Текст книги "Devil Smoke"

Автор книги: Max Henry

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“So what? He got jealous?”

“Your mom got pregnant again.”

The tension in the room is palpable. Nobody moves, until King rises from his seat and motions for all the hangers-on to leave. The men behind Harris file outside, followed by Dog, the prospect I don’t know, and Callum.

I startle as Bronx reaches across himself to take my clenched fist in his hand, wrapping his fingers around mine and prying them loose. “You okay?”

“What do you think?” I snap.

“You want to take a break?” He lifts my relaxed hand to his lips, kissing the fingers one by one.

His gentleness irks me, not that I know why, but something about the contrast of that with the anger building inside of me makes me want to slap him. I wrench my hand away, uttering a quiet, “Don’t.”

Harris fidgets with his rings, spinning them around his fingers in turn while he watches me keenly. “Are you sure you want to know the rest of what happened, baby girl?” He stops fiddling, straightening his back. “Sometimes things are best kept in the past.”

“Only it’s not my past,” I say. “Every fucking morning I wake up wondering about why things happened how they did. How can it be my past when it’s so royally screwed up my present?”

“What do you want to know first?” he asks quietly.

“Who shot her?” I reply without hesitation. “Who shot Mom?”

“Your daddy.” He sighs, leaning into the sofa. “But I’ll take the blame any and every day.”

“How? Why?”

“He pointed the gun at me. Your mom got in the way.”

“Trying to protect you?” I can’t understand why a pregnant woman would put herself in harm’s way like that.

“Tryin’ to protect both of us. Your momma was a smart girl. She would have known if your daddy shot me, he’d be goin’ to prison. She also would have known it would mean both her babies didn’t have a father in their life—biological or otherwise.”

I place a hand to my chest, trying to rub away the ache. “Was it quick?”

“Instant.”

“And Dad?”

“Turned the gun on himself.”

Wait . . . what? “You didn’t kill either of them?”

He shakes his head solemnly. “No, baby girl, I didn’t.”

I look to Bronx, but he’s eyeing the both of us, clearly trying to work out what he’s hearing, too. The entire past twelve years of my life have been a lie. My uncle didn’t kill my parents, and he wasn’t dead.

“Why the fire then? Why not let the authorities deal with it?”

Harris scoots forward on his seat, reaching out for my hand. I take hold of his calloused fingers and look at the stark contrast of his huge palm engulfing mine. “Ryanna, what happened after I left? Why did you disappear?”

Disappear? The reasoning behind Eddie’s reluctance makes a little more sense. With all the contacts an MC like the Devil’s Breed have, Harris could have found me if the information was out there. We’ve run in parralell groups for years, which leads me to realize the only logical answer—I was a secret. Why, though, I’m still not sure.

“I stayed and watched the house burn.” Harris places his other hand over both ours, comforting and offering me strength. “It was so quick. I remember thinking that something that big must take an age to burn down, but it fell so fast. The engines came, I guess because the neighbors called them, and they doused the flames. It took them so much longer to put it out than it had for the fire to ruin the house.” I give his hands a squeeze and then slip mine free. “Nobody saw me for so long.”

“Where were you?”

“Hiding in the garden.”

“Why didn’t you run like I told you to?”

I shake my head. “I did, just not far. I couldn’t have gone further. You were asking me to leave behind my home, my family, and my safety. I was a scared kid. I wanted to see if something remained.”

“What happened then? When the fire was out?”

“The cops came, and the forensic people. I didn’t know what they were at the time—people wearing white bags on their shoes. The police searched the grounds, and that’s when one of them saw me.”

“But they didn’t take you in, give you help?” Harris asks.

“No. He just shone his torch on me and looked at me for the longest time before walking away.”

“And you didn’t crawl out to him, look for help?”

“I was scared, in shock, and working on denial. I couldn’t think clearly enough to tie my shoe, let alone work through what I should have been doing.” I sigh, bringing my knuckles to my lips. “I was eleven years old, Harris.”

He shakes his head, his brows knitted together as he stares at the floor. “Fuckin’ assholes. They were as dirty then as they are now.”

“What do you mean?”

“That cop—he would have known who you were. Probably got paid a pretty sum to pretend he didn’t, too.”

What is he talking about now? “Why would they be bribed to not report in about me? I don’t get it. What made me so special?”

