out of his pocket. “Keys, follow that guy…”

My mind flooded. I dropped to my knees.

 

The dueling strings of Moonlight Mile bled through my headphones, bounced around the tunnels of my ears, as the cold wind snapped at my nose and lips and whipped my hair behind me. Hands in my pockets, I pulled my jacket tighter around me, and checked over my shoulder. The path was deserted. I quickened my pace anyway �" you could never be too careful �" and pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time. 4:03. S**t, I swore to myself. Late again. Of course, it’s not like my presence at the meetings was mandatory or necessarily vital to the Shade, but I hated being fed information through the grapevine. It could be too unreliable. I knew Blaze would probably kill me for rushing out here this late anyway, so why not make an entrance by being late while I was at it?

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up �" and not from the cold. I stopped dead in my tracks and scanned the area. My heart rate sped up, pounding inside of my chest, and I yanked the earphones from my ears just in time for something cold, hard, and heavy to press into the back of my head. I suppressed a scream.  

“On your knees.”

All of the air fled from my lungs with a cry as he fiercely gripped my shoulder, his pudgy fingers forcing their way underneath my collarbone, and sending a deep, sharp pain through my chest. “I said, on �" your �" knees,” he repeated, and forced me to the ground. I stumbled forward, catching myself on my hands, and panic rushed through my body and spilled from my mouth�"

“I don’t have any money on me. I’m not wearing anything expensive, I�"”

“I don’t want your money,” he growled as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back into the barrel of his gun. My breath caught in my throat, effectively striking me dumb, as he leaned into my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Tell me about your family.”

For a split second, confusion overpowered my fear. But, I’m an orphan? Fear shot through me again when I realized what he must have meant: the Shade. But, it was in that recognition, where I found my courage. Blaze was near. They all were. I wasn’t alone on the pavement.

“Go ahead,” I ordered, inwardly swearing at my failure to steady my voice. I just needed to buy some time. I might have been late, but I was never ‘fashionably’ late. They’d start looking for me soon. “Shoot me,” I told him. The hammer of the gun clicked and, despite my attempt to stay calm, I visibly flinched. Yeah, Shiloh, I berated myself, give him permission, why don’t you? Tears streamed freely down my face.

“Don’t for a second think I won’t,” he threatened, and pressed the muzzle even harder into my skull. “What do you know about your family?” he asked again. The question seemed odd to me �" why would he refer to the Shade as my family, and, if he knew I was one of them, why was he asking what I knew? �" but, my survival instincts overrode any type of logical thinking that didn’t revolve around how the hell I was going to make it out of there alive.

“They’ll be after you in a heartbeat,” I told him, ignoring his question, and cursing the tears that were falling down my face. “You won’t make it out of the park alive.”

I felt him stiffen behind me in �" wait, was it confusion? “What?”

“You kill me,” I started, but had to swallow the lump in my throat before I could continue, “and they’re going to make the rest of your soon-to-be very short life a living hell.” His grip on my hair loosened lightly.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do it,” I spat. My outstretched hands trembled. “I f*****g dare you.”

His grip tightened on my hair. “Who do you think is gonna come after me?”

“You’re gonna have to shoot me if you wanna find out, a*****e.”

He fired; a sonic boom tore through my ears. I screamed, waiting for a bullet to rip me open, but the white-hot barrel poked the back of my head. “Don’t f*****g tempt me!” he shouted, but his voice was a faded echo of what it should have been, a mumble compared to the high-pitched whistle of rocket-propelled gunmetal. He forced me down, my face into the gravel, and held me down with a knee in my back, “Answer my f*****g question!”

Stand your ground, Shiloh. “Go to hell.”

He forced his knee deeper into my spine. “Answer m-!”

“Shiloh, come back to me.”

I crashed back into reality, facing Diesel once again, who was crouched down in front of me and wiping more tears from my face. God, you wanna stop doing that, Shiloh? I scolded silently, right before the epiphany hit me like a sack full of bricks.

“My family,” I muttered, looking straight through Diesel’s frame into the wall behind him.

His eyes furrowed, and he brought his hand to my knee. “What?”

“H-his accent,” I started, fighting the blackness seeping into the corners of my eyes, “I know it. H-he sounded just like my mother. It all makes sense,” I stuttered. My voice was fading quickly, and I reached out for him, my hand landing on his hard shoulder.

