“He was alive the last time you saw him?”
“Yeah. He was good.”
“Everyone was good? Unhurt?”
“Yeah.”
He could be lying but I don’t push. He wouldn’t lie about them being alive so I leave it at that.
“Let me know the moment you have him.”
“Will do. Can you pass me back to Holly?”
“Sure.”
I hand over the phone and walk over to Leo’s stash of whiskey in the kitchen. I pour myself a large measure and throw it down my neck, relishing in the after-burn spreading across my chest.
“I told you Leo would be fine,” Holly says coming up behind me.
As it stands, everyone is still alive, and I keep that in mind so I can go on living the day-to-day life here. The same as I have my entire life within the club.
It's not for everyone, but it is for me. This is the closest call by far, but I still have faith we’ll overcome it, and we’ll settle back into daily life.
Come on, Cas. We’ve been through worse.
“I need to pop over to the bar, will you be okay for ten minutes?”
“Sure.”
The fresh air hits me as I open the door and I bask in it. I look around the place as I walk over to the bar. There is always a shift in the club when a brother dies, but when three have gone and then the thought of all of them, this place could never be the same. It wouldn’t matter if other chapters came and rebuilt.
King, Warren, and Maxwell are huddled around a table with beers and an overflowing ashtray in the middle of them.
King stands as I approach, and I nod. “If anything was to happen here before the brothers return, there’s a cabin just outside of town the old ladies and I can go to.”
“We know the place you’re talking about,” King says. “But we should be safe enough here.”
“In case we’re not, that will be my plan.”
The three of them nod and I leave the bar, having learned I can’t stand to be in there when my men aren’t home.
25
Sparky
Itry not to stare at the blood slowly seeping through the bunched up t-shirt covering my son’s shoulder wound. The five of us are crammed into the back of the van, all tied and bound.
My go-to belief is to believe anything away from the heart, gut, or thighs is certainly survivable. But my son’s shoulder has me fearing the worst. It wasn’t that long ago he took a bullet skimming his leg.
Cas is deathly silent opposite me.
My boy is beside me, his is dead.
“My boy, Sparky. He’s...”
“I know.”
Jay sighs and then hisses in pain. Sweat pebbles his forehead.
