“But for all of that hardship, we, the Devil’s Patriots and, yes, the Black Reapers, are still standing. The loss of our clubhouse means nothing to our unity. The Devil’s Patriots are not a single place. They are a people, a club. If you think your leaders will surrender because we lost our building, then you are wrong. King has underestimated our resolve. I will not fucking quit, and I ask that none of you do either.”
I saw over a dozen eyes in agreement with me.
“Tend to your wounds. Care for yourself. I will come with you to the hospital. I need to see my father anyway. But we are not done yet.”
The men grimly nodded.
“Now, let’s recover. And then, let’s get revenge.”
It was by no means “inspiring.” I never raised my voice. I wasn’t trying to elicit a “hell yeah” or anything like that. Mostly, I was just trying not to get anyone to quit or leave.
But it had accomplished that. And in that regard, that was a win enough.
We all headed to our bikes, some heading to the vans so we could transport people together. The firetrucks and cops had already arrived, and Woody agreed to remain behind to give a police report. If anything came of it, it was a bonus; more likely than not, some of these servicemen were already on King’s payroll.
I got on my bike and pulled out my phone. I had a message from Leigh. I’d done what I promised. I’d stayed alive.
Barely.
And then I saw another message.
“Your father has woken up.”
