The Anchor of the Void

Levi “What the f**k, Levi? I told you to just let it go,” my brother Axel barked, dragging me away from the bar. My knuckles were bloody, but my brain was still back there—still angry and out for blood. “He deserved it,” I chuckled as we stopped. “The f**k, Levi! He almost died!” Axel shouted, catching his breath. “Worst part is his dad’s a cop,” Caleb said, tucking a cigarette between his lips. He flicked a lighter open. “But he deserved it. He was being a total prick, trying to act tough.” I laughed, staring down at my raw, bloody knuckles. I could still feel the impact. Henry Sawyer had bumped into me and shoved me, trying to make it look like I was the one in the wrong. He’d always been an asshole, hiding behind his father's badge, and I’d been wanting to put my fist through his chin for a long time. Caleb stepped up beside me and handed me his cigarette. I took it, the smoke stinging my lungs as I exhaled and stared out at the empty street. Behind me, Axel was still ranting about me being reckless and stupid, but his words just drifted past. I didn't care. I loved it. It was twisted, but there was something about the impact—the way a jaw gave way under my fist—that sent an adrenaline spike through me like nothing else. Axel hated it. To him, every punch I threw was a ghost of our son-of-a-b***h father. That man loved a fight more than his own kids; a drunk and an addict who was finally rotting in a cell for killing a man. Our mother wasn't much better, lost in a bottle back at the house we’d fled years ago. We’d run until our feet gave out, finally ending up here in Blackwood Bay. It was ironic how much we’d wanted to escape our old lives, only to end up doing the same s**t our parents did. Selling drugs wasn’t the plan, but choice was a luxury we didn't have. Axel had hated the idea at first; he was the stable one, the older brother who actually tried to be good. But f**k it. If the money was right, I’d do whatever it took to survive. “Come on, let’s get back to the house,” Caleb said, tossing his cigarette and starting to walk. “The boss’ll kill us if we stay out here much longer.” I dropped a hand on Axel’s shoulder, a silent peace offering, and we started walking behind Caleb. The night was bitter, especially in this part of town. Blackwood Bay was the kind of place where the cold didn’t just sit on your skin; it bit into your bones, smelling of salt, wet pavement, and old secrets. The house loomed over the corner like a rotting tooth, a Victorian-style mansion that had once been grand but was now a crumbling fortress for the desperate. We stepped inside, and the heavy air hit me—a thick, nauseating cocktail of stale cigarettes, unwashed bodies, and chemical sweetness. Shadowy figures lounged in the hallways, faces lit only by the glowing tips of their blunts. It was a hellhole, but it was a hellhole that kept the rain off our heads. I traded quick fist-bumps with a few of the regulars, my eyes scanning the peeling wallpaper and the boarded-up windows as we pushed toward the back of the house. Caleb reached a heavy oak door at the end of the hall and pushed it open without knocking. The room was dim, choked with expensive cigar smoke. A voice cut through the haze, low and cold. “I heard you got into a mess again, Levi.” “Well, the guy deserved it, Boss,” Caleb said, flopping onto one of the dusty, sunken couches. The Boss was an old man, but you’d be a fool to think he was weak. He was built like a brick wall—wide shoulders and heavy, ropey muscles that didn't match his shock of white hair. He took a slow drag of a thick cigar, the smoke swirling around the girl perched on his lap. He didn't even look at her; his focus was entirely on me. He tapped the ash into a tray, his movements slow and deliberate, and finally leveled his gaze at my face. “I’m not scared of them,” I said, sinking into the couch next to Caleb and lighting another cigarette. The smoke felt like lead in my lungs, grounding me. The Boss let out a low, dry chuckle that sounded like sandpaper. “Fear is a gift, kid. It keeps people like you from ending up in a shallow grave behind the docks. You think that badge Henry’s father wears is for protection? It’s a license to hunt. If he decides you’re a problem, you won’t just go to jail—you’ll disappear.” I leaned back, blowing a gray cloud toward the ceiling. “He touched me first. I just finished it.” “In this town, it doesn't matter who started it. It matters who has the law in their pocket,” the Boss said, leaning forward. The girl on his lap shifted, but he ignored her, his eyes boring into mine. “Now, because of your little tantrum, I’ve got a patrol car sitting at the end of the block and eyes on my business. You cost me money today, Levi.” Beside me, Caleb stiffened. Even Axel, who had been quiet by the door, took a step forward. “I’ll make it up,” I muttered, though my jaw was still tight. “You’re damn right you will,” the Boss said, a cruel smile touching his lips. “I’ve got a delivery that needs to go through the North Side. High risk, high reward. Since you’re so fond of using your hands, you can be the muscle. But if you see a uniform, you run. You don't fight. Understand?” “Alright,” was all I said. