It was strange, really. I feared rain far more than I feared bullets. There was just something about the feeling of going eighty miles per hour into a rainstorm, even with a helmet with a visor on, that just felt akin to getting pricked by dozens and dozens of needles. It fucking sucked, no matter how you spun it.
But on the drive over to Springsville, whether because the sound of our engines drowned out any noise nature threw away or because there wasn’t any actual thunder, the red flags never went beyond the black, puffy clouds. Well, the red flags of nature, at least.
When we arrived at the Black Reapers’ headquarters—a building that I recognized immediately, yet one that felt extraordinarily foreign all the same—a row of all remaining Black Reaper bikes lined the outside of the building. The repair shop still showed signs of damage from the last attack, but the clubhouse looked cleaned. Three figures stood at the outside, and though it was nighttime here and there was no exterior lighting on, the height of the figures gave away who it was.
Lane, the President.
Axle, the Vice President.
And fucking Butch, my father’s killer.
“Where’s Father Marcellus?” I growled.
“Not part of the meeting group,” Cole said.
No shit. Would be nice to have someone play the part of mediator, though.
I heard someone snickering from the shadows. I wanted to extend my hand for a handshake and then run it up to the necks of every last one of those fuckers, choking the life out of all of them.
“Father Marcellus is home,” Lane said. “I can’t afford to have all of my club officers in one place anymore. Not with the uptick of attacks by the Fallen Saints. Attacks that will be coming to Ashton if you don’t join us.”
Pleasant. Negotiating by ominous, distant threat.
“Let’s not do this outside,” Cole said.
“We’re not,” Lane said, and with a wave of his hand, he led us into their church, a room that I had seen so often from the outside but never once gotten actual access to. I would have had better luck getting into the pope’s headquarters at the Vatican than I would have of going into the Black Reapers’ hall without consequence.
All of which was to say... church for the Black Reapers was mighty disappointing. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but a bare room with a wooden table that had the Black Reapers’ logo by the president’s chair—which in itself was no object of luxury—was not what had come to mind. I figured there’d at least be photos of Roger Carter, maybe a bar with fancy liquor, maybe... I didn’t fucking know.
I supposed we were bikers, not C-level employees, but in my fucked-up head, it was just another indicator of the illusion the Black Reapers lived on.The illusion that has since been shattered and stomped on.
But the contents and interior design of the church was the least of our concerns, given that, one, we were not meeting on neutral ground, and two, all of the Black Reapers’ club members had congregated just outside, ready to murder at the whim of the arrogant Lane, the harsh Axle, or the ruthless Butch.
By coming here and acquiescing to Lane’s terms, Cole was still trying to garner the favor and the attention of his big brother.
Lane sat at the head of the table, with Axle and Butch to his left and right. We took the other end of the table, with me on Butch’s side. It wasn’t a purposeful move, but it felt so appropriate that if I were to kill someone tonight, Butch would be the first victim.
“Cole,” Lane said. “As you know, the Fallen Saints are getting more aggressive with each passing day. We cannot afford to sit idly by while they grow stronger and we grow weaker. I... I know that I have treated you poorly in the past. I know that I have not been the kindest, gentlest big brother I could be. And for that, I am sorry. But now—”
“Sorry for what?”
Both Butch and Axle visibly tensed and arched their shoulders. I just felt proud—proud that Cole was standing up, willing to cut his asshole brother off and defend himself.Proud that the Gray Reapers will not be the weaker of the two clubs.
“Sorry for being an ass.”
“I know that,” Cole said. “I want to know exactly how you were an ass, though.”
“Cole, c’mon, this is not—”
“Is it?” Cole said.
OK, maybe pride was too strong of a word. The tension in the room was dangerously escalating. If we couldn’t control it… as much as I hated Butch and disliked Lane, I didn’t like our odds being on their turf with their men just outside.
“Do not let your pride get in the way of a necessary reunion, brother,” Lane said without any of the stoicism that had marked his earlier words.
“It’s a little late to be setting terms like this,” Cole said. “I’m willing to make peace, but I don’t want a peace that lasts five days and then turns back into us feuding forever. Either we become permanent allies, or we continue this dance around each other. I’m not putting one foot in while leaving one foot out.”
“Christ, are you fucking serious!” Lane said, rising from the table.
