Then someone said it, not loud but loud enough.
“He wouldn’t be in that box if she hadn’t walked into our bar.”
The words hung there like a trigger cocked back.
Jay didn’t move, but his jaw locked tight, and I felt that version of him that lurked under the surface.The Reaper.
Riot turned slowly, scanning the crowd. “Who said that?”
No one answered, but we all knew.
It was Bishop, standing near the back with two prospects, a chip on his shoulder the size of Boxer’s coffin.
“You got something to say to me?” I asked. My voice wasn’t loud, but it travelled through the noise.
Bishop laughed once, bitter. “You think you’re part of this now because Reaper let you ride back from the fire like a damn war bride?”
Gabby, leaning against a rusty trailer at Bishop’s side, smirked. “War bride? Honey, try funeral crasher of the year.”
I shot her a look, sharp but silent. She shrugged, smirk still in place, clearly enjoying herself.
Jay stepped forward, but I stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“No,” I said. “Let him.”
Bishop didn’t flinch. “Boxer was solid, loyal. He wouldn’t have gone down if this club wasn’t at war with itself. We’re bleeding from the inside, and she’s the infection.”
Jay moved fast, grabbing Bishop by the collar and slamming him into the side of a rusted-out Chevy, his fist lashing out and catching Bishop on the mouth.
“You don’t talk about the dead like that. You don’t talk about her like that,” he growled. “You want to leave, leave. But don’t stand here pissing on a funeral and calling it rain.”
Riot finally stepped in, pulling Jay back.
Bishop straightened, spitting blood. “Keep siding with outsiders,” he said, looking at the crowd now. “See how long your kingdom holds.”
Jay didn’t respond.
Bishop walked away, but the line was drawn.
I wanted to run after him, to scream that he was right, that Boxer was dead because of me. That every bullet they’d taken since I came back had my name carved into the shell. But I didn’t. Because running would prove him right, and screaming would prove I was weak.
I stood there, shoulder to shoulder with the man who was once my brother’s closest friend. With men who had killed, bled, and buried their dead in this soil, and still I wasn’t one of them. Not really.
The fire crackled as Boxer burned.
And behind me, the club began to tear itself in half.
Chapter 31
Reaper
By dawn, the place looked less like a war zone and more like a fortress. New glass glinted where the Fangs had blown holes. Fresh locks snapped shut on every door. I’d ordered double chains on the back gates, and Riot was already talking shifts, posted guard, rotating watches. Something we’d never needed before.
No one had been stupid enough to test us, until then.
Boxer’s blood was still in the cracks of the porch boards. We’d scrubbed it raw, but it wouldn’t come clean. That stain would stay as a reminder.
I drove the brothers hard, hammer in my hand when theirs faltered, hauling supplies when they slowed. Nobody said it out loud, but we all knew the truth: the Fangs weren’t done. They wanted the flash drive, wanted what Caleb had died to protect, and as long as I had it, they’d keep coming.
