Chapter 2 - Collin

Amon is kicking back on his bed—feet stretched out, PlayStation controller in hand, machine-gun sound effects blaring—when I get back to the motel on Route 60.

He is blond, he is blue-eyed, he is broad, and as dangerous a man as they come. But he's smilin' right now like a kid on Christmas Eve.

That's funny. Kinda. True—the Christmas Eve part. People say that all the time because kids are happy on Christmas Eve. They have presents coming. But here, in these parts, where he and I both come from, Christmas Eve comes with a whole other kind of happy.

I kick Amon's duffle out of my way and slam the door behind me with a foot while pushing my sunglasses up my face.

Amon glances over at me. "What's your problem?"

"Nothin'."

He smirks. "Nothin', my ass. I bumped into Rosie Harlow at the Rise & Shine when I was getting coffee this morning. She said you drove Lowyn home from that pub in Bishop last night. What the hell were you doing in Bishop? I mean…"—he laughs—"you could've gone over to Revenant. That's where I was last night. And Lowyn? That was unexpected. Especially after all the protesting you've been doing since we came up with this plan."

"I'm failing to see a point here." I walk past the beds, heading for the shower.

"We're not here so you can reconnect with your high-school sweetheart, Collin."

I pause my retreat to look at him. "Says the guy who's having breakfast with his parents this morning. I'm not reconnecting anything. I drove her home because she was wasted. And do you wanna know where she lives, Amon? Take a guess."

He doesn't answer right away, too busy with his virtual battle on screen. But he's grinning so I'm gonna guess that he does.

"My house, Amon. She sleeps in my fucking bedroom. She's still got my posters on the wall."

Amon almost spits out his laugh. "Shut the fuck up."

"I swear to God. The Doors, Led Zeppelin. Ozzy. Everything's still there. There's even a few old shirts of mine in the closet."

"Shut. Up."

"She's mental, right? She's crazy."

"Wow." He pauses again so he can kill someone in the game, then chuckles and puts the controller down. "That's really weird. She lives in a shrine to you?"

"Yeah. It's… disturbing. There's something really wrong with that girl."

Amon laughs. "Come on. It's just Lowyn. She's cute and harmless."

"And crazy."

Amon has always liked Lowyn. Maybe he even had a crush on her back in the day. But she was so out of his league back in high school. Smart Lowyn. Goal-oriented Lowyn. They would've never worked.

Amon's never going to date Lowyn, but still. I'm not gonna stand around and listen to him compliment her. I slam the bathroom door and turn the shower on. I hate motel rooms. I'm already in a bad mood from the whole wake-up confrontation and the thought of spending another day in this room is turning my sour mood into something more like pissed off.

We're here for a reason and I want to get on with it.

Just as I take off my shirt Amon knocks on the door. "What?"

"Bryn's outside. She wants to talk to you."

I open the bathroom door and peek my head out. "How did she even know where to find us?"

Amon smirks. "Guess we know Rosie Harlow hasn't changed."

"Tell her I'm in the shower. I don't need a lecture from Bryn." I close the door on Amon, strip off the rest of my clothes, and walk under the hot water, trying to put Lowyn McBride's face out of my mind.

What is she doing? And how come no one told me that she bought our old house? I haven't seen my parents in over a decade. I haven't even talked to them in eight years. I knew they sold the house because that's what we fought about the last time I called them up. But we fight about everything.

Yes, I was pissed when they said they were moving to Florida and if I wanted any of my old shit, I needed to come home and pack it up. Which wasn't even possible because I was guarding a sheik in Saudi Arabia at the time. We had just made a twelve-day trip through the fucking desert—by camel—to get to this throwback fucking oasis that didn't even come with a road.

It was Christmas and I had my satellite phone, so I figured, Meh, yeah. I'll call the parents. Wish them happy holidays and all that shit. Be a good son.

What a joke. Less than five minutes into the convo my daddy was screaming at me, my mama was crying, and I was just way too tired to deal with the news that my entire childhood was about to be packed up and donated to Goodwill.

