“The fuck would we even be bikers for if we didn’t think we could win a fight?”
Lane had no response to me. It wasn’t exactly the smartest retort. It was egotistical and driven by pride.
But god-fucking-damnit, there was no way in hell I was going to wind up in a fight with the man who put my father in a coma and my club on high alert and not win a fight with him. The thought of anything else literally could not come to mind. It just wasn’t possible.
“OK, fine, so ignore that point. And what happens when his twelve security guards shoot you?”
“You act like I’m going to walk in with no contingency plan. I’ll have something.”
But Lane was making a good point. The extent of our planning was limited by reality. At some point, we’d have to hope for luck or pure chance to come in—and though I’d never been in the military, I’d been around enough members to know one of their favorite phrases, “hope is not a strategy.”
“It’s the best we’ve got right now, that’s for damn sure,” Cole said.
We talked a little bit longer about the plan, and while we didn’t exactly settle on specifics yet, the one thing we did know was that this was the way forward. Launch an actual attack, follow up with a negotiation offer, get in-person, and…
At that point, it was more or less up to fate.
Who was, as I’d seen, the ficklest of women of all. She made someone like Leigh seem like a housewife.
Leigh…fuck. If I die…
I shook my head. This was the worst time to think of her, and yet it was painfully obvious it wasn’t the first time she’d come to mind.
Fortunately, we were reaching the end of the meeting.
“Anything else we need to discuss?”
No one said a word.
“Spawn, Lane, start planning the initial attack. The rest of us, let’s take a brief break and reconvene. I’m going outside for a drink if you need anything.”
I almost considered grabbing a cigarette too. That would have fucking said something, considering I hadn’t smoked since…well, shit, since my mom died.The only other time I smoked in my life, actually. Fucking telling.
I pushed outside, went to the bar, poured myself a double shot of vodka, and took it to the steps outside. It was an unusually warm Saturday by now; even though it was overcast outside, the sun’s worst rays seemed to pierce through the clouds and create an unbearable heat.
In the clubhouse, I would have taken my vodka like a fucking shot, but out here, I was in no rush. I’d have a hardass thirty-plus hours or so; there was no reason to take my medicine and my comfort all at once.
The door behind me swung open. Spawn walked outside, quickly shutting the door.
“Don’t you have a fucking job to do?” I said though I wasn’t really mad. What was the difference between us taking a break for five minutes and Spawn and Lane getting a jump start?
“Yeah, but it ain’t the one you gave me,” he said. “What did you do last night?”
What sort of a fucking question is that?
“You looked distracted in there.”
Goddamnit.
“Same shit you were probably doing with Melissa.”
Spawn chuckled. It was nice to know we could still bust each other’s balls, even with the world seemingly on a fucking course to end soon.
“I knew it was only a matter of time.”
“What, because you saw me and Leigh together that one night? I didn’t know you were a fucking prophet.”
“Not the religious kind, anyway. Lord knows I need Jesus, and Jesus ain’t coming anywhere near me.”
