“We’ll see, man,” I said. “If anything, she’s made me bend.”
Lane looked like he wanted to respond with a savage comeback, but he bit his tongue at the last second, choosing to wash down his words with another sip of his Yuengling. I took the silent moment to take a closer look around the bar.
As of right now, there were no Fallen Saints here tonight. The bar and its staff still had a hell of a way of maintaining peace, but after the attack two weeks ago, I wasn’t exactly willing to risk anything. Lane might have believed a temporary peace had come, but I suspected it was only going to intensify the frequency and strength of future attacks. A wounded enemy was not a compliant enemy.
“Anyways,” Lane said.
The lowering of his voice, the way he moved closer to me, the way his eyes darted told me we were about to finally get to the reason for our presence—the most extraordinary accusation that anyone in the club could make. If he was right, Lane would be immortalized in the same way his father was.
If he was wrong, the best Lane could hope for was permanent excommunication. The most likely scenario was execution.
“You remember what I told you back at the shop, right?”
“About there being a certain type of rodent around us?”
Lane nodded, but even with us being alone, he looked hastily around, as if someone might suddenly appear out of nowhere. I kept an eye on Jess, but the bartender had long ago learned the good sense to only approach us when requested. She knew better than to so much as risk the appearance of being in earshot.
“I really think it’s one of the officers, and I know you said you hated the idea that Angela helped solidify the idea, but if anything, I’m more inclined to believe it because of her.”
“The fuck, man?”
“Just, hear me out, okay?” Lane said. “Let me explain, man. Listen to me as your best friend. Not as a club member.”
I was actually on Lane’s side on this one. My hesitance had less to do with my disagreement with him or my disapproval of him and more of my enormous fear that if he was wrong, he would die.
Unfortunately, I had prior experience in that to know how horrible such an outcome would be. I knew what it looked like when someone who had fallen for the enemy’s ways had not been apprehended in time. I knew betrayal held unaccounted led to unnecessary deaths.
“Obviously, the fact that I’m telling you means you’re not the spy. So that leaves Red Raven, Father Marcellus, Butch, or Axle. What do they all have in common? They’re older. We’re the young guys, the hotshots in the club, the two brothers of sorts who have worked our way up the ranks. They probably...”
Lane shook his head.
“The problem in telling you all of this is I’m not even sure I believe some of my own conjecture. But on a high level, given everything that’s happened, I worry that the possibility is far too great.”
I understood Lane’s concern, but I feared I was not getting my point across.
“Listen, man,” I said. “Whatever you say between us stays between us. Tell me everything you’re saying, but don’t you dare repeat it to anyone else. When you come forward with this to anyone else—anyone you mentioned, a club member, hell, even Angela—you better have a case so airtight, no one could argue it. If you have any ‘probably’ or ‘maybe’ statements in there, man… You. Are. Fucking. Dead. I don’t think I can say that strongly enough. Even if you’re right, but you don’t make the case strong enough, you’re dead. And then, guess what? The spy wreaks havoc, and we’re all dead.”
I didn’t lose my cool often, at least not on the outside, but this was definitely a moment that left me exasperated. At least here, though, I had chosen to lose my cool for the sake of making a point, not for... well, other reasons.
“I know all of this,” Lane said. “I just... fuck, man. I don’t want to see more people killed. I don’t...”
Shannon.
He may be at peace with having moved on to Angela, but he’s not at peace with having lost someone like Shannon. I don’t think Angela is either. Neither of them should be.
Hell, I’m not really either. There’s too much in the way of young death in my life.
“Between her death,” Lane said, refusing to say her name out loud. “The club meeting on the ambush, getting attacked at the shop, then getting preempted at the last encounter with Lucius and the Fallen Saints... bro, fuck.”
“I know, man, trust me, I know,” I said.
Lane took a long, long swig of his drink. Outside, the sound of motorcycles could be heard. We both tensed, prepared either for the possibility of a Black Reaper and a friendly face... or something that would be a lot more threatening.
But just as soon as the motorcycles sounded like they were about to park by the bar, they picked back up and carried away. It was not some great mystery that needed to be solved, but it did make me curious, which was it—perhaps the Fallen Saints, thinking better of coming in with us there? Or perhaps one of the Black Reapers who decided they’d rather be alone?
Or, perhaps, it’s the spy, checking to see where we are?
“Just do me a favor,” Lane said. “You’re a smart cat. Way smarter than me. Keep your eyes and ears peeled and see what you can pick up. You may find out that I’m full of shit and just a terrible leader. But whatever you learn, let me know, will ya?”
