“Yeah. He meets every other week.” He paces through the kitchen, his hand running through his hair. Cill glances back at me as I ask, “What's going on?”
“My uncle was seen with a man a few times. Reed hired someone to follow him after he found the coke upstairs. He’s an agent.”
“An agent? Like–”
“Like, an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation … my uncle’s the rat.”
Reed chimes in. “If he’s working for the feds, what the fuck are we going to do?”
“I’m not leaving,” Cill says.
Reed stares at him. “Why the fuck would you stay? I’ve wanted out since you left. It’s been fucking hell.”
“You think there’s nothing worth fighting for? What about Finn?”
“He thinks the same,” Reed counters. “He’s counting the fucking days. He told me when you got out—someone was going to die. I can feel it, Cillian.”
Cillian’s silence speaks to his disagreement.
“You don’t know how far it’s gone.” Reed is quiet and serious.
“Nobody else is going to jail because of him. If someone’s going down, it’s going to be my uncle.”
“Then I hope it’s only him that’s a rat. ’Cause if it’s anyone else, we’re fucked.”
My stomach knots as my mind speeds ahead through what that would mean.
If Cill’s uncle has gotten his claws into Cavanaugh, they’re already against us. If more of them are working with the feds, then it means there’s no safe place for Cill to be anymore. Just avoiding the club won’t be enough. They’ll be looking for ways to put him back in jail.
But more than that, it’ll mean that the family we once had is as good as dead.
“It’s worth it,” Cill says. “If there’s a chance to put it back together again, we have to take it.”
“It’s not fucking worth it,” Reed argues. “Do you hear what you’re saying? It’s not worth it for you to be in jail!” Reed’s voice breaks on the last word. Everything he feels echoes in myself.
“Cillian, please—” I start to say, trying to reason with him.
“If my uncle comes after us, that’s just as bad as being locked up. Fuck it, Reed. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. If you really think he’s all there is to Cavanaugh, then by all means, don’t try to take him down. But I think you know better.”
“Damn it, Cill.” Reed shakes his head.
Cill looks at me. “What do you think, Hellcat? You think it’s over at Cavanaugh?”
All of my earliest memories of the club flick through my mind. I was at home in the rec room, and the garage. I never felt out of place there. Even as a little girl, if I wanted to know something about one of the bikes, some tall man wearing black leather and a grin would explain it to me.
Cavanaugh’s the reason we’re all standing in this kitchen together. If we hadn’t had that, we wouldn’t be here.
And Cavanaugh’s been dead to me since Cill’s father was buried six feet under.
“If your uncle’s working with the feds, I think you tell the Cross brothers, you tell the Valettis. You let it leak to the men who can take care of it and we get the hell out. Ask someone at The Ruin where we can go.”
“Where’s my hellcat?” Cill murmurs, disappointment evident.
“Protecting you, Cillian. Keeping you from getting in deeper when you never should have been involved.”
“Listen to her, please, man,” Reed pleads with Cillian who looks between the two of us with disbelief.
“It’s the Crest … what are you two fucking saying?—”
