Besides, if Devon had been working for the Saints for any length of time, it wasn’t like an extra day, or two would make a difference.
“Sounds good, I will see you Thursday.”
And with that, Michael hung up.
Damn, I failed miserably in my attempts to cut things off.
And somehow, I felt perfectly okay with that.
Patriot
Thursday Evening
The warm feelings that came from getting my feelings off my chest for Kaitlyn, while delightful and nice, were short-lived.
The shitty nightmares, the shitty PTSD, and the shitty suspicions that were filling my life were starting to become stronger by the day. While things seemed to be getting better with Kaitlyn, the world around me seemed to be decaying by the second. It was like constantly wondering if there was a spy within the Reapers’ organization was poisoning my mind.
It certainly was a callback to Ramadi from nearly a decade earlier.
At least then, we had been right. However, that probably made it even worse, given I had my suspicions and had been unable to prevent chaos from erupting into its worse form. In the present, there was no telling if we were right.
I did, however, make it to our church meeting on Thursday, our weekly discussion about club events. Lane came in determined to make a statement, and I could see by the look in his eye that he was about to make something happen. It was probably just as well, then, that I had my date scheduled with Kaitlyn for later in the night. I needed something good after what was bound to be a heavy meeting.
“We’ve laid low since Patriot’s tires got slashed,” Lane said. “But as has been pointed out to me, a passive approach will never work. I think that was pretty evident during my year of being a pussy, and it’s evident now. So, tonight, we need to take action.”
Tonight?
“As soon as this meeting adjourns, we are going to split into two units that will launch quick strikes on the Fallen Saints’ headquarters. The first group will be led by me and will include Red Raven and Father Marcellus. The second group will be led by Axle, and will include Patriot and Butch. Each group will have some veteran club members as well.”
Wait, we’re putting the supposed spy in charge of a group? What the actual fuck is going on?
“I do not want this strike to include any casualties, as I do not want us to escalate this to any further point than we have gone so far,” he said. “However, I do want us to strike at their stockpile, ideally their motorcycles. Shoot out some engines, some gas tanks, make them unusable. We need to make it clear that what they did cannot happen, and we need to do it now.”
“Now?” Axle asked.
“Yes, now,” Lane said. “I don’t want them to have any time to prepare for anything.”
That was dangerously close to announcing that Lane knew there was a rat in our midst, but it was said just vaguely enough that it didn’t necessarily guarantee there was one. Still, Lane was dancing on thin ice, and I was sure by the way he looked that he knew it.
“Unless anyone else has anyone else to say, let’s roll out.”
No one did. Lane slammed the gavel. It was time to go.
But just because Lane had decreed it was time for battle didn’t mean that I didn’t have my doubts about the veracity of this mission. Selfishly, Kaitlyn and I were supposed to hang out, and it was going to make things really difficult if I had to devote a good portion of my evening to attacking the Fallen Saints’ HQ. Second, even if the club had a rat in our midst, there were much better ways to minimize their damage than impromptu strikes.
And yet, like the soldier that I was, I was not about to say anything publicly against Lane. He was the president of the club, he had made his decision, and that was final. Just as soldiers on the battlefield did not question the President of the United States once orders had been handed down, I wasn’t about to do anything.
We all rose, including Lane, who made a show of following the rest of the officers out. Taking the hint that this was not to be a moment where Lane would hang back, I followed him out, my body starting to get revved up with the potential violence that was to follow. Just before we reached the garage where our bikes were—including mine, which had since been repaired—Lane leaned over and whispered to me.
“Whatever you do,” he said. “Do not let Axle out of your sight. If you see him do anything suspicious, you let me know. I need to know if he does anything.”
This is as much about catching the spy as it is anything else.
I didn’t respond with anything other than a nod. Lane patted me on the back, walked over to Red Raven and Father Marcellus, and said something to them. He then did the same with Axle, seemingly trying to make it look like he was making the rounds with all of the members.
We’d officially crossed over from the boundary of having suspicious thoughts to testing out those suspicious thoughts. That was a far scarier proposition than I ever could have thought—we were officially at the point where lives were now being put at risk.
* * *
