We did not have any type of evidence, only suspicion. We had just gotten off an ugly retaliation for which I was admittedly not present, but I had not seen anything to suggest Axle was guilty beforehand. At best, pulling the trigger would spark so much chaos that the real spy would be revealed. At worst...
The best-case scenario was not justifiable enough.
“Truth be told, Axle,” I said, thinking as quickly on my feet as I could. “Lane and I have been in conversation to make me a second VP to try and diversify options. As the Fallen Saints are increasing their pressure, we need to make sure we can handle any type of danger accordingly. And so... that’s what we wanted to see. With you as current VP, if you want to have any input on it.”
I knew Axle knew I was completely full of shit. I could see by the look in Lane’s eyes that he was about to beat the shit out of me. Both men knew that what I’d said was nonsense for different reasons.
But was I going to change? Was I going to sacrifice long-term stability for some short-term peace?
No.
“I see,” Axle said. “And what would you do as a new VP?”
I bullshitted for a little bit longer, but I could see Lane seething more and more with every spoken word. Axle seemed to have picked up on the need to play the theatrical part because he kept asking questions, but there was only so long we had before Lane would—
“Alright, thank you, Axle,” Lane said, barely able to contain his anger. “Please leave so I can discuss this matter further with Patriot. Thank you for your time.”
Axle nodded to Lane. He turned to me, gave what amounted to a barely perceptible smile—does he suspect we suspect him? Or am I imagining things?—and walked out. The door had barely shut before Lane grabbed his gavel and threw it against the table with such force, it was a minor miracle that the damn thing didn’t break.
“What in the actual fuck was that, Patriot?” Lane said, his voice just a half-level below a full scream. “You know what I brought you in here for. And you pull that shit?”
“Do you want me to answer you, or do you just want to scream at me?”
Lane laughed and held out his hand, sarcastically encouraging me to continue.
“No, please, I would love to know why I’ve confided in you all of this, and the minute that it comes time for us to push forward, you back off like a pussy.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” I said, brushing off his words. “Do you even hear how you sound? You’re raging with blind anger right now. You’re not in any condition to make an accusation like that. Hell, you’re not in any condition to process if such an accusation can be made. None of us are. We got attacked—”
“Because we keep fucking sitting on our asses, Patriot,” Lane said, treating my word like a curse. “We know that someone in this club is trying to get us all killed. The only time we have managed to avoid any serious drama is when we bring everyone along and make it impossible for someone to pull something under our noses. And your advice is to sit tight and let possible rats just walk out with some fucking nonsense about second VPs?”
Lane shook his head in disgust before kicking over a chair.
“Whose fucking side are you on, anyway?” Lane said.
And there it is.
“The fuck does that mean, man?” I said.
I could handle a lot of accusations thrown my way. I could handle being called soft. I could handle being called a pretty boy. I could handle people saying I wasn’t cut out to be a biker.
But to be called a traitor? To be accused of doing the very thing that ruined my life, ruined my marriage, and took away my two best friends?
That was unforgivable.
“I mean that you want the violence against us to stop, right? You want us to win the war against the fucking Fallen Saints? Then you must surely recognize the need to get the traitor.”
Lane’s words should have calmed me down enough that I didn’t have enough anger to say something stupid. He spoke with a fury that made it difficult to parse the meaning from the emotion, but they weren’t further fuel for the fire.
Unfortunately, because he had gotten me so enraged, it was also impossible for me to make that distinction. And so, I fired back with the worst.
“I do,” I said. “Maybe I’m looking at him right now.”
There were a million ways to introduce that possibility. I picked the worst one. And the result was exactly what one would have expected.
Lane started by grabbing the gavel and throwing it at me. I turtled up and avoided the worst of it, deflecting it with my shoulder.
But then came Lane slamming me against the wall.