“I’m pretty sure it’s only making sense to you, Princess,” he commented, letting me brace myself on him as I tried to stand.

“N-no, th-the guy in the park, he-he kept asking me about my family. I thought he meant the Shade but maybe…” But the pins on his lapels, they had red and white flags. I tried to get my feet under me, but my legs were shaking too badly, and I landed back on my knees. Diesel grabbed me by my shoulders to steady me. They must’ve been Canadian, that’s where Mom ran away from�"

“Shiloh�"”

No, not where she ran from… who.

 “�"my father.”

Diesel faltered. “What?”

I finally looked at him, as the darkness continued to creep in. I tightened my grip on his shoulder so I wouldn’t lose him in the abyss. “He found me…”

His voice called out my name, echoing quietly off the walls of my skull, as the darkness finally took over. Oh, sweet darkness. Silence.

xXxXx

“You can’t leave me, Mama,” I sobbed into the pillow next to my mother’s balding head. She shushed me quietly and, with a frail, shaking hand, brushed my hair behind my ear. I looked up at her through teary, bloodshot eyes, and wiped my nose on my sleeve. “It’s always b-been us, you and me, t-together.”

“And we’ll always be together, baby,” she reassured me. Her voice cracked, and she broke into a coughing fit. Instantly, I sat back up and reached for the water glass on the bedside table, sobbing forgotten. I brought the glass up to her lips for her to drink, which, once her coughing subsided, she did so gratefully. She gulped forcefully, before looking back at me and continuing, “No matter what happens, you’ll always have me.” She placed her hand on my chest. Despite its fragile frame, it felt like a dumbbell against my chest as my sorrow returned. “I’ll be right here.” I sniffled and returned the drink to the table.

“But you won’t be here, Mama,” I refuted, lying back down beside her and burying my head in her shoulder. “You won’t be here, and they’re gonna try to take me away, and everything is gonna be ruined,” I sobbed and clung to her arm, silently praying that I could give her what was left of my strength, if only I wouldn’t be left alone. She shushed me once again, failing to hide the heartbreak in her tone, and she looked down at me.

“Oh, honey,” she started, and planted a dry kiss on my forehead, “You are going to make it. I know it,” she told me while she reached for my hand and squeezed it as hard as she could. I squeezed hers equally as strong, as if I was holding on to what was left of her life. “If anyone can make it out there in that big, scary world on their own, it’s you, Shiloh. And you know how I know?” I shook my head, further burying my head in between her gaunt arm and the comforter, and she continued, “because I raised you to be a fighter. A survivor.”

“I know, Mama,” I admitted with a hiccup. She wiped tears from the corner of my eye. “But I don’t wanna be alone forever. What would be so bad about them finding out where my dad is and having him take care of me?”

She tensed beside me, before sighing and stroking my cheek with her thumb. “You know why, sweetheart.”

I scoffed. “Because he’s ‘dangerous’.” I inwardly swore to myself. I knew I shouldn’t be so curt with my mother in her last hours… but, god, I was hurting. I couldn’t help it. My heart was aching… “But I don’t wanna be alone, Mama. I don’t wanna be without a family ever again.”

She nodded slowly in understanding and threaded her shaking fingers through my tangled hair gently. “That’s why you have to go out on your own, baby. You get to go find a family all your own, wherever you end up.” I looked over at my fully-stocked backpack leaning against the wall by the back door with disdain, silently cursing it for looming over me. “The world is full of people worthy of your love, Shiloh. You just have to promise me to go out and find them the moment I’m gone. Don’t wait,” she told me, and tucked her thumb under my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Her once vibrant green eyes were quickly fading and my heart strained at the sight. “And whatever you do�"”

“Don’t ever let anyone �" especially him �" ruin my happiness,” I finished.

She beamed down at me. “That’s my baby girl.” She kissed the top of my head and I squeezed my eyes shut as more tears poured out from them. “I love you, my princess.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

xXxXx

“Shiloh,” a soft, familiar voice whispered my name. The images of my mother slowly faded to black as my head throbbed against something soft �" a pillow, maybe �" and a large hand gently shook me by my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes tighter, despite the way they stung with fresh, hot tears, as I silently begged for those images to come back. The faint smell of her signature lilac perfume lingered in my nose and I buried my head into the mattress. “Come on, Princess. It’s time to wake up.”

