CRISTY
I'm woken up by something tickling my face and neck. It brushes over my skin so lightly that it makes me squirm. I hear a barely audible breathy chuckle from above me and slowly open my eyes.
I peek over my shoulder only to be met with John's happy smile as he uses a strand of my hair to tickle me. The sight of him, relaxed and playful, makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.
I hide my face in the pillow with a groan. My face probably looks awful right now, not to mention the mess that is my hair. Morning me is not attractive.
"Wake up, babygirl."
John kisses the back of my head.
"I got breakfast for us."
He softly speaks into my ear, leaning over me as he still uses the ends of my hair to brush over my skin. The intimacy of it, the casual affection, feels surreal. Like I'm living someone else's life.
"What time is it?"
I groggily ask, keeping my face buried in my pillow.
"Ten."
I shoot up from the bed, wide-eyed. Panic floods my system.
"Damn it! Why didn't you wake me up sooner?!"
I hurriedly go through my closet to get something to wear then run to the bathroom. My hands shake as I grab clothes, my mind racing through everything I need to do.
John gives me a confused look when I exit the bathroom and that's when I realize that I never mentioned to him that I have to go to the police station to give them the weekly report. My uncle arranged it that way, so I don't have a cop car constantly showing up around me. Once a week I give the officer in charge of me a report on whether I noticed anything suspicious, what's been going on, all the mundane details of staying alive and hidden.
I literally slap my forehead at my stupidity. I should've told him.
"I have to meet the officer responsible for me at noon. If I'm late, the cops will contact the detective in charge of my dad's case."
I feel like such an idiot. Like I'm constantly one step behind where I should be.
"We still have time, precious."
John assures me and takes my hand, pulling me with him to the kitchen. His touch is warm, grounding.
"First we eat, and then we can take care of everything else."
With a quick peck he picks me up and sits me down on the stool by the counter. I release a strange squeak at the sudden move, making John laugh. His voice is so deep and masculine. I could listen to it all the time.
He takes the seat next to me and dishes out the breakfast he bought. We eat in complete silence, with occasional feeding done by John. Whenever I protest, he just silences me with a passionate kiss and uses my dazed state to get me to agree.
Damn him and his lips. One kiss from him and I would probably agree to shave my head bald if he asked. Not that he would.
I think.
When we're done with the food and throw the disposable containers away, it's already 11:20, so we don't have much time. I'm looking for my journal, where I write everything down so I don't forget about anything, when the sound of the front door opening reaches me.
I glance at John, but he looks as confused as me. His whole body goes on alert, muscles tensing.
He tells me to stay behind him as he walks towards the bedroom door, his hand on the gun in the waistband of his jeans. I feel my breath quicken as sheer panic surges through me. The killers. They found me. This is how I die.
"JESUS! What the hell?!"
I squeeze myself next to John in the doorway, only to see none other than Scooter with his hands raised and eyes wide as he stares at the barrel of John's gun, which is pointed right at his head.
"Scooter? What are you doing here?"
I question, dumbfounded. And where's Helena? Those two are almost inseparable, attached at the hip like they share the same air.
John tucks his gun away and we all go to the living room. The tension drains from the air slowly, replaced by confusion.
Scooter sits down on the couch, leaning against the back of it with a deep sigh. There's something wrong in his expression. Something worried.
"I'm here to see Helena. She was supposed to come to my house after her fight yesterday. We planned to go to the carnival later. I'm guessing she's still asleep?"
My eyes turn wide as I cover my mouth with my hand, to hide the sob that threatens to escape. No. No, no, no.
John, on the other hand, doesn't even try to hide his thoughts.
"Helena left last night. She came by about eleven, got some clothes and went out."
His tone turns from confused to serious.
"She said she's going to your house, Scooter."
I watch in horror as realization crosses Scooter's face and he struggles to breathe before jumping off the couch and storming outside to his car. The color has drained from his skin, leaving him pale and shaking.
John catches up to him before he can drive away. I pant slightly when I catch up to them. I am not as fast as the two, I've never been athletic.
"What are you going to do, man? Just go out there and aimlessly drive around the area?"
"YES! That's exactly what I'm going to do!"
I gasp at the broken look on Scooter's face. He's really worried. I'm not surprised at his reaction. The girl he loves is missing. Of course he's distressed.
"It's been twelve hours, Scooter. She could be anywhere. Let's go to the clubhouse. We can talk it over with the guys and make a plan. The more of us, the better."