Harris reaches out and takes hold of his beer, downing more than half the bottle in the one go. He sets the drink back on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Story for another day, honey.” He stands, dusting his palms on his thighs. “I’m goin’ to give you some time to work through everythin’ we just talked about. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Thank you.” Truth be told, I don’t think a month of Sundays would be enough to come to terms with it all.

My mother was shot.

While pregnant.

And my honorary uncle . . . is really my father.

Wow.

ROOM TO MOVE

Bronx

Shocked doesn’t even come halfway close to describing the look on Ryan’s face. Or should I say Ryanna? You learn something new every day.

“What do you need me to do?” I test the water by reaching for her hand.

“Nothing.” She takes my fingers in her grasp, rubbing her thumb over the tips. “I’m sorry I snapped just before.”

“Forgiven.”

“Truth is, I’m not sure what I need. I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

“It might take a while to sink in.” The woman’s had a mountain of shit to deal with during the last day. She’s probably at breaking point. First Tommy, then me revealing the truth, followed by breaking it off with Gunter, and now Harris. Busy times.

“She was pregnant, Bronx. There’s a whole other person that died that night I never knew about.”

What can I say? That shit happens? I think she knows that already. Nothing comes close to justifying the loss.

Ryan turns to face me, placing a hand on my jaw. “Thank you, for everything. Without you, I would probably have never had this—a chance to talk to Harris.”

“At least I got something right, huh?”

“You did.” Her thumb rubs gently under my lips, and she leans in, placing a chaste kiss to them. “I’m dog tired, and this, it’s just worn me out. Is there somewhere I can get a few hours sleep?”

“Sure. I could do with a few Zs of my own.” Nothing sounds more right than lying down beside this woman and pulling her against me. I might not be able to comfort her with words, but I can give doing it with my actions a damn good go.

“Actually,” she says, dropping her gaze from mine, “I was hoping for some time alone, to just think about things. Is that okay? I don’t want to offend you or anything.”

My balloon of anticipation deflates with a hiss. “Whatever you need. I’ll go track Sonya down, and she can tell you which room is free.”

“Thank you.”

I give her a pat on the leg and stand, heading to hunt out Sonya. I’ll admit it; it burns. She’d rather be alone than take whatever my company offers her. Again, I’m not enough. I’m not what somebody needs. Will I ever be? What’s so damn wrong with me that people push me to the outer? Am I that useless at being a friend, a lover? Am I that unimportant?

As I predicted, I find Sonya in the kitchen. But instead of cooking, she’s tucked up on the steel counter, reading a book in the sunshine that flows in through the windows overlooking the back yard. She places the book down in her lap, turning to look at me as I approach. “Everything okay? I heard that we’ve got a visitor from the Breed to see your girl.”

“Yeah.” I stop beside her, placing my hands on the edge of the counter. “She’s tired—we’ve both been up all night—so I was hopin’ you could help her out with somewhere to get some sleep.”

“Sure.” Sonya closes her book, slipping a marker into place. I take a step back and allow her to swing her legs off the counter and drop to the floor. “How you doing? You want me to make you up a bed somewhere?”

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ve got some stuff of my own to think on. Might go for a ride, get some fresh air, and hit the gym.”

She places a hand on my arm, giving it a gentle rub. “You’re doing a good thing, Bronx. You probably feel out of your depth, but whatever those bullies out there say, just focus on you. Do what you need to do to be happy.”

“If only it were that simple,” I say with a laugh. “It’s not like I messed up some drop-off or somethin’, Sonya. I fucked up somethin’ pretty damn important.”

“You’re human,” she says, “not perfect.”

“Doesn’t stop people expectin’ me to be.”

“Then you don’t need those people in your life, do you?”

“What if those people are my life?”

She holds my gaze with a gentle frown. “Then you need a change, sweetheart. Go, take your ride. I’ll see Ryan’s sorted out.”

“Thanks, Sonya.”

She gives my arm a pat and heads for the door before pausing and turning back to face me. “I know it’s not my place to know exactly what you boys are up to, but I’m not silly. I have ears and eyes, and Vince lets on more than he realizes. All I’ll say is I hope you lot know what you’re doing, stirring up the pot. I get King’s doing what he thinks is best for this club, but I worry. This isn’t the schoolyard anymore, and you’re not little boys playing with toy guns. People can get hurt—bad. Some of us already have.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

Sonya offers a sad smile, and then disappears through the door. When does it end? Does it ever? I’m sure we’ll figure out a new plan, go back and take down Eddie, get the cash flow King needs, but what then? One battle ends, and another begins. Power creates an insatiable hunger, and the hungry need to feed. The kinds of people who drive these empires aren’t the type to settle. They fight, undercut, and deceive each other to get more, greater returns for themselves. This isn’t a world where people lie idle, content with what they have. No matter how much money, power, or control these kingpins acquire, they’re always after something they don’t have.