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't f*****g livid, because I was. Every muscle in my body was coiled like a spring, ready to snap. That was the shitty thing about this town—you could be right, you could have every reason in the world to swing, but if you didn't have a badge or a bank account, you were always the one at fault. I stood up and walked toward the door, flicking my cigarette into a corner before stepping out. I headed to the room where I was staying—a cramped, filthy space, but tolerable enough for a place to crash. I yanked my shirt off, the cool, stale air hitting the sweat on my skin. The massive tiger tattoo stretched across my back, its fangs bared and eyes fixed in a permanent snarl that covered me from shoulder to shoulder. I let out a long breath and lay back on the bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling. A sudden click at the door made me snap my eyes toward it. It was Nika, one of the girls who lived in the house. She was always like this—drifting from room to room, picking whoever she felt like that night. I didn’t like her, but the s*x was a distraction, and that was enough. She sauntered toward the bed, a predatory smirk on her lips. “I heard you got into a fight again,” she purred against my ear. I didn’t answer. I just looked at her, my mind still humming with leftover adrenaline. She was useful for one thing, so I reached up, yanked her hair to pull her head back, and kissed her hard enough to make her lip bleed. I didn't care. I liked it rough; the friction and the heat were the only things that made me feel anything close to happy. She didn’t fight my roughness; if anything, she leaned into it. To be honest, she was the perfect plaything. I wrapped my hand around her neck, the pressure of my palm cutting off her breath until she was gasping against me. I slammed her down onto the mattress and bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper. Fuck, I wanted to destroy her. I wanted to lose myself in the violence of it until the rest of the world—the Boss, the Sawyers, and my brother’s voice—finally went quiet. She snaked her legs around my hips as I unzipped my jeans. She kicked her underwear aside, and as I freed myself, I drove into her with a sudden, violent force. My hand never left her throat, the pulse under my palm erratic and frantic. I loved seeing her crumble beneath me. There was a dark satisfaction in watching the light flicker in her eyes as I took her to the edge, pushing her until she was breathless and broken. I wanted to feel every bit of that power—the kind that made the rest of the world vanish until nothing remained but the heat and the friction of the moment. Eleanor I was standing on the second-floor landing when I saw the front door heave open. My heart dropped into my stomach as my brother was dragged inside, his face a mask of red. I didn't think; I just moved. I sprinted downstairs, my bare feet slapping against the cold wood as I raced toward the chaos in the foyer. “What happened? Henry? Dad?” I rushed forward, cupping my brother’s face in my hands. His skin was already beginning to swell, the heat of the bruise radiating against my palms. “The kid got into a fight,” Dad said tightly. He lowered Henry onto the leather sofa, his jaw set in a hard line. I sat beside my brother immediately, checking the split in his lip. “Call Marie to tend to Henry’s wounds, please,” I told Sicily, one of the maids. She nodded quickly, scrambling out of the living room to find the first-aid kit. “Who did this to you?” I asked. My brother groaned as Marie sat beside him and began tending to his wounds. I stood up, my eyes fixed on him, waiting for a name. “That f*****g new kid—Levi!” Henry spat, wincing as the antiseptic touched his skin. He looked past me toward our father. “Do something, Dad. That boy needs to be arrested. He’s a goddamn animal.” “Don’t worry, son. I’ll talk to the Chief,” Dad said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number as he