And sure enough, moments later, Cole fucking Carter pulled up to the shop, got off his bike, took off his helmet, and walked forward. He had a stone-cold expression, almost like he wasn’t happy to see the rest of the Reapers.
“Lane,” he said, nodding his head.
“Cole.”
For a moment, I wondered if we’d overestimated Cole’s relationship with the Springsville Reapers. Might he have left not willingly and not freely to find peace, but because he was forced—
And then the brothers hugged and patted each other on the back, and the questions vanished. Cole greeted each member of the original Black Reapers MC the same way.
“Thanks for coming,” Cole said. “I’ll call the rest of the guys over here. We’re going to fucking end this war.”
Lane chuckled.
“I thought that’s what we said when I killed Lucius.”
“When we killed Lucius,” Cole corrected, like two brothers bickering over who hadreallywon a wrestling match several years later. “And I thought so too. That was before I realized what the scale of this battle is.”
“Which is?”
Cole pulled out his phone, typed something to the rest of the Reapers, and looked up.
“Larger than we ever thought.”
* * *
Rachel Reid
For over a decade, I had removed myself from the world.
For the first two years, I struggled with myself. Was it my fault that the Bandits…did that horrible thing that night?
For the years after that, I struggled with Brock and the rest of his friends. Was it their fault? Didn’t they get that I just wanted to be left alone? Didn’t they understand I wasn’t a glass doll that needed to be handled with extra care?
Then, finally, for the years after that, I struggled with how to move forward. I rarely went out into Santa Maria. I got a job working a grocery store in a town far north of here—apparently, Steele’s mother had lived there for some time, but otherwise, Brock nor his friends ever came. It was just how I wanted it—sometimes.
On the one hand, I truly hated the idea of sympathy and questions. I’d done a pretty good job of putting the past behind me, of making something of myself with jobs and money. I’d even dated a few men, though it had never gotten comfortable enough to move into physical intimacy. It was like the moment kissing got heavy, my body just associated sex with being stripped of my identity, of my power, of my agency, and…well, it was going to take someone of extraordinary patience and understanding to make it work.
And let’s just say a man of those things, by definition of being extraordinary, would not come around very often.
On the other hand, I knew I wasn’t the only one who had lost something that night. Brock had also had to suffer the feeling of helplessness, and though none of his other friends witnessed it, they all had the same reaction. Connor, especially, turned into something of a tormented soul.
They had a right to try and move past it. And if it meant seeing me and talking to me about that night, well…
Well, like I said, sometimes I wanted it, and sometimes I didn’t.
But that had lasted for over a decade.
There was only so much I could take before removing myself from the world, turning into being a hermit. And while I was no monk in the mountains, becoming as recluse as I was—after being as social as I was—felt like I was handing the Bandits a victory. I could not let that happen.
I had to go back into the world again.
I’d started small. Just a few days ago, I had ordered some food to go from Southwest Dine. I remembered feeling so nervous when I walked in. Would anyone recognize me? Would anyone say anything? What if I saw Brock? What if I saw one of…them?
Nothing happened. I gave my name—my full name—to the staff. The name, despite being all over the local news and social media, what little of it existed then, had not remained in most people’s heads. I thought I saw one guy in a black, sleeveless jacket looking at me, but he never even got up from his table, let alone approach me to say anything.
But the very act of going out into a Santa Maria mainstay, of saying my name out loud in public…small as it might have been, inconsequential as it might have been for ninety-nine percent of the population, I did not take the small wins for granted. I had gone in, gotten food, and returned home without anything happening. I had some anxiety, but that was to be expected, and it had not gotten so bad as to cripple me and keep me from finishing what I had to do.
Next, I went grocery shopping in one of the Santa Maria stores. Unlike to-go food, which had me inside the store for no more than a minute, maybe two, grocery shopping gave someone the chance to stalk me. I knew people would say I was brave, but it wasn’t like being brave suddenly removed any and all doubt. I kept looking over my shoulders, and more than once, I was ashamed to admit I judged someone who might have been a Bandit as being a Bandit, even though I had no proof or even half-baked reasoning to believe it other than my gut.