Because isn’t that basic human nature? To want what you don’t have?

MORAL GUILT

King

The morning sun is a slight reprieve on what’s shaping up to be an otherwise dark day. I sit on the back deck of the clubhouse, my legs stretched out over the lawn, and soak up the warmth it offers. The wood creaks behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Harris—or as he’d have his men call him, Tuck—approach, a bottle of Jack held tightly in his hand.

“Didn’t you bring me a beer?” I tease, turning back to watch a bird hop over the playhouse we made for the kids a few weeks back.

“Brought you something better.” Harris drops down beside me with the protests you’d expect from a man his age. He’s a little shy of fifteen years my senior, but the trials he’s put that body through make him physically closer to thirty years older.

I take the offered shot glass he pulls from inside his cut and hold it out as he pours us a first round from the bottle.

“To daughters,” he says, clinking the glasses. “May you never have one.”

I laugh and throw the whiskey back, taking up the bottle to give us a refill. “And to Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson,” I say, lifting my glass to his. “The men who created the beast that ruined us all.”

Harris chuckles, and throws back the second shot. We each take one more before setting the bottle aside and giving it a rest for now. Harris lifts his legs up, tucking his knees inside his arms and stares out over the back yard. “Been a long ride, brother. I ain’t said it to no one else, but this body’s gettin’ tired.”

“I’m hearin’ you.” I watch a couple of birds fight over a scrap of bread Sonya’s tossed on the grass after breakfast.

“Having this opportunity to sort things out with Ryan?” He fiddles with the ring her mother gave him. “It’s the last thing I was holdin’ on for.”

I turn my gaze back to him, a frown letting him know the last admission has me a little confused. “Holdin’ on? What do you mean?”

“I have stage three liver cancer, King. Had an appointment last week. They told me it’s spread to nearby organs.”

“You supposed to be drinking?” I straighten up and narrow my gaze on the man.

“No point trying to flog a dead horse, my boy. I’ve already had a good part of it cut out, and the cancer still came back. I got less than a seven percent chance at survivin’, King. You tell me that this worn-out body’s capable of that kind of fuckin’ fight.”

“Shit, brother.”

“No words need be said.” He stares out over the grass again, smiling as he tips his face to the sun. “Makes an old man appreciate the little things, that’s for sure.”

“Your boys know?”

“Only those who need to. Almost time for me to pass the gavel before I’m too sick to lift the fuckin’ thing. Just can’t bring myself to do it yet.”

“Not sure about who you’re handin’ it to?” I pour us another shot. The gravity of the moment calls for it.

“No, I trust him. Flinch is a good man, lives and breathes the club. I guess I wanted a good old-fashioned Viking farewell, you know? I wanted to go out with style in a blaze of fuckin’ glory, fightin’ until the last.” He looks over my way, giving me a wane smile that echoes my thoughts . . . too many lost years. “You know me, King. I’m not one to waste away in a hospital bed, pissin’ myself, and more or less starvin’ to death.”

“You goin’ to tell Ryan?”

He shakes his head, taking up his drink and knocking it back. “That girl doesn’t need more burden in her life. Hopefully I’ll be gone before she notices anythin’ is wrong.”

We sit in amicable silence, staring out over the yard as the sun climbs in the sky. Our bottle runs dry, and yet neither of us are ready to get up and face the world we marshal. Life is hard as an outlaw—that was one of the things I was told when I first laid eyes on a Harley and imagined the freedom I could have riding as part of a club, a brotherhood of like-minded men. I guess I knew Apex, the old bastard, was talking about something more back then, but a young naïve kid only wants to know about the glory. I see it in our prospects now—that kind of blissful ignorance that shields them from the misery before their very eyes. If they cared to take a look around at us lifers, at the boys who’ve been there and lived it a thousand times over, they’d see the burden of a lifetime of regrets on each of our shoulders. But even so, one thing reigns true—none of us would change a fucking thing. What’s life without a little regret? It means you weren’t afraid to live it to the fullest and take a chance. Security brings complacency, which in turn breeds boredom. I could have had the nine-to-five job, same as Harris, but we’re restless spirits, looking for what challenges us and makes us better men.

