Prologue
Lane Carter
It never got any easier.
Over a full year had passed since I lost my father and my future fiancée in a single night. That night would forever go down as the worst night of my life, and with two very different reactions from those around me as a result.
My father’s death, though incredibly sad, was foreseeable given his illness and age. Of course, it saddened me, but once a man hit his age, death was more of a fact of life than something too far into the future to seem real. There just wasn’t much in the way to feel especially sad about. The moment it happened upset me, of course, but as the days went by, I became more and more accepting of it.
Those in the Black Reapers who had accepted me and seemingly embraced me as their sole President after my father’s decree and the aftermath had a similar reaction. Tears were justifiably shed, emotions were displayed, and vows to live up to my father were given, but all in all, we understood the day would come.
The loss of my fiancée, Shannon Burns, however...
God, how that fucking hurt even now.
A full goddamn year later, and every time I thought about it, I wanted to cry and scream. She was young, with hopes and aspirations of being a big shot in the finance world. She was beautiful, way above what anyone thought I deserved. And she was sweet, the first person I went to after my father’s death. I could rely on her in a way I could no one else, certainly not my goddamn “brother.”
When that “brother,” Cole, killed her, it was like my sibling by blood had decided to remove himself from the family. I could no longer call him just brother, as I did with my closest friends in the club, like Patriot, but instead just referred to him as “brother” or, better yet, not at all. That motherfucking prick. I knew I should never have trusted him around Shannon.
As soon as Shannon died, it was like the entire world outside the club fell apart. Her father, a local politician, went from silently supporting us to publicly condemning us, making life in our small town a living hell. Her friends all stopped speaking to me, feeling like I had dragged her into a lifestyle she would never escape from. I was never that close to those around her, but it was never good to make more enemies.
The sickening and cruelly ironic part was that while her friends and family all felt I was a bad influence—which I sure as hell was not—she was such a good influence that she was going to slowly pull me away from the club’s day-to-day activities, making both of our lives safer. Cole and Axle, our Vice President, were going to handle the daily tasks, while I would oversee the big picture. The detachment would let me lead the club better than Cole ever could, and it would give Shannon and me some safety.
And now?
The only person who had safety was Shannon. Why? Because nothing bad could happen to her anymore.
Death had already taken her—what more could happen? It wasn’t like she had a reputation for keeping secrets. Nothing could tarnish her reputation.
Her death shook me in a way that none ever had before. If I had said before that my father’s death taught me the Grim Reaper was a neighbor at his age, Shannon’s death really taught me that the Grim Reaper was actually a neighbor all the time.
It also taught me that Cole was a heartless traitor who deserved to die like the fucking scum that he was. But I already knew that—I just had not known the degree of it.
These thoughts formed the basis of every bike ride from my home to the graveyard in our town. The ride was always the quietest one I had every Monday morning as I deliberately slowed down and kept my engine quiet out of respect for the dead around me. I even left my apartment in a quiet mood, wanting to set the tone for myself.
Can’t say that about Cole or some of the other bikers in our MC, the Black Reapers.
When I hopped off my bike that morning, just after sunrise—I was perhaps the only Black Reaper to maintain what society would call a normal schedule, trying to wake up at seven in the morning and go to bed by midnight—I moved forward to my father’s grave. This one just felt like a matter of paying respects. I knelt before the tombstone, which read:
“Here lies Roger Carter, a great father, a legendary leader, and a kind soul. Born December 18th, 1940 - Died April 3rd, 2018.”
“Hey, Dad,” I said, smiling. “Just thought you should know how things are going. Club life is a little tough. We’re getting some heat from the local politicians and the state about guns, but, you know, we’ve gotten through that kind of thing before, I think we’ll get through it again. Still... ”
I laughed, partially to deflect tears.
“Still trying to get over what happened to Shannon. I think that one’s a long way away. I... I know I need to avenge her death.”
I just can’t bring myself to do it. Nor can I ever admit to Dad that I need to kill Cole to avenge her.
If he even killed her.
He did. He most certainly did.
“Other than that, though, life is pretty good. I’m not really worried about the politicians. It’s like you said, they’re just people, too. And people can be worked on to make things better.”
I knelt there for a full minute longer, trying to think if I needed to say anything else. I never felt like I had all the words I needed in moments like these. No matter how many times I came to the graveyard and no matter how much thought I gave to what had gone on, I could never quite muster the right words. I was skilled in many things and growing in many ways, but finding the words for my father...
It was like speaking to a legend. What the hell could you possibly say?
