Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)
Susan Fanetti
PROLOGUE
Badger was headed straight to the bar from the Keep, his blood still thudding in his ears, when he felt the unmistakable weight of Isaac’s heavy hand on his neck.
“Talk with me, Badge. My office.”
You didn’t say no to Isaac, not like this, but Badger’s head was thick and confused, noisy with anger. He turned and brought his arm up to knock Isaac off him.
“Get off me!”
He failed. Isaac’s grip only tightened, and Badger felt the f*cked-up, pulling pain across his chest of skin that would not move—like he was tearing himself apart. It happened whenever he tried to make his arms go wider than his shoulders. The scar tissue that covered his chest would not give that much.
And then he was off his feet, and Isaac was slamming him into the wall. That hurt his chest, too, deeper, and he couldn’t hold back his groan at the impact.
Isaac eased off a little but didn’t release him. “You need to ratchet down, little brother. And now.”
Badger glared but said nothing. He was half Isaac’s size and strength. Maybe less than half his strength.
And Isaac was his President. Plus, he was trying to study Badger’s eyes. Badger blinked and dropped his head, knowing it was a sign of defeat, but he was sick to f*ck of people sizing him up, waiting for him to do something stupid and give them a reason to take his patch. He could feel them all watching him, looking for their chance. And he’d just served it up on a platter, shouting Isaac down at the table, threatening to walk out of a meeting.
“My office, Badger. You’re walking, or I’m draggin’ you. Make your choice.”
They had the attention of all the Horde, but no one was interfering. They were probably waiting for Isaac to flatten him. But Badger was glad they were keeping their distance. He’d rather taste Isaac’s fist than get rescued. Like the weak puke he was.
“I’ll walk.”
“Good man.” Isaac set him down, then dropped a hand on Badger’s shoulder and led him down the side hall to his office.
Once inside, Isaac closed the door and gestured to the chair next to his desk. Badger sat as directed, and Isaac pulled his desk chair up so they were facing each other when he sat. Then he started right in.
“I’m worried about you, Badge. I need you to be straight here. You need help you’re not asking for?”
“No.” He knew what Isaac meant. Somebody was always asking, laying traps, waiting for him to f*ck up.
“Look at me.”
Pretty sure it was safe, and without another viable choice anyway, he leaned close and opened his eyes wide. “Fuck! I’m looking! I’m not high. I’m not a f*cking junkie.”
He knew that for the lie it was. He wasn’t in denial, even as he denied it. He was totally f*cked up, and he knew it. He knew he’d lost it in the Keep because he needed to get level. That was why he felt safe letting Isaac get a real close look at his eyes. He wasn’t high. He needed to be.
But they’d take his patch if they knew it. They talked a good game about being worried about him, but he knew he was a weak suck for getting hooked, and he knew how Isaac felt about weakness.
Isaac, who’d made his dead body live again just by f*cking willing it, would never understand why Badger couldn’t deal. It wasn’t even the pain he felt with every f*cking breath.
It was the fear.
It moved like acid in his veins. It twisted his innards into knots. It never let him up. Except for about an hour after a hit, maybe, when his blood eased and his head quieted. He knew he was crazy. It had been six months since the Perros had held them and tortured them, and he still couldn’t deal. They’d broken him.
Not Show, not Len, not even Havoc, whom they’d sliced and diced—they’d all stayed strong. Only he had broken.
He was the weak link. He was a *. He knew they knew, and he waited for them to take his patch.
Isaac stared hard into his eyes and then sat back, his expression still unconvinced. “Okay. We are here if you need help, little brother. You find yourself in trouble, you reach out. You’re not alone. Right?”
He hated that ‘little brother’ thing. Hated it. Havoc had started it, and it hadn’t been long before they were all calling him that. He wasn’t even the most recent patch. Dom, Tommy, and Zeke had all been patched in after he’d been—and Omen and Mikey, too, rest their souls. He wasn’t even the smallest—Dom and Zeke were shorter, and Dom was skinnier. But he was the youngest, and no one missed an opportunity to remind him that they all thought he was a kid. Weak. Na?ve. It f*cking sucked. It sucked so bad.
What he said to Isaac, though, was, “Right. I know, boss. I’m okay.”
“Pretty hot in the Keep today. Not the first time. But it’s not like you.”
No, because usually he was a *. “Just tryin’ to get my head around everything. I’m okay.”
“Yeah. Me, too. You were right in there, though. I’m glad you called me on it. Sometimes…” Isaac stopped and looked down at his hands, which gripped his legs. “Sometimes I’m so angry my heart pounds like to break my ribs. It’s hard not to have a place to put it. The heavy bag helps.” He laughed. “A good f*ck helps, too.”
Badger worked out as much as he could, but he couldn’t keep up with the likes of Isaac, and Show, and Len, and Tommy. He’d worked so goddamn hard to build up muscle. So goddamn hard. Weight and bulk did not want to stay on his frame without daily effort. And now his chest was a ruin, so it barely f*cking mattered what he did. He’d never have even what he’d managed to build up before. And what he could do —it hurt like fire to work his upper body. Even bicep curls moved his chest and strained the scars. He did it anyway. He did it until he shook with pain.