And haven’t we found it.

I give my old friend a last lookover, recognizing the same tired eyes and drained appearance that greets me each and every morning in the bathroom mirror. We’re tired and we’re worn out, but as long as there’s fuel in the tank, we’ll keep burning up the road of life.

Only that’s the problem, isn’t it? Harris is running on reserve already.

“Gettin’ hot out here,” I say. “How about we go inside and find another drop to wet the tongue, huh?”

He reaches out a thick arm and slaps me hard on the back. Memories of a time as young men—when he was in his late twenties and I was a teenage boy finding my legs among men twice my size—flash through my mind. They were good days, carrying troubles of their own, but nothing as deadly as the shit we have to face now.

“Sure,” he replies. “Let’s move this pity-party indoors.”

I let him get up first, looking away as he groans finding his feet after so long on the deck to give him some semblance of dignity. The man’s a rock, burying his pain and hiding his weakness as he walks toward the building. Faking it is a key asset if a man wants to make a great leader. To expect strength and resilience from your men, you need to display the same and lead by example, even if it means living a lie and living the lonely life that is one without any fucking help.

As we step through the doors to the common room, I look around at the faces of my family, the people who have been there through it all. I’m blessed, lucky to have them. These are the people who stood by and let me heal when it all became too much, when I fell apart and let them down. These are the people who displayed what true love and loyalty is. The people I trust with my life.

The people I’d give my life for.

SACRIFICE

Bronx

“You seen Ryan?” I ask Sonya as she slices a stack of bacon.

“No.” She places the large knife down, and wipes her hands on the cloth tucked in the belt loop of her leather pants. “I gave her Sawyer’s old room, since Ramona hasn’t been here for a while. She not in there?”

“Not when I checked.” I run a hand over my head, still sweaty from my helmet, and take a couple of steps backward. “I’ll look again.”

I step out into the short hallway and come close to colliding with King. “You seen Ryan?” he asks. “Harris is lookin’ for her.”

“Yeah, well he’s not the only one.” My heart picks up speed, my head refusing to think the obvious.

“I’ll check out in the yard, ask the boy at the gate if she went for a walk. See if her car’s there.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “That’s one of the places I was headed next. Let me double check upstairs in case she was in the bathroom and I missed it.”

King spins and strides toward where Harris is talking with Callum at the bar. I flash a quick look around the common room again as I swing myself around at the base of the stairs. What am I looking for? As though she’d be sitting out there, right under her fucking father’s nose. Think, Bronx. Settle your shit and think. I barrel up the hall outside of the bedrooms, coming damn close to bowling over Vince as he steps out of his room.

“What the fuck, kid?”

“Can’t stop,” I call out, swinging myself around Sawyer’s doorway with one arm. The room is still empty, and I take a step back to search out King and see what he’s found when something catches my eye, something I didn’t notice before.

On the nightstand, under the edge of the lamp base, is a slip of rough paper. I hold myself back from swiping everything off the table to get to it, and lift the lamp with a hot hand to pick the note up.

I know you won’t understand, but I have to set things right with Gunter and Eddie. I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt because of me. Hopefully I’ll see you again real soon.

x Ryan.

The words make less sense the more I read it. Why would she think she had to face this fight alone? Why would she put herself at risk like that?

Because she thinks you’re worth it, dumbass. She thinks you’re worth risking everything for.

I choke back the useless fear clogging my throat and slam the note to my thigh in frustration, crumpling the paper inside my fist. She thinks she needs to set things right for me? Well, baby, you got another thing coming. She’s not the only one who found something worth risking it all for.

I’d walk away from everybody I know, the life I’ve created, and start it all again just to see her smile one more time. She’s warm sunshine on my stormy days, and if it’s going to rain anyway, I may as well have a rainbow.

I bolt from the room, passing Vince on the stairs, and sprint across the common room and down the entrance hall. Ty opens the door as I near, shock clear on his face as I call out ‘no time’ and barrel past him to hunt out King. The president of this rough bunch I’ve come to know as extended family walks toward me from the gate. The worry on his face is clear as day, despite his thick beard and long hair falling over his eyes.

“Her car’s gone,” he announces as I skid to a halt, kicking up dust and stones.

“I know,” I pant. “She left this.” I hand him the note and watch as he reads.

“Just like her fuckin’ old man,” King mutters, handing the paper back. “Too proud to let anyone else help them handle the mess.”