I can tell John is trying his hardest to remain calm, but I don't miss the crease between his brows as he thinks about what to do. This is really serious. Helena's missing and nobody knows where she is.
"Should I call the cops?"
I ask John, my voice small and scared.
"No. Helena's involved in illegal fighting. We can't go to the cops."
Scooter is the one to answer, unsuccessfully trying to call Helena again. At least that's what I think he's doing, if the anxious look on his face is anything to go by. He keeps hitting redial, over and over, like if he tries enough times she'll answer.
"Let's go to the clubhouse. If there's anything we're good at, it's rescue missions. Done that hundreds of times in the army."
John pats Scooter's shoulder before gesturing at me to lock the front door as he gets on his bike. The casual mention of the army, of rescue missions, reminds me that these men know violence in ways I can't imagine. They've lived through wars I've only seen on TV.
I feel John's tension the whole way to the clubhouse. His body remains rigid in my arms and I squeeze him tightly, leaning my cheek against his back. He rubs my hand over his waist then pulls it to his lips to leave a kiss on my knuckles.
Despite not having a helmet on my head, I don't feel worried about riding with John even when he uses only one hand to handle the bike. I trust him completely. With my life, with my safety, with everything.
The road blurs past us, asphalt and trees and sky. The wind whips my hair back, stings my eyes. But all I can think about is Helena. Where is she? Is she hurt? Is she scared?
When we reach the clubhouse, John quickly dismounts the bike and picks me up to get me on the ground, while Scooter parks his car next to us. All three of us walk inside, catching attention of the guys at the bar. They look up, sensing something's wrong immediately.
The Iron Brotherhood compound feels different now. Not celebratory or relaxed, but on edge. Ready for war.
"CHURCH!"
John bellows furiously as he storms through the room, heading upstairs. His voice echoes off the walls, commanding and absolute. This is President mode, not the gentle man who woke me with kisses.
He tells Scooter to get in the meeting room where they hold the church meetings before leading me to his bedroom. His hand is firm on my lower back, guiding me.
Once we're there, I give John a questioning look. Why am I not going with them? I want to help find Helena.
"I'm sorry, precious, but you'll have to wait here. I will tell you everything once we're done, but you can't join us. I'm sorry. If you were my Old Lady, I would take you with me, but... Not yet."
He tells me, gazing at me apologetically and stroking my cheek with his thumb. There's genuine regret in his eyes.
I lean my face into his hand then kiss the palm of it. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my face to his chest. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my cheek.
"It's okay, I understand. Just find her, please."
I murmur against his hard chest and he crushes my body to his, kissing the top of my head.
"Please stay here. I will be back as soon as I can."
I nod, kissing the exposed part of his chest before pulling away. He quickly leans in and pecks my lips then leaves the room. The door closes with a soft click.
And then I'm alone.
The room feels too big suddenly. Too quiet. I can hear muffled voices from down the hall, the sound of boots on stairs, doors closing. The whole compound is mobilizing.
I go to his bed, kneeling by the side of it, facing the window. Sunlight streams through the glass, ordinary and bright. Like the world doesn't know that Helena is missing. Like everything should just continue as normal.
Clasping my hands together, I start praying. The words come automatically, muscle memory from childhood. From the days when my mother was sick and I prayed for her to get better. She didn't. But I pray anyway because what else can I do?
God, please don't let anything happen to my friend.
Helena is the strongest person I know. She's survived things that would break most people. She killed her own mother without hesitation. She beat three armed men to protect me. She's Ghost, the undefeated fighter.
But even the strong can be hurt. Even the dangerous can be in danger.
I think about the last time I saw her. Angry, exhausted, worried about me. And I'd dismissed her concern, stayed out all night without calling, made her think the worst. If something happened to her because she was distracted by worry over me, I'll never forgive myself.
The minutes stretch. I don't know how long I kneel there, hands clasped, whispering prayers into the empty room. Time feels liquid, unreliable.
Somewhere in the compound, men are planning. Strategies are being formed. Resources are being mobilized. The Iron Brotherhood is preparing to go to war.
And I'm here, useless. Waiting. Praying.
It's all I can do.
Please let her be okay. Please let them find her. Please don't let this be my fault.
The words become a mantra, over and over, until they lose meaning and become just sound. Just desperate hope pressed into syllables.
Outside John's window, I can see bikes being prepped. Brothers moving with purpose. The compound transforming from a place of celebration to a place of violence.
This is what the Iron Brotherhood does. They protect their own. They rescue the lost. They punish the guilty.
Helena is one of theirs. They'll burn the world down to find her.
I just hope they find her in time.