I actually scoff. Because obviously they didn't pack it up. They sold it to my ex-fucking-girlfriend.

I'm the bad son. The black seed. The offspring they probably wish they never had. Especially when you compare me to my little sister, Olive. She's everything I'm not—honest, dependable, friendly, and obedient. The perfect daughter.

I like Olive. Hell, she is my sister so I love her, of course. But she's nine years younger than me so we never did get to that ‘friend' stage before I left to join the Marines. I haven't seen her since she was kid and even now, at twenty-two, she's still too young for me to have anything in common with. The last time we spoke she was in the middle of her freshman year of university and all she wanted to talk about was frat parties and spring break.

Having never gone to university myself, I couldn't relate. And since Olive doesn't know the first thing about elite private security, she can't relate to me either.

Of course, this isn't anything new. There aren't many people anymore who can relate to me.

Just the guys I'm here with, really.

They're all I have left.

When I come out of the shower wrapped in a towel, Amon is gone, and my bad mood is blossoming into anger.

Lowyn. I almost growl her name in my head.

I grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my duffle on the floor and throw them on my bed. Then I light up a smoke and take a seat at the small table and chairs next to the window, kicking back and stretching my legs out as I pull the stiff blackout curtain aside to check the parking lot.

My eyes wander to the clock next.

I've got another twenty minutes to waste.

I'm waiting on Grimm to call me about a deal we're making. He and I used to be good friends all growing up. Boy Scouts, Midget Football, Little League and finally Eagle Scouts and varsity for both sports. We did all the things. Aside from my eclectic taste in Seventies rock and vintage Jeeps, I was the most disgustingly perfect kid you'd ever meet.

And then… well, New Year's Eve happened. That one night changed me forever.

Amon and I weren't actually friends until we joined the Marines together that same year. By the time we were both dishonorably discharged two years later I already knew my old family didn't exist anymore.

When I'd call home that first year in the service my daddy had a hard time finding things to say, my mama would always start crying before we hung up, and my little sister didn't even want to talk to me. Though I don't think that last bit was personal. I think Olive was just too busy being a bratty nine-year-old and pushing all the boundaries.

By the time Amon and I were on our first post-military job, I had already accepted reality. The only family I had anymore were the guys from Silence, our security company.

Me, Amon, Nash, and Ryan will probably always be tight. I mean… when you've done the things we've done, who else can you count on? Who else is gonna have your back but the boys who did that shit with you?

Nash and Ryan are driving in from DC this morning. They're not involved in the real estate deal. I'm the only one putting my name on that deed. Amon is just here to see his parents—who apparently still love him, despite the fact that he never calls home, never sends presents, and, for all intents and purposes, is a giant fuck-up.

I'm kinda jealous. Actually, looking back, I've always been jealous of Amon. He was the wild kid in school. He was always in detention, always in fights, the first in our year to get drunk and arrested, and talk about a man whore. There were no fewer than three pregnancy scares before he was eighteen and each time the town went wild with gossip. Thankfully, no teenage girls were actually pregnant and if ever there was a guy who gave no fucks about town gossip, it's Amon, so each and every incident just slid off his back like water.

He was the town asshole. And still, his parents couldn't wait for him to get home. They've been calling him constantly for the last few days. Wanting to pick him up from the airport, wanting him to stay at the house, wanting him to come to dinner, blah, blah, blah.

Anyway. After the whole congressional hearing thing, Silence was liquidated. I guess that's the best word for what happened. Everything was sold off and the whole endeavor was dissolved.

Everything but us, of course. The four of us aren't going anywhere. And we've got a new company starting up as soon as I put my signature on those real estate papers.

We're buying a compound on the edge of Disciple. The place started out as housing for coal miners back in in the late 1800's, then it was a Baptist church, a summer camp in the late Sixties, and then, once that ran its course, forgotten about. It's been abandoned for almost twenty years now, so we're getting a killer deal on it.

Apparently, Grimm is the local real estate mogul around here these days, so that's who's doing the paperwork.

