His Hostage

“In there,” he says.

“You kidding me?” Jeffco asks. “You’re coming in there with us.”

“This is the end of the road for me,” he says. “I’ll wait here for ya’ll. Don’t you worry.”

We begin to walk toward the cabin, but Iago whispers, “I’m fucking worrying. We don’t know who the hell is in that cabin. It could be Kaine for all we know.”

“Just get your weapons ready,” I tell them. “If it’s the Hunters inside, all we can do is shoot for our lives.”

We step onto the porch, and a man peers out the window. His face is scarred, as if a blade had cut across his flesh in multiple swipes.

A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not used to dealing with gangs like this.

Back home, things are a bit more normal. Bikers snorting speed, making deals, and getting wasted. That sort of thing.

In these parts, it seems like anything goes. They follow the rules, so they don’t get talked down to. But they’re on some sort of other path that I’m not too keen on pursuing.

The door pushes open, and we’re face to face with a group of men. The leader, the scarred face man, steps forward. “Throw your weapons onto the floor and slide them over,” he says. “Now.”

All glance at each other from side to side. I take a huge breath and grab my pistol. I place it on the ground and slide it forward. Everyone else does the same.

“Your blades too,” he says. “We’re not stupid.”

We take out our knives and slide them forward as well. “We came to ask for help,” I say.

“Come inside.” The man motions for us to follow. I turn around to see the man on the boat leaving the premises.

My heart turns to rage, but I’m unable to do anything in this situation. I feel fucking helpless. All we can do is hope for the best.

“Sit down,” the man says, glancing at the couch.

We do as we’re told.

“Good. Now get that look off your face. You’re not dead, are you?” he asks.

“No,” Iago says. “We’re not. That’s why we’re here.”

“You came for our help,” he says. “I heard all of that. Except, before this, you’ve never come to us for anything. How strange.”

“We like to keep to ourselves,” Jeffco mutters.

“What a load of fucking bullshit,” he says, grabbing my pistol from the ground.

The man takes aim at Jeffco, forcing him to flinch. He holsters the gun, smiling.

“You came because you’re selfish. It’s okay to admit it. We’re all selfish. That’s why we keep to ourselves. It’s smarter that way. People don’t get hurt,” he says. “We’ve lost one man in the past ten years. One. That’s it.”

“What happened to your face?” Jeffco asks, enraged that the man put a gun to him.

The man snorts with laughter. “Name’s Maynard. Before I was a Hell Squadron, I was on my own. I made deals here and there, but I hadn’t a clue as to what the world was really like. I stepped into a bar one night to make a deal. The guy cut my face up into little pieces,” he says. “I just remember seeing bits of my flesh falling into my drink.”

“Jesus,” Caroline whispers to herself, shielding her eyes.

“After I healed, I formed the Hell Squadron. I found the man that did this to me. Know what I did? I cut his fucking face up. I cut his body up. I cut his feet up. And I left him to rot. Turns out, he’s still alive, living with those scars,” he says. “Payback is a bitch, ain’t she?”

“We should go,” Iago says, standing up.

“Sit back down,” Maynard says. “And listen very carefully because it could be the last words you hear. We don’t get many visitors here. We don’t like to get visitors here. Who is searching for you?”