Fucking A. He is a Black Reaper.
“Like the one on the back of your cut?”
“That was from a time before,” he said. “It’s more nostalgic than anything else right now.”
“But it was a time you lived through, no?” I said.
Cole nodded.
“People think motorcycle clubs exist basically for boys who refuse to be men. Ignorant people think MCs exist for the sake of hedonistic pleasure, for men to get what they want. And there are benefits, sure. But I’ve always believed, personally, that if you go to all the trouble to form a club, to have all the resources at hand, to be a presence in the city, you damn well better do something for the place you’re in.”
“Such as?”
Cole smiled.
“Does the club Black Reapers mean anything to you?”
“I—”
“You knew what my cut was, Brock. Don’t play dumb.”
I confessed what I had read in the Los Angeles Times article, although my memory wasn’t perfect. Too much had happened since then for me to recount everything.
“It’s a story of many books,” Cole said. “And yes, I was a part of that story.”
Figured.
“But it was a story that lasted as long as it did because we let our egos get in the way. My brother and I…well, let’s just say that it took a lot, and I mean a lot, of heartache for us to rally together. Had we had one person just step up, grow up, and be a leader, that story would have been over and done with in a fraction of the time.”
He had been looking to the distant New Mexico hills and mountains when he’d spoken about his time before. But now, he looked right at me, his eyes burrowing into me until I could not look away.
“What you did at the gas station last week was stupid, trying to fight off multiple attackers at once. But it also shows you got some brass balls. Our last go-around back in California, neither of us had the balls needed to rise above the drama. You can be that kind of leader.”
He took a breath. I felt my heart accelerate. He wouldn’t suggest what I thought he was…would he?
“You say you got a problem in Santa Maria? I… I’m not going to say yet I’ll make you a part of the Black Reapers. That’s a step where I need to get to know you a bit more. But you and your boys prove yourself, with a little assistance from me, and maybe—maybe—we can get you there.”
Oh, shit!
“You’re serious?”
Cole nodded. I felt like I’d had the most useless reaction in my life. But what else was I supposed to have? I’d gotten so used to disappointment, heartache, turmoil, defeat, nihilism, and inevitability that to actually have someone who had money and had connections say he could help…
“You’re clearly the leader, at least between you and the other guy I saw. You got a good demeanor, a good presence. If it got to the point of us recognizing you as a chapter of the club, you’d have to set up shop somewhere, something to have as a legitimate business. And don’t think having a club will be a cure-all for your problems. But if you want to do it, I can help you prove yourselves. I can supply you with weapons and resources.”
“And what would you do?”
Cole chuckled.
“Stay here, hold Lilly’s hand, and cradle my son.”
“Your son?” I said, recalling as I spoke what he’d said about being up at seven a.m. earlier today.
The words had barely gotten out before Lilly emerged with a baby no more than six months old in her arms. She was rocking the child; the infant was sniffling like it was on the tail-end of his tears.
“This is Roger,” Cole said. “These two are my everything.”
He stood up, kissed Roger on the head, and then kissed Lilly.