walked out onto the porch to find some privacy. I sat back down next to my brother, watching Marie work. “Why did you even go to that bar, Henry? You know the kind of people who hang out there.” “Now is not the time for a lecture, Eli,” Henry muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. He winced as Marie pressed a fresh bandage against the gash on his forehead. “Well, who else is going to do it? Mom is not here, Henry. She’s gone, and I’m the only woman in this family you have left,” I said, reaching over to help Marie steady his head. “Just... stop acting like Mom, besides your only 18, stop acting so mature” Henry snapped. “I will if you stop acting like this,” I shot back. To drive the point home, I pressed the gauze down a little harder on his split lip, making him recoil. “Ow! Dammit, Eli, be careful!” he hissed, pulling away from my hand. “Stop putting yourself in trouble,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “One of these days, Dad won’t be able to fix it with a phone call, and I won’t be able to patch you back together.” Henry didn’t look at me. He just stared at his reflection in the darkened window, his jaw tight. Dad stepped back inside, sliding his phone into his pocket as he sat in the armchair opposite us. He let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to deflate his shoulders. “He’s Fernando Consuelo’s boy,” Dad said, his voice grave. “He’s under his protection. Arresting him isn't going to be as simple as picking up a street thug—it’s going to start a war.” “So? You’re a cop—do something!” Henry snapped, his voice cracking with frustration. “It’s not that simple, boy,” Dad replied, leaning forward until the light from the lamp caught the deep lines in his face. He looked tired—older than he had ten minutes ago. “In Blackwood Bay, the badge only goes so far. You start kicking Consuelo’s nest, and the whole town starts to sting.” “Dammit, if you’re not going to do something, then I will!” Henry snarled. He stood up so abruptly that the cotton ball I was holding flew out of my hand and drifted to the floor. “Don’t you f*****g do something stupid, boy,” Dad growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. He didn't move, but the look in his eyes pinned Henry to the spot. “You pull a stunt like that, and you’ll get us all buried. Sit down.” Henry didn’t listen. He turned and stomped upstairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house before a door slammed shut above us. Marie murmured a quick excuse and disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving Dad and me alone in the suffocating silence of the living room. I sat back on the couch and sighed, leaning down to retrieve the stray cotton ball from the floor. “When is he finally going to start acting like an adult?” Dad didn't look at me. He just stared at the empty space where his son had been standing. “I really hope your brother doesn't do anything stupid, Eli. For all our sakes.” “I hope so too, Dad,” I murmured. I stood up and crossed the room, pausing at the base of the stairs. “Goodnight, Daddy.” He didn't look up, just nodded solemnly. I climbed the stairs and walked down the quiet hallway to my own sanctuary. I pushed the door open and closed it softly behind me, leaning my back against the wood and letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My room was a pale, floral haven, a soft escape from the harsh edges of Blackwood Bay. The walls were draped in delicate rose-patterned paper, and the light from the moon filtered through the white lace curtains, casting soft shadows over my white-framed bed. It was all so clean, so organized—the exact opposite of the bruised and bloody reality my brother had just dragged through the front door. I flopped onto my bed and reached for my rabbit plushie, pulling it tight against my chest. It was a habit I couldn't break—my silent comfort whenever anxiety or sadness started to claw at me. Growing up, the world outside these four walls had always been a mystery. Dad hated the thought of me leaving the house; to him, Blackwood Bay wasn't a hometown, it was a minefield. He’d kept me homeschooled and surrounded me with beautiful things to keep me occupied, trying to buy my happiness so I wouldn't go looking for it elsewhere. I’d never truly seen the streets of this city, only the glimpses I caught through a car window or from my balcony. Ever since Mom was caught in the crossfire of a gang fight and died, Dad had turned our home into a fortress. He didn't just want me safe—he wanted me hidden. I was a mirror of my mother—the same shock of curly red hair, the same