I forced my eyes open at the use of that nickname and sent a harsh glare in the direction it came from. For a split second, I forgot that Diesel was the only other human on Earth who could call me that �" with the exception of my late mother, of course �" but, the moment I recognized his outline, illuminated only by the light coming through from the door to the other room, relief flooded through me. He smirked down at me and brushed his calloused fingers along my hairline, chills shooting through me.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately, as he ran his thumb tenderly across the scrape on my cheek. My eyes fluttered closed and I sank bank into the mattress; I was more than ready to succumb to unconsciousness once more, but Diesel had other ideas, apparently. “Think you can sit up for me?” he asked softly. He gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

I tried to nod, but my head pounded harder in protest at the mere thought. The best response I could muster was, “Mm-mm.”

He chuckled. “I know you probably feel like s**t,” he started, reaching for the edge of the blankets, which I clung to with a white-knuckled fist. It was so warm underneath them… He scoffed at my childlike antic, before tugging on them slightly harder and continuing, “but I’ve gotta make sure you’re not losing whatever brain cells you have left.” I glared up at him again, silently cursing that stupid-a*s cocky smirk of his for being so damned cute, and buried my head even farther into the pillow to hide the blush creeping into my cheeks. He leaned down closer to me, allowing the subtle, comforting scent of his latest blunt masked with Old Spice to roll over me, tempting me to sleep even more. I wondered if he could hear my heart racing. “What, no smart-a*s comment?”

I shrugged my shoulder, genuinely unsure of how to respond. Every thought in my brain had blurred together, dense like fog. I felt like I had plenty of responses for that kind of jab, but none of them came close enough to the tip of my tongue to be able to say. It hurt too much to concentrate. Oh, I thought, say that. “J-just hurts,” I croaked.

Diesel nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed, “but the sooner you sit up and answer some questions, the sooner you can get back to sleeping.” He continued to pull at the blankets, and I groaned in protest, but my hands weren’t strong enough to hold on to them, and cool air rushed over my bare arms as he lifted them away. I shivered at such a drastic change in temperature and curled in on myself. My joints and muscles creaked, almost unwilling to comply after however long they had been stagnant.

Diesel chuckled in amusement as he watched me stir. “Don’t be such a baby,” he jabbed, rubbing my upper arm as I pushed myself up from the mattress. My aching body screamed in protest. The bruise on my back had most definitely rooted itself into my spine, sending deep, debilitating waves of pain through my stomach and making it hard to breathe. His hand instantly flew to my side to help me up at the first sign of my discomfort �" although, “discomfort” was very much an understatement �" and, as I sat upright, he moved closer to me, with one leg propped up behind me, and his other foot braced on the floor. His chest was perpendicular to mine, and the body heat from his chest radiated warmth onto my shoulder, a warmth I now craved. I shivered before leaning into him, managing to stifle my urge to cry by replacing it with something that resembled a pained moan, and his arms circled around me carefully. I turned my head into his shoulder, and I couldn’t help but think to myself, Damn, we fit together so perfectly, as he rested his cheek on the top of my head.

“I’m gonna turn on the light, okay?” he murmured into my hair and I groaned in response, which earned me yet another chuckle from him. I squeezed my eyes shut as his hand left my back and reached behind us. Stale yellow light glowed on the opposite side of my eyelids, but I kept them shut. “Can you tell me what day it is?” he asked, placing a glass of something into my shaking hand. I finally peeled my eyes open and wrapped my fingers around it, and watched the water tremble in sync with my hand. He waited until I had a firm grip on it before he let go.

“Depends,” I muttered, slowly bringing the glass to my lips and taking a sip. It was lukewarm, but clean, I guess. Refreshing enough. I swallowed. “How long have I been out?”

He held up his other hand, which held two white pills. “About four hours, give or take,” he replied, then wiggled his fingers. “It’s just vicodin.”

I gratefully swiped them from his palm and swallowed them with the water. I thought for a moment. “Still Thursday, then.” I swirled the water in the glass. “Shouldn’t this be whiskey?”  

Diesel scoffed as I took another sip. “I almost think I don’t need to ask you any more stupid questions. You sound like yourself.”

“You probably don’t.” I placed the glass against his chest, which he took and set on the counter. “All of your questions are stupid,” I quipped.

