“Well,” I said. “We’ve done enough mourning of my father. Let’s go celebrate him.”
A few gentle nods and murmurs of approval came. Cole cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“I already spoke with the owner of Tom’s Billiards,” he said. “He said that we can have the place to ourselves this evening. We’ll have one round of free drinks, and then it’s normal prices.”
“You got that from him?” I said in surprise.
“I’m friends with him,” Cole said.Wow. I guess being friendly really does pay off.“Make sure you tip the bartender well, though. We’re trying to keep relationships in this town, not ruin them. OK?”
Everyone nodded.
“Let’s roll.”
As we walked over, Cole hung back with me. At first, neither of us said a word. I just didn’t have anything to say; I was too exhausted to think. I’d said my bit in the eulogy, and I’d said the last few words I had to my father. Everything else that followed was just blabbering, not careful thought.
“You seemed to handle that well,” Cole said.
I snorted.
“I would hope so, seeing as how it’s my father—”
“Oh, that’s not what I meant. I meant the appearance of the Black Reapers.”
My fists clenched just at the very name.
“I didn’t mind Father Marcellus,” I growled. “But for Lane, Axle, Butch… for them to show their faces... after the fucking shit they pulled...”
I nearly punched the nearest vehicle in frustration. The fucking audacity to show your face at the funeral of the man you murdered...
“It was bullshit, I agree,” Cole said. “If I wanted to be generous, I would say that they were trying to apologize. But—”
“That’s bullshit and you know it, Cole.”
“I know, I know, I’m in agreement. I’m just saying if they were. But they weren’t.”
When I got to my bike, this time, I slammed my fist on the seat, the one act of violence I felt I could get away at a funeral.
“They will pay for that arrogant display of whatever the fuck they thought it was,” I said. “I’ll fucking have Butch’s head hanging on my wall before I forgive him.”
Cole didn’t say anything, leaving me by my bike to fume. No, murdering Butch wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t bring my father back.
But yes, it was what I kept coming back to over and over and over again.
Cole started the slow rollout from the burial grounds. I hopped on my bike and followed him, completing my duty as Sergeant-at-Arms to guard the club President. But unlike most bike rides, where I could just zone out and go with the flow, I was now in a different world mentally, more focused on revenge than anything else.
But for now, the bike ride took me to Tom’s Billiards, not tracking Butch. I hadn’t been to this bar before, even though Cole said that he and the rest of the Gray Reapers had spent much of their time there. I guess I just hadn’t been in much of a going out and drinking mood, shockingly enough.
By the time we got there, multiple bikes were already set up and only one car was present, suggesting that we, indeed, had the place to ourselves. The one car looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t so familiar that I could place it to anyone.
“You can stay as long as you want,” Cole said as he reached for the door handle and let me in. “Please don’t feel any pressure to stay any longer than you want to.”
“I won’t.”
I saw about three pool tables used by the Gray Reapers already. Everyone who saw me nodded at me or raised their glass—a nice change from how things went at Black Reaper events.
“Well, seeing everyone else with a drink makes me want one,” I said. “You want anything?”
“Just get me a Blue Moon,” Cole said.
