Behemoth's expression doesn't change, but I see something flicker in his eyes. Acknowledgment. Maybe even pride. "I won't let you down, Prez."
"I know you won't."
I bang my fist on the table—the signal that church is over.
Chairs scrape back as men rise, conversations starting in low murmurs.
I stay where I am, watching them file out, waiting until only Zenon remains.
He doesn't say anything at first, just leans back in his chair, studying me with those sharp eyes that see too much.
"That was a hell of a speech," he says finally.
"It was the truth."
"I know it was." He tilts his head. "You want to tell me what's really going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I've known you for fifteen years, Levi. I've seen you make hard calls. Cold calls. Calls that would keep most men up at night. And you've never once acted on impulse." He pauses. "Until now."
I don't have an answer for him, don't have an answer for myself.
"She's just a woman," I say. The words sound hollow even to my own ears.
"She's his woman. Was his woman." Zenon's gaze is steady. "And you went off-book for her. Broke your own rules. That's not nothing, brother."
"It was the right thing to do."
"Maybe. But since when do you give a shit about the right thing?" He holds up a hand before I can respond. "I'm not criticizing. I'm just... observing. Whatever you saw in that parking lot, it got under your skin. And that's not like you."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
I keep seeing her eyes. Brown and terrified and empty.
I keep feeling that cold rage that rose up in my chest when I watched Cain's fingers dig into her throat.
I keep hearing myself say her name—Ripley—softer than I meant to, like the word mattered.
It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter. She's nobody to me.
But I can't stop thinking about her.
"Just keep an eye on things," I tell Zenon, pushing away from the table. "Cain's going to be a problem. I can feel it."
"And if he comes back looking for trouble?"
I pause at the door, looking back over my shoulder. "Then we give him more than he can handle."
A week passes.
Cain doesn't show his face at the clubhouse—smart move, considering I made it clear what would happen if he did, but I hear things.
Rumors. Whispers.
He's been making the rounds at local bars, running his mouth about how he got screwed over.
Trying to drum up sympathy, maybe even allies.