I jam the note in my pocket and turn back to where Ty’s still holding the door open. “You going to share what’s going on?” he calls out as we approach.

“Doin’ this the quiet way has just become redundant,” King says, passing Ty. “Things are about to get real fuckin’ busy around here.” He cups his hands around his mouth as we all enter the common room. “Church, fuckers! Officers have got two minutes to get their asses in there!”

“What the hell’s happened?” Ty asks again.

I turn and look at him, and at the men bee-lining for the meeting room. “It’s a long story and I don’t really have time to explain, brother, but I think you’re about to find out anyway.” I tip my head toward the gathering committee. “Come on. Let’s go work this shit out once and for all so we can both get back to livin’ a life we fuckin’ deserve for a change.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

King throws his feet up on the table in what I’ve come to know as his signature move for ‘let’s kick this off’. Callum shuts the door and takes his seat beside King. Every man in the room is silent, waiting on the meaning of the impromptu session.

“Best-laid plans never work out that way,” King starts. “We all know this. We also know that doin’ shit on the quiet hardly ever works out, either. So it should come as no surprise to you lot that the initial plan to bleed Eddie’s dealers from under him to use for our own advantage hasn’t worked. We’ve also got new complications,” he announces. A murmur circles the table. “Apparently our family isn’t big enough as it is, so we’re yet again goin’ in to help out a friend.” King nods to Vince, giving him the go ahead.

“This got something to do with Tuck bein’ here and young Bronx looking like a startled deer over there?”

“Everything to do with that,” King says. “Tuck’s daughter runs with Eddie’s crew, a discovery we made thanks to our own Casanova here, Bronx.” He gestures to Harris and I in turn. “‘So what?’ you might ask. ‘She ain’t part of our crew, so what’s it got to do with us?’” He chuckles sardonically. “As usual, everything. She’s gone runnin’ back to Eddie and her ex-boyfriend . . . he is an ex now, right?”

I nod.

“Her ex-boyfriend,” King continues, “to try and shift the heat off us. They know we’re involved, thanks to her decision to seek our help trackin’ down Tuck, and she thinks she can do somethin’—God knows what—to make them let that go. What the girl is yet to realize is that men like Eddie don’t let shit like that go. We know that”—the men at the table murmur in agreement—“but she don’t. Our girl Ryan, has, to put it simply, gone runnin’ back to her executioner.” He scrubs his hands over his head before carrying on. “Now, for reasons I won’t go into, Tuck doesn’t need her death on his conscience right now. So, get ready to saddle up, boys, because we’re goin’ to collect.” He nods to Callum.

“Excuse any disrespect,” he says, “but what about our problem? We’ve still got a fuckload of cash to pay the Koreans, and if I’m not mistaken, no way to quickly do it now. What the fuck do we owe the Breed?” He lifts his hand to Harris, indicating no harm.

Harris nods his acknowledgment.

“Some of you may know that Tuck was a prospect here for a long time,” King explains. “Apex fucked him over, to put it bluntly. The whole reason why our clubs don’t get on is because of that. Apex is dead, so we move on. There’s no heat between Tuck and I, so it’s time we buried this fuckin’ shit and started workin’ together instead of runnin’ around cuttin’ of our noses to spite our face.”

Another murmur sweeps the room, dying off as Harris clears his throat. “I’m goin’ to cut it straight for you lot,” he says. “I’m a dyin’ man.” A few of the Saints drop their heads in a sign of respect. “The only thing I want to be sure of before I go is that my baby girl will be safe and happy.” He turns his head, looking me dead in the eye. “And that’s here with you.”

“Share the sentiment, brother,” I assure him.

He nods and turns his attention back to the head of the table.

“Part two of the deal,” King says. “It’s okay with all of you bastards if I bring in non-officers?”

The table nods in acknowledgement, and King rises to open the door, calling out across the common room to Harris’ men. The guys walk in, nodding to the group, and shut the door.

“This shit needs to stop here, and today,” King says, leaning his fists on the tabletop where he stands beside his seat, “I propose we split our resources down the middle and attack both heads of the serpent.”

Harris frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“First part is the job for us,” King tells him. “We’ll head in and get Ryan, takin’ down Eddie while we’re there. No point startin’ bloodshed over there if we aren’t going to do the whole job.” He straightens and mirrors Harris, his arms folded over his chest. “Second part’s yours. While we’re knockin’ on Eddie’s door, I need you to take down Carlos. It’s not goin’ to be easy, and I won’t promise that all of us will be here to celebrate tomorrow, but sometimes a man’s just gotta do the thing he fears the most and fuckin’ face his demons head on.”

