That’s probably better. It’ll force me to go on this run before I suddenly change my mind and become a coward. I need to prove myself and do it now instead of doing it later.
“Works for me,” I said. “Anything else anyone wants to say?”
No one did, but what was clearly left unsaid was that the room seemed a lot more at ease than when I had walked in. Perhaps Patriot had had a point after all. Perhaps he and Axle and everyone else who wanted to see me involved had a point.
Perhaps I was the only one without a good point.
“Alright, Axle, keep us updated on the run,” I said as I grabbed the gavel. “Dismissed.”
If I was expecting some sort of adulation and praise from the other club members for suddenly having the courage to take part in a mission, it wasn’t forthcoming. Axle, Butch, and Red Raven left the room as if it was any other meeting. I knew it wasn’t fair to be disappointed, but I had expected at least some sort of reaction.
Father Marcellus simply said, “Good meeting,” before standing and heading out the door. I suppose that was his way of saying I had done better. It seemed to be about as much as I was going to get.
Then again, I supposed that what I was doing was less a commendable thing and more of something I should have just been doing all along. I wasn’t special for taking parts in mission—if anything, I was the opposite of special for trying to “rise above” the missions and not do them.
Finally, I was left with Patriot, who just smiled.
“That’s more like it, man,” he said.
“Was wondering if any of you guys would give a fuck,” I grumbled. “Seems like no one cared.”
“Oh, they cared, and they do care,” he said. “You may not have noticed it, but they all noticed it. Remember who they are. They’re not going to give you love and hugs, but now, they’re not going to snipe at you.”
I guessed he was right.
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks, Patriot. I’ll be out in a sec.”
“You got it,” Patriot said, taking his leave and walking out the door.
I still feared death.
That hadn’t changed. If I had hoped that the words would have given me some previously undiscovered well of courage to fight, well, that hadn’t happened. I was mortified, mostly, of a painful death, the kind where I’d bleed out slowly, with no one there to help me—maybe I’d get forgotten in the battle or, worse, maybe I’d get hit and the rest of the Black Reapers would intentionally leave me to bleed to death.
Hopefully, my involvement in this run would precipitate that, but for right now...
I needed a little bit more help. I needed a little bit of encouragement that apparently only Patriot was willing to try to give me. I needed some inspiration.
So, I headed for the one place I could get that.
* * *
Visiting my father’s grave never got easy.
It was especially awkward given that I had taken a club truck to head out there, the better to avoid the glares of those at the yard. The last thing I needed was for Angela to be there and to slap some sort of a public disturbance fine on me. God, how fucking much that would have sucked.
And then I pulled up to the actual cemetery, and wouldn’t you know it, Miss Deputy DA was there at Shannon’s grave.
She briefly looked back at the truck but then turned back to the grave, perhaps convinced since someone in a truck had pulled up, it wasn’t a Black Reaper. I really didn’t give a shit—I would pay Shannon a visit later. I just didn’t need to deal with that nonsense from a state official right now.
I hopped down from the truck, walked slowly to my father’s grave, and knelt before it.
“Dad,” I said.
I shook my head.
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” I said. “I mean, I do, but I don’t know why I need to be here. I was willing to fire upon the Fallen Saints at your house... but now? It’s like I’m suddenly a giant pussy. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know how the hell to lead the club. I don’t know how to do anything! It’s like...”
I took a deep breath. What I was doing was stupid and unbecoming of a leader. I couldn’t act like this in front of anyone, most especially the man who had had the foresight and courage to start this club.