A sharp knock at the motel room door makes my head jerk.

"Collin! I know you're in there. Open. The door."

Shit. Fucking Bryn is back.

"Collin!"

I sigh, get up, and crack the door open. "What."

Her eyes flash down to my towel, but recover quickly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I take a long drag on my smoke, then blow it in her face. I quit smoking ten days ago, but quitting things is a process for me. I like to take it slow so I don't beat myself up when I fail.

Bryn coughs and waves the smoke away. As a kid, I never even looked twice at her. But as a teenager, I never liked her much. She's loud, and aggressive, and always sticking her fucking nose into shit that's none of her concern.

May I present Exhibit fucking A.

She points her finger at me. "My sister is in a good place?—"

I laugh so loud she has to stop talking. "Good place?" I laugh again. "She bought my fucking childhood home and made my teenage bedroom a shrine, Bryn!"

Now it's Bryn's turn to laugh. It's a good one too. Just as loud and aggressive as her personality. "You think…" She stops, almost doubles over, then giggles as she continues. "You think that room is a shrine to you?"

I take another drag, really annoyed. "Sure looks like one to me. Sure looks like she's stuck in the past from where I'm standing."

"Stuck in the past?" Bryn guffaws. "She owns a world-famous retro shop, Collin. That room is filled with shit for sale. Everything in her house is for sale! It's all on the fuckin' website, you idiot."

"What?"

"God, you're really full of yourself. Do you really think she's been pining over you for twelve years? She's rich, Collin. And happy. And you"—Bryn points that finger at me again—"will leave her alone. Do you understand me?"

"Fuck off, Bryn. And you're full of shit. That was my Jim Morrison poster!"

"Are you kidding me right now? Do you really think you're the only teenager in the history of rock and roll who ever had a Jim Morrison poster on his fucking bedroom wall? She sells. Retro. Items!"

"This is such bullshit. She had my shirts in the closet."

"Oh, my God." She's not laughing now. She's looking at me like I'm the crazy one, not Lowyn. "You're…" She blinks and shakes her head. "You're insane. She has not kept your smelly, gross t-shirts from high school in the closet for twelve years. You saw t-shirts. Vintage fucking t-shirts, Collin. From Trinity High."

Is she right? Did I get this whole thing wrong?

"Stay away from my sister, do you hear me, Collin Creed? I don't know why you're here, or what's going on with Amon and Grimm or whatever, but you stay the fuck away from my sister."

Then she turns on her heel, walks over to her car—where Lowyn is waiting in the passenger seat—gets in, and drives away.

Lowyn watched that entire encounter. I slam the door and pace the small room. What the hell? Lowyn has never been confrontational like Bryn, so I guess the proxy ambush makes sense, but what the hell? Lowyn just sat there and watched as Bryn tried to make me look like a crazy asshole.

I get dressed, grab my keys, and drive the Jeep down to Grimm's office. Thirty minutes later, papers all signed, money all wired, I am the new proud owner of an ex-mining town.

When I get back to the motel Amon is there waiting for me, breakfast with parents over, already packed.

"Everything good?" He's got his eyebrows raised, like maybe Rosie Harlow has already filled him on the way I got everything wrong about Lowyn and Bryn pointed her finger in my face.

I don't answer. Just grab my duffle and put the town of Disciple behind me.

Our new compound is not in Disciple, it's about eight miles outside city limits. That's why it's perfect—not subject to any of the town regulations as far as what we do with the land, but still close enough to be convenient.

Though I won't be going into Disciple for my fucking groceries. I'm so done with it. It's not even like I have family there. Amon is my family. Nash is my family. Ryan is my family.

Everyone else can just fuck off. I will buy gas, milk, and bread in Bishop from now on.

We found this property online, so this is actually the first time we've seen it in person. Nash was skeptical about spending so much money on something sight-unseen, but realistically speaking, we didn't have a lot of choices. We were looking for a very specific type of property in a very limited geographical location and this is the only one that ticked all the boxes.

