Finally, he blinks and then drawls, “Let me get this straight. I became president ’cuz you handed it over to me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Does it really matter at this point?” I ask, shaking my head. “That’s exactly why I never told?—”
“No!” he interrupts. “Don’t go doing me any favors! I don’t need your pity. Didn’t need it then and don’t need it now, Jack.”
Mace tenses on my left. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him and Logan exchanging glances—both of them silent but coiled tight, picking up on just how precarious this meeting has become.
Tom lets out a bitter laugh. “But you know what? That makes a whole lotta sense. Explains a lot, actually. But here’s the thing. It doesn’t matterhowI became president. All that matters is that Iam. The Steel Kings ismyclub, and you’re not gonna take it from me. Not even over my dead body.”
“Why do you even want the club if you’ve been trying to destroy it?” I challenge.
“You don’t get it, do you, Jack? I haven’t been trying to destroy the club. I’ve been trying to destroyyou.”
Mace finally snaps, stepping forward with his usual aggressive energy. “You staged the chaos to make Silver look like a terrible leader. But you don’t even realize it hasn’t worked. Only a handful of guys have taken your side. The rest of us? We’re more behind Silver than ever. The only guys backing you are either money-hungry fools who’ve bought your lies or men with a vendetta against Silver for his relationship with Solana.”
“Shut up, boy!” Tom barks, wheeling on his son. “That’s your problem—you ain’t never know how to shut that trap of yours!”
“Calm the hell down,” Logan commands. He’s stepped between them, his hand raised in warning. “Or these talks are worthless. The subject is the future of the club. Nothing else.”
I draw a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. To be the diplomat Tom always said I was.
“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” I say. “You and the guys who’ve sided with you are free to leave the Kings and form your own club. I’ll offer you a share of profits to get you started, and we can talk territory lines within town.”
Tom stares at me for half a second before cackling again. “After all I’ve done, you’re seriously about to do this? Offer me cash to go off and start my own club? Carve up territory like we’re dividing up a pizza?”
“If that’s what it takes for nobody to die. Otherwise, my only option is to kill you.”
The laughter dies in his throat. He eyes me as if I’ve suddenly become a venomous snake about to strike.
“And believe me, Tom.” I take a step closer, lowering my voice as I hold his gaze. “If it comes down to it—if you force my hand—Iwillkill you. So take the fucking cash and chunk of territory and walk away. Go start over with your group of men and no more blood has to be shed. The Kings’ beef with the Rebels is separate from this. You won’t even need to involve yourself.”
Silence falls over the ravine.
Only the wind howls through the gorge below us, mournful and cold. Tom’s jaw works, his eyes flickering with more calculation as he mulls over what I’ve said.
He scratches at his patchy, unkempt beard, then starts pacing and muttering to himself. I watch him in patient silence, allowing him work through it.
When he does stop and turns to face me, the mocking cruelty has mostly faded. Tempered by his sense of greed and self-preservation.
“You won’t hold working with Wheels against me?” he asks.
“So long as you stay out of it from here on out, consider it a truce.” I extend my hand. “You mind your business and stay on your side, and I’ll do the same. Sound good?”
He looks at my hand for a long moment. Then he takes it, his grip calloused and familiar.
We shake, the solid and firm handshake between two men who used to be brothers. Who might never be brothers again, but who’ve at least found a way to stop being enemies.
“Never saw it ending up like this,” he admits, releasing my hand. He chuckles, but there’s no real humor in it. “Wheels might be a little pissed I’ve gone against what we agreed. But maybe you’re right, Jack. Maybe this is what’s best for us all.”
Logan nods. “It’s agreed, then. You go your separate ways and end this conflict.”
“We won’t be going for drinks anytime soon,” Tom says. “But at least we’re all alive.”
Mace and I return to the truck. Behind us, I hear Tom’s bike rumble to life, followed by Logan’s. The four of us roll out—Mace and I in the truck, following behind Logan and Tom on their bikes.
We’ve let Tom leave first, keeping him within our line of sight for the travel.
“That went better than I expected,” Mace says, glancing over at me. “Way better.”
