Zack
That girl is something else.
She was playing coy, trying to play the part of outraged white-collar worker. Though I never talked to the guys about their relationships, I could still see how Elizabeth, especially, and then Tara and Katie to lesser degrees, still played the part of being offended by some of the more caustic or rude things us bikers said.
But I could also see how she liked some of what was said. I could see how she damn well remembered everything from that day, including the brief conversation we’d had on the front porch. I could see that what her mouth was saying and what her mind was saying were two different things.
And let’s just say that however smart I was, it was enough for me to know that Dr. Justine Elks had a love sickness of sorts for me. And I’d seen enough from her.
I would make it happen. I was smart enough to make sure that it did. And I would set it up properly.
* * *
Ten minutes later, following a text from Brock, all of the Black Reapers—save Mason—convened.
We gathered just outside the hospital, on the top floor of the parking deck. We had called in two prospects: one to stand guard in the hospital, and one to stand guard at the top floor of the deck to make sure we had the privacy to talk freely. It was a few hours later, and the initial determination we’d felt had started to turn into fatigue.
Brock, most noticeably, looked like he needed a chance to recharge. He wasn’t down for the count by any stretch, nor was he an emotional wreck, but he looked exhausted. And we were at the point now where, so long as we had someone watching over Cole, there was no imminent risk or danger.
“We need to fucking retaliate,” Brock said.
“Without question.”
“No, I mean, we need to do it now, tonight,” Brock said. “I can’t be fucking living with a world where the Bandits are willing to attack however they fucking please. If they’re going to rig a goddamn fucking bomb in the Reapers bar, what the fuck are they going to do at SMAR? What are they going to do in downtown Santa Maria? At our houses?”
No one else was going to question Brock, I realized. They all saw his point and were afraid speaking back would somehow mark them as a coward or stupid. Why wouldn’t the Bandits keep retaliating like this?
The answer was actually pretty obvious. An attack of this magnitude brought eyes. Specifically, governmental eyes. Already, we had seen reports on the news stations about the attack. The last thing the Bandits needed was for attention to turn into urgent action on the part of government officials.
They were a real threat to us. But to the National Guard or to the SWAT team in Albuquerque, they were no match. And to go from bombing a bar to then attacking a repair shop or some other businesses in SMAR was a damn good way to ensure that everything came crumbling down on them.
The question, really, was how I could convey that information to the group without getting the usual smartass remarks. And when the silence went on long enough that I knew no one else would speak, I kind of realized it just didn’t fucking matter. I needed to be the one to speak.
“They’re not going to do anything right now,” I said.
“We said that after Damian,” Brock snarled. “After Marco. They always strike again.”
“Yes, absolutely. But there’s a major difference between preventing a follow-up strike and thinking this is going to turn into a cascade of multiple attacks. Look at it from their perspective. They think they’ve killed Cole, or at least knocked him out for a while. They’ll go for the kill, but not while all of New Mexico is on high alert.”
Brock looked barely moved.
“And besides, we are in no state to fight right now,” I said. “Look at us. We’re exhausted. Mason is still with Lilly and Roger. We can’t just assume that if we go and strike now, they’ll be ready.”
“Motherfucker,” Brock said. “I hate them enough right now that I might just go and strike anyway.”
“I know,” I said. “And when we do, Eduardo should be our target. We kill him, the rest of the group falls into chaos. Maybe it won’t end everything, but it’ll go a long way to making things better for us. But we need a plan. Not emotions.”
Never had I felt so much like I was perhaps too different from the rest of the club to be taken seriously. It wasn’t going to stop me from standing up for what I believed was best, but it was pretty damn acute.
“This is fucking stupid,” Brock said. “We know who we need to kill. We already killed Damian. We already killed Derek. That’s two of the three. Eduardo is not some man in a bunker.”
He sighed. The pause told me he was agreeing with me.
“I fucking hate you right now, Zack.”
“I know.”
“But you have a point.”