pale skin and petite frame. Even my eyes, a stormy gray-green, were hers. The only difference was that I had filled out more than she ever had, my curves more pronounced, which only seemed to heighten my father’s anxiety. To him, every part of me that looked like her was a target for the world to hit. I understood his fear. I really did. Every time he looked at me, I knew he was seeing a ghost he couldn't afford to lose again. That was why I stayed. That was why I obeyed. I let him keep me hidden in this floral-scented fortress because I couldn't bear to be the one who finally broke him. Sleep finally claimed me, but it was shallow and restless. I bolted awake at the muffled sound of footsteps in the hallway. I knew that heavy tread anywhere—it was Henry. If he was moving around at two in the morning, it wasn't for a glass of water; he was about to do something he couldn't take back. I stood up slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs, and crept toward the door. I cracked it just an inch, peering into the dim hallway. Henry was fully dressed, his back to me as he pressed his phone to his ear, his voice a frantic, low-pitched rasp. “Yeah... yeah, I’ve got the keys,” he muttered into the receiver. “Meet me at the old shipyard docks in twenty minutes. And bring the piece. I'm not letting that bastard walk away this time.” My heart hammered against my ribs as I trailed my brother down the stairs. I was amazed he didn’t hear me, but he was so fueled by adrenaline and rage that he seemed blind to everything else. He moved toward the driveway and yanked open the driver’s side door. Before he could even sit down, I lunged for the passenger side, threw myself into the seat, and slammed the door shut. “Eli? What the f**k are you doing?” Henry barked, staring at me in shock. “Get out. Go back inside right now!” “No!” I gripped the edge of the seat, my knuckles white. “I’m not letting you go there alone, Henry. Please, just don’t do this. Don't do something we can’t take back.” “f**k! Whatever. Just... stay in the car, okay?” Henry growled. He threw the car into reverse and tore out of the driveway. My heart felt like a trapped bird beating against its cage. I had to stop him. I didn't care what it took; Dad was right—you didn't provoke Fernando Consuelo’s men unless you wanted to die. When Henry finally screeched to a halt at the old shipyard, he didn't give me a chance to speak. He snatched the keys from the ignition, hopped out, and clicked the remote. The locks engaged with a heavy, final thunk. “Henry! Open the door!” I pounded my fists against the glass, but the car was a steel tomb. He didn't even look back. I huddled in the seat, arms crossed tightly over my chest, watching in horror through the windshield. Henry’s friends emerged from the shadows, their faces pale in the moonlight as they pulled handguns from their waistbands. They spoke in hushed, jagged bursts of conversation before disappearing back into their own vehicles. When Henry finally climbed back into the driver's seat, his eyes were cold and distant. “Henry, this is insane,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “Don’t do this. Let Dad handle it. Let the cops do their jobs!” “Shut up, Eli. For one goddamn second, just shut your mouth.” He didn’t look back, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. “Don’t even try to stop me. Dad’s a coward—we both know it—and it’s time those boys learned exactly who they’ve been messing with.” “This isn't the right thing to do, Henry. Please,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. He didn’t answer. He didn't even blink. He just drove until the salt-crusted roads of Blackwood Bay gave way to the suffocating press of the pines. We were deep in the forest now, a place of jagged shadows and no light. There were no houses here, no witnesses—nothing but the wind through the needles. “What are we doing here?” I whispered, the silence of the woods felt heavier than the roar of the engine. “Luka told me they’re moving a shipment tonight,” Henry said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. “I’m going to give them a surprise they won’t forget. Stay in the car.” Before I could grab his arm, he was out. The electronic locks gave a sharp, metallic clack, sealing me in. I lunged across the center console, pounding my fists against the glass, but the darkness had already swallowed him whole. It was three in the morning. At this hour, the forest didn't just feel empty; it felt dead. Out there, under the canopy of Blackwood’s oldest trees, no one would hear a scream, and certainly no one was coming to help.