All eyes dart between the two presidents, waiting on the answer. Something passes between the two men, a calm understanding before Harris pulls in a heavy breath and frowns. “I understand the sentiment behind this, kid, but what you think’s goin’ to happen when they’re both bled out? You’re talkin’ about throwing not one, but two outfits into upheaval.”

“Well aware,” King states.

“Eddie might be a backyard player, only startin’ out in the grand scheme of things, but you’re askin’ me to take down one of the top cartel bosses in the country.”

“Sure am. I never said it would be an easy job,” King explains, “but that asshole has to go. Yes, as soon as he falls there’ll be another opportunist there to take his place, but fuck it all, Harris—I don’t care. They can run their drugs wherever the fuck they want as long as they keep us the fuck out of it.”

“You let an asshole from the same syndicate take the top spot, and you’re back to square one,” Harris explains. “What you think the first thing on their agenda’s gonna be?”

King sags into his seat. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“Damn straight I am. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, boy. Been on both sides of these kinds of wars, and I’m tellin’ you that if you knock off Eddie and Carlos without a replacement in mind, you’ll be facing gunfire from both sides when they regroup behind a new leader.”

“What do you suggest?” King asks. “Pick the candidate? Pay them for our security?”

Harris chuckles. “You know as well as I do there ain’t enough in either of our kitties to do that.”

“So?”

“Put your own people in there,” Harris explains. “Make the whole fuckin’ thing mass-managed between the Saints and the Breed.”

Discussions break out amongst the men in the room, the volume steadily rising as they go on. I can see Harris’ point, and he has a good solution, but shit, that’s going to be hard. He’s asking two clubs who previously kept a respectable distance from one another to not only go to war together, but to work as one afterward. He’s also asking a club that prided itself on running a clean operation to take on the role of one of America’s largest drug distributers.

He’s asking a lot.

King slams his fist down on the table repeatedly until the room goes quiet. He locks his gaze to Harris, frowning. “What you’re proposing is fuckin’ dangerous.”

“So is going to war, taking out the generals, and expectin’ the army not to shoot you in the back while you run back to your camp to hide.”

“I’m opening the floor on this,” King announces to the table. “What’s everyone’s thoughts?”

A roar of protests and support go up, the points made getting lost in the din that fills the room.

King waves his arms across himself, grimacing at the noise. “One at a time! You’re worse than a bunch of fuckin’ kindergarteners!” The voices die down, hushing to a murmur before the room finally goes quiet. “Starting with Callum on my left,” King instructs. “Say your piece, and then pass the floor to the next man.”

Callum straightens in his seat, looking around the table. “I think it’s risky, but I’m of the opinion we’re about out of choices.”

A murmur builds again, dying off quickly when King slams his piece on the table. “Next fucker that speaks out of turn gets escorted from the room.”

Vince looks to Callum to check he’s finished, and then speaks. “I think it’s fuckin’ suicide. If you don’t get killed actin’ out this cockamamie plan to take down Eddie and Carlos, you’ll get whoever has to take on their roles knifed in the back by one of their men.” He passes to Harris, who stands offset to his left.

“You all know how I feel, since I put the idea on the table. I just urge you to think about this rationally, not emotionally.” He nods to Mighty, King’s sergeant at arms.

The big guy shrugs. “Not wearing this patch because it brings out the color of my eyes.” He grins. “I’m with Pres.”

Ty looks around the table as his turn comes up. “I can’t agree with something that’s so blatantly putting lives at risk. But if that’s the majority vote, we’ll still support it.”

All eyes fall on me, waiting, and accusing. It was me who brought the club to this fucking point, it’s my fault we’re here making such a decision. “I let you down, so I think it goes without sayin’ that I’m a hundred percent behind the decision to end this here and now.”

The attention shifts to Jack, the treasurer, and finally Harris’ men get gifted a say in it all. Their words drift in my ear and swirl about my head in a fog. I can’t bring myself to focus on the reasoning, the full answer. I’m only hanging out to hear if it’s yes or no.

“Four yays, three nays,” King announces. “Majority vote rules—we bring hell down on those assholes.” He lifts his gun from where it sits on the table and tucks it back in his jeans. “Now for the hard part—how we goin’ to do it?”