Spawn
Igave the middle finger to Mason and the rest of the Black Reapers as they rode off on their bikes.
Let them fucking rot for all I cared. We didn’t fucking need them. That was especially true when they fell for King’s gambits so easily.
I was better at understanding the issues at hand. King lived in the same physical world as we did, but he didn’t occupy the same headspace. Ego and power and petty squabbles didn’t affect him, and if they did, he squashed them before they ever became a huge issue. He didn’t ever let shit escalate. He didn’t so much play mind games as he allowed our own minds to play games with ourselves.
It was fucking infuriating, especially since I had fallen for it too. Not that I couldn’t defend myself in the moment, but Christ almighty, did every encounter with the Black Reapers have to be this way? If we couldn’t unite with the Black Reapers…
Then maybe we had to turn it against King himself? But how the fuck would we do that when he seemed impervious to such tricks?Maybe he’s not. You only know he’s good at inflicting them on others. Not that he’s immune to it.
For now, I headed back inside the building. Satan and Sonny were waiting at the entrance to church. I made eye contact with Satan, who nodded for me to get inside. I didn’t argue with him. These guys were my allies, and I needed to keep my cool about me.
Inside, I took my usual seat.
“We need—”
“Wait, Dad.”
Sonny rarely invoked his real relationship with Spawn around us. As far as I could remember, he never had done so inside church. This was literally unprecedented.
“I need to say some things before we keep going,” Sonny said. “And I need to say them now. Dad, Spawn, your egos are getting in the way.”
“As if I—”
“And before it sounds like I’m on the Black Reapers’ side, so are theirs,” he continued.
But that didn’t stop Satan and me from glaring at the club vice president like he’d lost his damn mind. I hadn’t seen him act so…bullish, ever. And maybe that spoke to just how serious this situation was. Or maybe it just spoke to how effective King’s tactics were.
“Dad, I want you to call everyone back in here.”
“What the fuck are you trying to do?”
“I’m trying to get past the bullshit negotiations we’re doing right now,” he said. “Negotiations are just an excuse not to do something. King’s running loose. He’s fucking taunting us inside a high-rise hotel room in our fucking city. We should have him cowering in a bunker in Las Vegas, but he knows we aren’t doing shit right now.”
Satan looked so pissed. But he didn’t say a word back. Maybe Sonny had a point. Maybe the kid had a goddamn point.
Fuck. It was painful for me to admit it. What did that say about the kid?
“Get everyone in here. We’re not leaving until we have a deal set up.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Cole, Brock, and Lane stood across from me, Satan, and Sonny. It was agreed upon that leaving Mason out of it would be best, though we did at least receive reassurances that if any deal was reached, Mason would not hit me. Which was wonderful, I suppose.
“I brought everyone in here because I’m tired of seeing the dancing and negotiating going on,” Sonny said. “This is a battle none of us have ever seen. And we all need to sacrifice something. Dad.”
Satan looked ready to leap out of his seat and strangle his son.
“You’ve got to put your ego in check.”
And then he turned to the other three.
“But Lane, Brock, and Cole, you knew full well walking in here what the fuck we’re about. You fucking come in here, acting like you’re doing us a service by warning us about an impending threat; you are the fucking impending threat. I get it; we’re all in this for our freedom. Fine. We need to unite together.”
Sonny drew a breath.
“It doesn’t fucking matter how we do it or whose banner we’re under or what. I’ll tell you right now, we are not joining anything long-term. Either we die, or King dies, but if the latter happens, we are the Devil’s Patriots, not the Black Reapers, not now, not fucking ever.”
