Me.
“Just let me fucking rest.”
“That’s what I told you to do, so that’s what you will do,” Brock said, standing with a smirk on his face. “Sweet dreams, Mason.”
I rolled my eyes. The door shut a second later. And exhaustion swept over me.
I would probably reach out to Rachel. But for now, yeah, I needed some goddamn rest.
* * *
One Night Later
I sat at the bar at Buckhead Saloon. The Reapers, both from California and from here, all mingled, laughing, sharing stories. It was a sight that none of us would have ever expected in the weeks and months before this.
But killing Eduardo and decimating the Bandits had worked wonders on healing—or perhaps just even creating in the first place—our partnership.
Brock, Steele, and the Carter brothers gathered in one circle, sharing a laugh. Connor, Axle, and Butch silently drank beers together, smiles on their faces. Phoenix, Patriot, Garrett, and Zack all shared stories, listening intently to each other, save for the occasional stupid-ass joke by Garrett.
So, yes, that left me by myself. But I was good to just remain on the sidelines, sipping a beer.
I was utterly and completely exhausted. For decades, I’d lived with myself and my prior relationship to Eduardo and even the Bandits. For years, I’d sought to undo the mistakes of my past. And then I’d nearly fucking blown it…
Except I hadn’t. That was relieving.
But the roller coaster ride to get to this point? At some point, even if I won in the end, the swings had gotten to me. I didn’t need a vacation so much as I needed a fucking sabbatical, to just disappear into the wilderness for a year or two to regain my mental fortitude and solitude.
I took a sip of my beer and saw someone coming. Axle. I nodded to him, and he nodded to me.
“You know, for someone that almost got my ass killed in training, you sure did help it pretty well in the field,” he said. “I think you’re due this.”
He raised his glass. I raised mine, and he clinked it.
“I owe you for that,” he said, “so thanks for being out there.”
“Just part of the job of being a Black Reaper,” I said.
Axle shook his head.
“It’s easy to like motorcycles. It’s a little more difficult to be a part of a club, but one can be in one without dealing with anything harder than hazing and some ridicule. But to put yourself in the line of fire like that? That takes balls. Especially since you weren’t in the military. But you got guts just like any of the soldiers I went into the field with. So no, that’s not part of being a Black Reaper. That’s part of being a man.”
Axle took a sip of his drink.
“Anyway, come,” he said. “Chat with us.”
“I’m good,” I said. “I’ve got some thinking to do.”
“Your way,” Axle said with a shrug before heading back to his circle.
I could see a point of his without him saying it, though; standing here as an outsider, as part of no circle, probably did put a bit of a damper on things. It was probably for the best that I step away and let the festivities continue.
And so, throwing a twenty on the counter, I finished my beer with a quick chug and began making my way outside. I got all the way to my bike before I heard someone yelling for me.
It was Cole.
I stopped at my bike and waited for him to come near me.
“Where are you going?”