He chuckled. “Yeah, I think you’re all right,” he muttered, barely trying to hide his amusement. I rubbed my heavy eyes with my fingers, begging the painkillers to kick in fast. I never thought my head could hurt so badly. He reached behind us. “You allergic to ice on skin?”

I paused in confusion before I looked over at him. He had a large ace bandage and one of those gel ice packs in his hands. “I don’t even know what that means,” I told him.   

He popped the metal disc in the gel pack and looked up at me. “It’s just basic first aid, but if you don’t know, then you’re probably not,” he told me, wrapping the pack once with the bandage before setting it in his lap and tugging the back of my tank top. “You mind?”

I flinched away from his touch. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked, shooting him a wary look. I mean, it wasn’t like I hadn’t fantasized about such a thing before, but the fact that it was actually happening �" and not in a sensual kind of way �" was a different story. He took his hand away.

“That welt you’ve got on your back has been making me nervous,” he explained as he pointed to it accusingly. “I can see it swelling through your shirt. And I know it’s gotta hurt like a b***h.” I blushed, embarrassed at how quickly my thoughts went to the gutter, but he didn’t seem to notice. He held up the pack and bandage. “I can put it over your shirt, but it does need to be iced regardless.”  

I paused for a moment before I straightened my back �" groaning as I did so �" and lifted the hem of my tank top. He gently applied the ice pack to the bruise on my back, and I had to fight a howl of pain as he started carefully wrapping it around my stomach. The ice pack grew colder with every passing second, and so grew the pain. The pressure spread throughout my back and I gulped down the bile threatening to make an appearance. 

He looked down at me. “It’s not too tight, is it?” he asked softly, his breath warm on my cheek. I shook my head and fought to suppress a shiver. He tucked the bandage in before pulling my shirt back down, his fingers grazing my feverish skin. That time, I couldn’t fight the chill that raced down my back, but he, once again, gracefully ignored it, and pulled out a small flashlight from his t-shirt pocket. “Do me a favor and look straight ahead,” he said as he pointed it down at the navy-blue comforter and turned it on. I did as I was told, but couldn’t quiet the awestruck thoughts in my head �" he was being so uncharacteristically… I don’t know. Nurturing? No, that wasn’t the word. Gentle? He brought the flashlight up to my eye level, but was careful not to shine it directly into my eyes. I squinted at the sudden brightness, but didn’t look away.

“Since when did you have a medical degree, McSteamy?” I quipped.

He chuckled. “As a boxing instructor, I have to be certified in first aid, so that answer would be always.” His blue eyes gleamed with amusement as he held up his index finger. “Go ahead and try to follow my finger with your eyes.” He moved his finger slowly from my right to my left. I tried to keep my head still, but the closer I looked towards the corner of my eyes, the more it hurt. I squeezed my eyes shut. He turned off the flashlight before he reached over and tapped the tip of my nose lightly with his finger with that damned smirk. “And that’s Dr. McSteamy to you.”

Affectionate �" that was the word I was looking for.

I looked at him in awe. My thoughts briefly flashed to this morning, when Diesel had pulled me up off the sidewalk and held me close while I trembled with shock, and then later, when he met me at the shop, and picked me up off the floor when I couldn’t stand. I wasn’t sure where this gentle nature of his appeared from, or why he hadn’t reverted back to his usual, broody, emotionally-distant self by now, but I was sure of one thing: I didn’t want him to.

“…seen a lot of guys take worse hits, but not one of them handled it as well as you have.” I blinked a couple of times. We maintained eye contact, but the glint of humor in his eyes was long gone, replaced with concern. “Honestly, I don’t know how you went straight to the shop from the park. Or what’s stopping me from taking you to the hospital.”

 I shrugged weakly. “Maybe it’s the possibility of running into another hitman.” 

“Yeah, that might be it.”

A melancholy silence fell on us like a blanket. We stared into each other’s eyes, sharing a somber moment of mutual exhaustion, before he placed his hand on my knee and rubbed soothing circles on it with his thumb. I sighed and leaned into him once again, welcoming the warmth radiating from his body. He rested his chin on the top of my head just as the pain in my back started to numb. The painkillers must’ve been kicking in. I fixed my eyes on a picture frame on the opposite wall, and it finally dawned on me where we were. My heart plummeted.

“Why the hell are we at the loft?”

