If she does it, I’ll take it as a sign that maybe Janelle and I met each other because of some greater reason. Maybe she’s meant to be by my side and that strange coldness I’ve always felt about other people will fade. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem enticed by my request.
“Are you serious?” Janelle knows that I’m serious, but she wants to give me an opportunity to slip out of this commitment. I don’t.
“These men thought they could drag you off kicking and screaming. Look at his leg twitching. You could be his mercy.”
“Murder is wrong.” Her staunch morals bubble to the surface again, but we both know when pushed, Janelle will do whatever she must to survive. It will be better if she learns that she has control over situations like this. I never want Janelle to feel like a victim.
“Agreed,” I respond. “Murder is wrong. But not killing. The Bible is clear that when you kill for a righteous cause, God looks at it differently than if you murder somebody.”
“That seems like making excuses to me.”
“It’s kill or be killed out here, Janelle. The sooner you do this, the sooner we can clean this up.”
“Can you clean this up?” Her question makes me think that she’s a lot closer to agreeing with me than she might ever want to admit.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“It will be quick.”
“It’s–”
“It’s the right thing to do while they’re in pain, bleeding out in the sun.”
I remember when a man had that talk with me several years ago. I took to killing a lot more easily than Janelle. She nods at me, and I can tell that she’s strengthening her resolve. Whether it’s towards obedience or defiance is another story.
We walk together towards the nearest half-dead biker. She glances at his cut and wrinkles her forehead.
“I don’t get it,” she says. “What do any of those words mean?”
I shake my head. I’ve never seen jackets like those before, so I assume they must be a newly established organization. Iron Frontier MC. I’ve never heard of them before now.
The cut isn’t beat up, so it’s not one that’s been passed down. Some of the insignias look likepossiblemilitary to me – but not the Army. Maybe Coast Guard or Marines – I’m not too familiar with either of them. They have long sleeves, dark brown leather, and American flags sewn on with a thin dark brown line where most flags of that sort might have a thin blue line instead. Cops? But not cops. There’s a name sewn on his patch, but it’s written in strange lettering. Maybe Russian?
There won’t be more answers staring at the damned thing. Tamiya Blackwood is the person we all call in situations like this, although I don’t know what expertise she might have in new biker gangs in the Midwest. If there was new blood after us that Wyatt Shaw knew about, I have a hard time imagining he would let these kinda run rampant and unchecked.
“I don’t get it either. They could be cops and this is some weird Norse shit. Once we’re done, I’ll send a picture of the jacket to my cousin.”
Gideon’s wife, Tamiya, has all the resources necessary to get the information we need about this gang of bikers. Are they related to the cops back in Boston, or an enemy gang looking to cut into our weapons’ supply chain and exact more control. These guys are white, which doesn’t tell me much except that they’re most likely not affiliated with any cartels.
There’s nothing definitive on the first guy pointing to military service. Janelle points her gun at his chest and closes her eyes. Instinctively, I snap at her.
“Eyes open.” I regret using such a harsh tone the second the words fly out of my mouth, but it is truly of utmost importance that she stays focused at a time like this.
Her eyes snap open and her nostrils flare with frustration.
“Watch your tone with me, Zeb.”
She’s on edge, which makes her more unpredictable and far more reactive. I reflect her tension with unmovable calm. I know how scared she feels holding a gun. And these men had her strung up like they could carry her off. This will be good for her – to know that any man who touches her will die.
“Always look where you shoot,” I respond stiffly. “It’s a matter of safety.”
“I don’t want to look at him.”
Part of me wants to say, “Too damn bad.” When I was serving this country, I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep my eyes open and witness every last thing they asked me to do – and I did it all willingly.
“It will be more humane if you look.” I try to reassure her that this is the right thing to do with my tone of voice, but I can feel her panic. She still seems determined to go through with it, which makes me feel a lot better.
