“You know how to defeat the Saints. You did it tonight. If you want to emerge victorious... unite the clubs. As you did... tonight.”
But what had I really united? What had I done besides get one of the few men—perhaps the only man—from the Black Reapers I still cared about killed?
I looked back at Lane. His eyes were still wet. So were Patriot’s. Axle had now turned away, with only Butch looking over the end of Father Marcellus’ life with some level of stillness. But even he had his hand over his mouth, perhaps his version of weeping.
These were men that would be in great mourning for the rest of the night, perhaps even through tomorrow, perhaps even for the foreseeable future.
But at some point, they would want blood. This would be the death that pushed us to the breaking point, the death that demanded that we take our final action against the Fallen Saints, even if it came at the risk of our own lives. What was life worth living if that life featured nothing but unbearable heartache and tragedy?
And I—and the rest of the Gray Reapers, I’d make sure of it—would be right there with them.
I’d lost my father. I’d lost the next closest thing to a father. What else did I have to lose?
Jess. If she came back.
But even if she did...
Funny, though, how her name popped into my mind during all of this. Funny how she still had a place in my mind... which maybe meant she had a place in my heart.
I looked each man in the eye and nodded. And when I got to Butch, I even added some words.
“I’m sorry, Butch.”
He nodded back. He understood what I was apologizing for.
I shuffled out of the hospital, completely out of words and unable to converse any more. I grabbed my phone and texted Owen and Cole to let them know what had happened, but the instant that I saw that the messages had been delivered, I turned my phone off. It wasn’t like they were going to say anything that was going to bring the good chaplain back. I didn’t care to see their reactions to the news that Father Marcellus was dead.
Dead...
Just thinking the word was surreal. It was less than an hour ago that we were chatting about uniting the clubs, about Bible stories, about even my love life. And now...
He’d never say another word.
He’d never draw another breath.
He’d never experience another moment of this world.
I drove the van back to the clubhouse in something of a daze, rolling through more than a couple of red lights. I knew I couldn’t pull the same shit when I got on my bike, but in a way, the method was the safety measure. Being on the bike focused me and quieted my mind, and with any luck, it would do the same tonight.
A funny thing happened when I finally got on my bike, though.
I just drove.
And drove.
And drove.
It was like my life depended on keeping that bike on, because maybe it did. I drove all the way down past Long Beach, nearly halfway to San Diego. I started to drive up the 101, well past the exits I would have taken for Ashton and Springsville. I kept looking at the stars, as if the divine was naturally found in the skies.
I stopped twice to fill up on gas, and both times after, I still kept driving.
And driving.
And driving...
Only when the sky’s navy blue turned to a lighter shade of blue, the one that foretold of a new dawn coming, did it finally hit me that I could not permanently outrun the feelings that were bound to strike. I pulled off on the side of the highway, killed the ignition, and slumped forward.
“Unite the clubs... as you did tonight.”