 He sighed, and I felt his shoulders slump. “I was wondering if you were gonna notice that,” he admitted, and I pulled away from him.

“Blaze put you up to this, didn’t he?” I accused. He stood up and walked towards the bedroom door, and I shivered from the sudden lack of body heat. “I told that b*****d I wasn’t going to run from this.”

Diesel spun around to face me, throwing his arms out at his sides. “Can you blame him, Shiloh?” he exclaimed, abandoning his soft tone. “You get some random guy trying to f*****g execute you in the middle of the night, followed by some creep at the shop threatening to finish the job, and you don’t think we want to get you as far away from there as possible?”

I shook my head as best as I could manage and swung my bare legs off the edge of the bed, shivering as I threw off the covers. For a split second, I paused, confused. Why am I not wearing pants?

Diesel read my mind and left the room, bitterly stating, “You took those off when we got here, dumbass.” He disappeared behind the door. “Said they were ‘sentimentally ruined’ or some deep, poetic s**t.” While a part of me felt incredibly self-conscious about being basically half-naked in front of him, the rest of me knew there was a more pressing issue at hand.

“You need to take me back,” I told him.

He cackled from the other room. “No, what I need is a deep tissue massage and a week in the Bahamas, but that’s not gonna happen either.”

The pressure in my back might have been improving, but the pounding in my head sure wasn’t. The fighting sure wasn’t helping that, either. “How the hell can you be making jokes right now, Diesel?”

“I wasn’t joking.”

God, he could be so irritating. Normally, his dark, twisted humor could always lighten the mood of whatever situation was at hand, but on top of the relentless pain pulsing throughout my body, the lingering shock of what happened this morning, and the idea that I failed to hide from the one person I promised my mother I’d never let find me… it was all too much. I was weak. I was a failure. And, worst of all, I was helpless. And Diesel just… he didn’t get it. My eyes grew hot with tears of pain and frustration and I pressed my fingers into my forehead to alleviate some of the pressure, but the tears kept falling. “You don’t get it, Diesel,” I started, cursing myself for the way my voice broke. I swallowed the lump in my throat and heard his footsteps cautiously approach the doorway and stop. “You don’t know who he is.”

“Actually,” he said, much softer, and he walked towards me, “yeah, we do.” I did a double take, looking up at him in shock as he stopped in front of me, but he was looking down at his phone.

“What?”

He looked down at me, as if he were debating whether or not he should show me, before he turned his phone around for me to see a headshot of the man in the store. My heart bounced off the wall of my chest as I stared into those cold, dark eyes again. “His name is Nathaniel Olivier,” Diesel started. I reached for the phone with a shaking hand. “That pin he had on his jacket?” I looked up at him in shock, but he nodded. “Yeah, I noticed it, too. It was actually a crest. That crest.” He pointed to the seal behind Olivier’s head �" two white horses reared up on opposite sides of a shield, consisting of the Canadian flag above a buffalo, all underneath a beaver holding a pink flower, standing on top of a knight’s helmet, and wearing a king’s crown. “And you’ll never guess what it’s called.”

My stomach churned, but I didn’t look up from the screen. “Beats me.”

He paused, ominously, before saying softly. “The Crest of Manitoba.”

My heart dropped. Panic sparked in my chest �" it had to be him. It couldn’t be a coincidence. My mom always said that she named me after a place that had been home to her. I always assumed that she meant my first name, but… I was wrong all along. And if this… guy and my mother were both from the same place, about the same age, and he was trying to kill me… He truly had to be the man my mother groomed me to run from.

My father.

“He’s Manitoba’s Lieutenant Governor, currently running for Commander in Chief,” Diesel continued, as he gently took the phone from my hands and tossed it on the bed next to me. Dread coursed through my veins. I needed to tell him, didn’t I? “He’s in Chicago for some political bullshit. Now, why the hell he’s targeting you, we haven’t figured out yet�"”

“I have.”

He stared at me, stunned into silence, but recovered quickly. “You’ve been unconscious for over four hours, Princess. I don’t think that’s possible even for you.”

I took as deep of a breath as I could manage. Now or never, I told myself. “He’s my father.”

