“Fucking bullshit,” he muttered, but he did as I asked of him, plopping down on the couch. I pulled up a chair and sat across from him. “Now fucking talk.”
“First, have some respect,” I said.
“What are you, a therapist?” he said. “I came here to give you a chance so I wouldn’t kill Jason, not so that I could be lectured to about what kind of a person I am!”
He was already leaning forward, like a sprinter waiting for the gun to go off so he could charge full steam ahead. I leaned back in my chair, hoping he would mimic me, and closed my eyes for a deep breath.
“You try and solve all of your problems with violence, Mason,” I said, which wasn’t something I inherently disagreed with—but if it worked here, I’d abuse the hell out of the position of pacifism. “When in doubt, you resort to your fists or to threats. Which, OK, sure, sometimes it works, but here, this isn’t one that needs it.”
“So then tell me what the fuck this situation needs,” Mason said. “Tell me what my little sister, who got knocked up by our rivals, the most lethal group in all of New Mexico, needs so that I can provide it.”
There was only one answer that came to mind, and even I disliked it. But it was my best chance at establishing peace not just for me but for the entirety of the club and Mason.
“You need to let it go, Mason.”
I’d barely finished the words when Mason broke out into hysterical laughter.
“You’re fucking joking, right?” he said.
I didn’t break. I kept a serious face, all the while listening to Mason laugh at me like I was some sort of naive idiot.
“Oh my God, you actually are fucking serious,” Mason said. “You can’t be. A Bandit? Did he say that if I found him, he’d kill you? Tell me, Hannah. I have all of the Black Reapers here and can probably get more from California to come and kick some ass for you. Trust me, the only reason we haven’t wiped the Bandits off the face of the Earth yet is because we need the manpower to do so, but if you need me to kick ass right now so you don’t die, I will fucking do it.”
What the hell did I say? Telling the full truth was becoming a stronger urge. There was only so deep I could dig this lie before the contradictions, the bullshit, and the dishonesty became obvious even to Mason.
“No, I’m not in danger like that.”
“Then what?”
It was time to confess or deflect.
“I’m fine, Mason, and the baby’s fine, and no one’s in any danger of getting hurt.”
Guess that answers that.
“Jesus Christ, Hannah, when did you become such a pushover?” Mason said. “Let’s get the facts straight. This guy stalked you, harassed you. Clearly, as much as I don’t want to think about this, he had sex with you at some point. Now you’re pregnant, he’s the father, and you’ve been hiding it from me for months because you knew I’d do this. Well, your mind was clear about one thing. I would react like this. And I’m sorry the baby’s dad won’t be around, except I’m not sorry. We can help raise the kid.”
And then he stood up, and panic swept over me.
“Where are you going?”
“I gave you your chance to convince me otherwise. I’m going to go kill Jason.”
“Mason!”
But my brother was no longer listening to me. He kept walking forward, deliberately ignoring my grabbing his arm or begging him to stop. Even when I stepped in front of him, he gently but firmly moved me to the side so he could keep going.
As we stepped outside and started moving toward his bike, I had horrible visions of my brother landing in jail for the rest of his life. I’d heard too many stories of the local sheriff, and even if he was an honorable officer, murder was still a crime, no matter the justification. And just because Mason and the Black Reapers considered themselves outlaws didn’t mean the law wouldn’t come for them.
And even if the law never connected the dots, the Bandits would.
I imagined two outcomes from him murdering a guy I had completely made up who, apparently, actually existed. The first was the best-case scenario. Mason would get away with it. Local law enforcement either would never figure it out or couldn’t figure it out, and he’d escape their clutches. But the Bandits would know. He’d be a hunted man until he was six feet under, and I didn’t doubt that they would come for my child and me as leverage.
And then there was the case where the cops did figure it out, did arrest him, did throw him in jail, and then some of the local prisoners would murder him. It was all conjecture, of course, as I hadn’t spent a day of my life in jail. But the thoughts were realistic enough, I knew I could not discount them.
“Mason!”
“Don’t!” he said as I grabbed his bike.