When I pull the Jeep into the long, gravel driveway, the first thing I see is the used armored truck, recently acquired. It's parked inside the carport attached to the first house, so obviously Ryan and Nash are here.

The compound has fourteen houses in various sizes and states of repair. Plus a barn, the church, a huge metal building—not original—that looks like a community center, and several smaller outbuildings. Chicken coops, run-in sheds for livestock, and tool sheds—stuff like that. Most of the eighty-nine acres is wooded—really thick West Virginia forest—and hilly too. But at least twenty acres, where the houses all are, is flat and grassy. There's also a big pond with a dock, two small streams, and a valley with no fewer than three excellent spots for the shooting range.

I cut the engine of the Jeep and just kind of sit there, taking it all in.

"It's great, right?"

I look over at Amon and nod. "It really is."

Amon grins. "All right, let's do this." A moment later he's out, already crossing the expansive lawn and heading towards the church.

But I allow myself another moment. Because this is kind of a big deal. Actually, it's the biggest of deals. We didn't all make it, and we lost more than we ever gained since this whole thing started, but those of us who got out alive will at least have this.

More than just a job.

More than just a base of operations.

This place will be our sanctuary.

Nash Skinner is a California boy. Monterey born and bred, so he's a rich fuck too. We've known each other for ten years now and I still don't quite understand how he went from silver-spoon trust fund to one of the most dangerous men on the planet.

With dark hair and eyes, a body built like the Hulk, and the reflexes of an MMA fighter, he comes off as formidable and scary. Which he is. How else would we have ever met?

Nash has a huge family out west and they all own a part of some famous beachside inn. His brothers and sisters bought him out last year and he got a windfall of nearly one million that he chipped in for the new business we're starting.

Amon and I don't come from money like that, so we've been living frugally and saved nearly every penny from the last four years to chip in our share.

The last guy in the group is Ryan Desoto. Italian as they come. Probably a Mob background, since he's from Newark and all his cousins have colorful names like Tony ‘Two Toes' Russo and Ivano ‘Ice Pick' Bianchi.

I've never been a hundred percent sure if the stories he tells are true or not. They're so far-fetched. But then again, he's Ryan ‘One Shot, One Kill' Desoto, so why wouldn't the rest of his family be as crazy as he is?

He didn't save up for his share of the business, either. He called his uncle—Bosco ‘Bang Bang' Bianchi—and the money was delivered in person, in cash, one week later. It was a pain in the ass, that cash. I had to launder that shit just in case it got traced back to us down the line.

When I get to the church and check the semi-truck—also recently acquired—I see that it's already been mostly unloaded.

To be honest, the church is what sealed the deal for this place. It's pretty nice as far as churches go—really great woodwork, dark-gray slate floors, and stained glass to die for—but the reason we all fell in love with the church was the bunker underneath it.

The Cold War was still a thing when this church was built. People took that whole threat seriously. With three-foot concrete walls, steel doors fit for a bank vault, and a mostly outdated air filtration system, the basement of this church could probably withstand a nuclear bomb.

We're just gonna use it as a munitions depot, so to us, it was better than perfect.

Nash greets me first. His grin is wide and his eyes lit up like he's about to get into a firefight. "Did you see that first house? I called it."

I saw the pics online, and yeah, the first house—the one closest to the road—really is the nicest of the bunch. I don't really care which one I live in. In fact, I'm kinda hoping I can room with Amon for a while. And anyway, Nash is a rich fuck, so whatever. If he needs all the creature comforts to feel whole, he can have them.

I know Amon doesn't care either. And I'm sure Nash and Ryan have already sorted it out, because Ryan walks up behind him and doesn't object. So I say, "It's yours, dude. You've earned it."

Nash lets out a breath, then nods at me, getting my meaning. "Anyway." He points to a door that leads to some stairs. "The bunker's through there. Wanna take a look?"

Again, I've seen the pics online, but this actually does interest me. So I wave a hand for him to lead the way and follow him down.