Diesel’s eyes widened. I watched, trying to hide my amusement, as his face contorted in confusion. It was a rare thing to leave him speechless. I liked to drink in those moments, but, after a moment of flustered gaping, he finally said, “Okay, I really want to see how that makes sense, Shiloh, but I think you’ve actually stumped me.” I rubbed my eyes, desperately trying to ease the pressure that was steadily growing again, as he sat down next to me. The mattress dipped, and I had the sudden urge to just lie back down so I didn’t have to explain. “What the hell makes you think he’s your father? If he’s your father, why would he want to kill you?”

My eyes burned with tears as I pried open old wounds, which, for the last eight years, I’d done my hardest to bury alongside my mother. The hardest part to accept was probably the reality that, despite all my efforts, my past still managed to catch up to me, and because of that… I failed to keep that promise to her�"the promise that I’d never let him affect my life. Of course, it wasn’t like I’d done it purposefully �" how he managed to find me couldn’t have been a fault of mine �" but the fact remained that my one job was to stay hidden. That’s all my mother wanted me to do, and I failed. My stomach lurched as it filled with guilt, and I turned my head to the side, stifling a gag. I held my chest as I gulped down the bile trying to force its way up, and Diesel’s hand found the small of my back. He murmured my name, probably unsure of what to say. That made two of us, but I had to start somewhere, and despite the guilt threatening to swallow me whole.

“My mother grew up there,” I started, but had to clear my throat before I could continue. He handed me the glass of water from the nightstand, which I gratefully accepted. I took a sip of water, although, it couldn’t wash away the bitter taste these words were leaving in my mouth. I cupped the glass in my hands and rested it on my lap, glaring down at my warped reflection, as Diesel eyed me expectantly.

“She was a stripper at a club. In Winnipeg, I think,” I continued, rubbing my thumb against the glass. Diesel mimicked that motion against the exposed skin on my back and I shivered. “She got pregnant with me after a one-night stand with a client �" a guy in politics, she said.” The more I revealed to him, the heavier the reality of truth sat like a cinderblock in my gut. It had always been just a story to me �" my own Nicholas Sparks tragedy �" but, with every passing word, that story came to life. I started to tremble, but forced myself to keep going. “Apparently, when he found out, he tried to get her to abort me, and when she wouldn’t…” I gulped, “he hired a hitman.”

Diesel’s jaw dropped. “Jesus.”

I nodded. “Tell me about it.”  

“How the hell did she get away?” he asked, incredulously.

“He let her.” He raised his eyebrow, urging me to explain. I took another sip of water to fight the nausea as my head began to swim. “He’d met her before at the strip club and didn’t have it in him to finish the job. So he told her to get the hell out of Dodge and never come back. That he’d take care of everything.”

He whistled in amazement. “Lucky woman.”

Grief tugged at my heart, syncing with the pounding in my head, as my dream resurfaced in my mind. “Not lucky enough,” I muttered, so my voice wouldn’t break. He continued rubbing circles on my back, his fingers sneaking underneath the hem of my tank top, and I closed my eyes to hold on to that feeling.

“You’ve never told me that, Shiloh,” he said quietly. I shrugged.

“I wanted it all to die with my mother.” A tear dropped onto my cheek, and, along with it, some of the weight off my chest. Maybe that’s all I needed: a good cry.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I shook my head, unsure of how to move on, and I wiped the tear away. The aching in my head persisted, while the painkillers worked on numbing everything else. All I could think of was the danger I put the Shade in. Or, rather, my family, in. My thoughts raced back to the moment Olivier’s eyes caught the Shadow patch on Diesel’s jacket, the way the man in the park pried about my family, the conniving expression in Olivier’s eyes�"

Oh, s**t, I thought. My heart plummeted to the floor. Blaze doesn’t even know what’s coming for them.

With a renewed sense of urgency, I reached past Diesel to put the glass down on the nightstand and started to stand up. He straightened up at my sudden display of energy, as I told him, “We have to warn Blaze. He knows who we are.” The blood rushed from my head to my feet and I steadied myself on the nightstand. Diesel scrambled to his feet and grabbed me by my sides to try to stop me.

“Easy there, Princess,” he said, trying and failing to keep the concern from his voice. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to be doing anything other than sleeping.”

I shook my head and pushed myself off the nightstand, but he tightened his grip on me. “Let go of me, Diesel.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Back.” I tried to twist out of his grip, thankful that, while the painkillers had only turned the pain into pressure, movement was at least bearable. I spotted my backpack in the corner, which most likely had my things in it. I tried to push his hands off of me so I could get to it. “Would you back off?”

