“How would you like to make some extra money under the table for us? At far better rates than what you’re being paid right now?”
I looked wide-eyed at the amount of money in his jacket and then stared back at LeCharles. I knew, given that dollar amount, what my answer would be.
Patriot
Lane had his occasional flaw, to be sure. We all did. It’s why we were a club and not a bunch of goody two shoes in a corporate office.
But exaggeration and hyperbole were not one of them. He sometimes oversold himself, but it was very rare for him to oversell club business. If he said there was something that could potentially cause the club serious problems down the road, that was something that I needed to pay attention to—especially if he said those problems could cause the end of the club.
If anything, I had needed him to get more apocalyptic with club business.
“Let me explain first why I say that and what I intend to do,” Lane said. “I let my emotions get the best of me when we went to attack the Fallen Saints’ base. I let my emotions get the best of me in a lot of ways, right? So, I’ve got to focus, now more than ever, on being logical and very cold in what I do. I need to be different than how I normally am.”
“Up to a point, man,” I said, remembering all the times my commanding officers in the military would make sweeping, overreacting proclamations, making life difficult for everyone. “You’re Lane, not Butch. Don’t lose sight of who you are and the heart you got.”
“I appreciate it, brother, and to some degree, I’m saying this out loud for myself as much for you,” he said.
He sighed.
“You know, I keep trying to figure out if I’m going to need Cole. Especially if this issue really is something that’s going to undermine the club.”
To me, the answer was simple.
Yes, we were going to need Cole.
Cole Carter had the last name of the founder, had not killed Shannon—thankfully, Lane had gotten over that belief, even if it took him nearly a year to clear his mind of the false story—and had always been loyal and faithful to all of the other Reapers. The two of them had never become co-Presidents as their father had wanted, but I could just imagine the two of them bouncing off each other so well.
But this wasn’t the place to have that conversation. I bit my lip and just shrugged. It was my way of telling Lane that that question didn’t matter that much right now.
“What’s the issue, man?” I finally said when it seemed like Lane was more interested in me saying something.
He stood up for a second, made sure the door was locked shut, peered out the crack of it, and sat down.
“I think there’s a spy in the Black Reapers for the Fallen Saints. And I think it’s one of the officers.”
My body went cold. I could literally feel shivers and chills go down my spine. The tip of my nose went numb, my fingers started to, and I felt like I needed a hoodie to combat the cold. This was... this was...
Déjàvu all over again.
I remembered back to that fateful night in Ramadi when I’d lost a few brothers... when I later learned why I had lost some of my best friends... how one of the men in the group had fallen for the beliefs of the enemy... how they had deserted us...
No, no, this shit couldn’t be happening again. There was just no fucking way. Life couldn’t give me a second traitor in this short a time upon me. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fucking fair!
“That’s impossible, man,” I said, gritting my teeth as I struggled to maintain a stoic appearance. “All of those officers were handpicked by your father. Your father knew people better than anyone else. There is no way that he picked someone who would be a traitor.”
“Patriot, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I keep thinking about how things have gone since my father’s death,” he said. “Every fucking time we strike the Saints, it’s like they’re one step ahead of us. The only reason either of us is alive right now is because my brother came out of nowhere to save the day. And that only happened because of a lucky breakthrough for Angela. We can’t rely on fate saving our asses again. You know?”
“I know, man, I fucking know,” I said.
At this point, I felt like I was fighting more out of principle than out of belief. I had never said Lane’s thought out loud, but the notion of a traitor had crossed my mind more than once about how a group as ill-disciplined as the Saints couldn’t have known what we were going to do so well. The only way they had was either an incredible string of luck, or...
“Just… damnit, man, are you sure?” I said, even as I began to admit the likelihood of the truth. “You had better be damn well sure. You make that sort of accusation against someone here, that’s the kind of thing that gets people killed. You kill the wrong guy, well...”
“I know, I know,” Lane said. “And look, I’ll admit, I can’t be one hundred percent sure. If you ask me who I suspect is the spy, I have no idea. I’m telling you, so I trust that you’re not the spy, but I spoke with someone about—”
“With whom?”
Lane sighed.