“Hell, no!” he exclaimed. I flinched at his sudden outburst and looked up at him. He glowered down at me with a mixture of panic and frustration in his eyes. “If you think I’m just going to let you go back to the place where someone just tried to kill you, you’re out of your goddamn mind!” His voice pierced the small space of air between us, but I ignored the pain shooting into my head through my ears.

“Olivier saw the patch on your jacket, Dee!” I shouted at him. I tried to blink away the stars dancing in my vision, but couldn’t. He kept looking down at me with an emotion in his eyes I couldn’t recognize. It nagged at me, but I tried to look past it. I had to convince him to take us back. “I just shined a floodlight onto my connection with the Shade, and if he’s got as much political leverage as we think he does, whatever battle plan Blaze has figured out, isn’t going to be enough to take him out.”

“And what makes you think that you going back is going to change that?” he asked me, grabbing his phone and waving it in my face mockingly. “They invented these things called phones you can use to relay that kind of information.”

I glared at him and, with strength I didn’t realize I could have in my current state, shoved him away from me. “Don’t f*****g mock me, a*****e!” I shouted, as he gaped at me. It wasn’t unwarranted either; I’d never been aggressive towards him before, but I didn’t care. I stomped towards my backpack in the corner. “I can’t let everyone get themselves killed because I’m running from the mess that I made. If I go back there, maybe Olivier will be so focused on taking me out, Blaze won’t have to worry about the whole family getting taken out.” I kneeled down and tore the bag open, bracing myself against the wall before the dizziness could get the best of me.

“It’s not a mess, Shiloh, it’s your life we’re talking about here!” he scolded me. I rummaged through the bag, and pulled out my torn-up jeans. “We can call Blaze and tell him what you know, but you going back there is suicide!”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, zipping up the bag, “maybe I’m counting on that.” The second those words left my mouth, I realized how bad it sounded. That was dark, even for me. I swore to myself, pausing on the spot. Well, you can’t take it back now, dumb a*s, I thought to myself. You’ll have to play it.

“What the f**k did you just say?” he asked.

I shrugged in phony nonchalance and braced my hand on the wall, preparing to stand up. “I mean, if I’m gone, then no one has to worry about risking their lives to protect me anymore.” I started to push myself up, but the floor caved in under me and I almost crumpled to the floor, but Diesel rushed over to me in record time. I cried out in pain as he caught me.

“D****t, Shiloh, you can’t even stand on your own!” He forced me gently to the floor as I tried to use him to stand, kneeling in front of me. He strategically placed his knee in between my legs, effectively making it impossible for me to get up, and I groaned in frustration, but he cupped my face firmly in his hands and forced me to look up at him. Our faces were hardly inches apart; his breath was warm on my face, and his eyes were filled with that intense emotion I still couldn’t identify. It stopped my defiance towards him in its tracks.  

“Your life is worth protecting, Shiloh. You have no idea how much so.” His voice broke on that last word, which stole the breath from my chest. I watched helplessly as his eyes started to glisten. God, that was something I just could not bear to see.

“Dee�"”

“No, listen to me,” he stopped me. Tears of my own fell down my cheeks and he immediately wiped them away with his thumbs, as I reached up and grabbed onto his wrists. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you or take you away from me. Not if I can help it.” I squeezed my eyes shut as the pressure built in my head, and he pressed his lips to my forehead, lingering for a long moment before continuing. “And by anyone, I mean your self-destructive a*s, too.” Despite myself, I chuckled, and I felt him smile against my forehead. He settled onto the floor next to me and pulled me into him, protectively wrapping his arms around me. I melted into him, resting my throbbing head in the groove of his neck. But, as much as I wanted to stay in that spot forever, the impending fate of the Shade rang incessantly in my head.

“I don’t want to run anymore, Wyatt,” I whispered into his shirt.

He sighed into my hair. “Yeah, I get it,” he admitted, before looking down at me. “But, even if I do decide to take us back, do you even have a plan? What are you gonna do?” he asked.

I sighed. Considering the alternative, there was only one thing to do. Only one way to get out of it alive.

“I’m gonna kill him.” 

Reviews

[Colleen H]

loved the suspense! never would have thought it was her father! thanks for the good read!