Rider pushed past Gauge, who shot a worried look at me before following him.
“I’m your VP, Hardy. You handled shit without me? Without even taking my counsel? What the fuck does that say about me? Or about our relationship? You don’t trust my judgment anymore? You think this dumb motherfucker knows better?” He jerked a thumb toward Gauge. “Can guide you and this club better?”
Hardy puffed on his cigar, his usual hot-headed temper nowhere to be seen. His calmness set me on edge. “Well it seems that no one in this fuckin’ club knew shit about shit until you stormed in here airing said shit to them.” He waved a hand at the brothers who were sitting around, watching the spectacle. “But I bet that every one of these men would have backed me one hundred percent regardless. Especially now that everything has fallen at our feet like I knew it would.”
Rider turned to glare at the men in the club, all of them looking away sheepishly as his hard gaze fell on them. Until he reached me. I held my head high despite the hatred I felt in my soul at what I’d done. Rider pointed at me, the full force of his anger now directed at me.
“Me and you are through,” he spat.
Hardy walked toward me, throwing an arm across my shoulders. “Brother here did what our club needed. What you couldn’t do.”
“What I wouldn’t do, not couldn’t!” Rider roared. “Because there’s a big fucking difference.”
Hardy cocked an eyebrow. “Looks like I picked the right man for the job then.”
Rider’s nostrils flared as he looked me up and down. Should have ripped his eyes out of his head for looking at me like that. Should have felt rage deep in my soul for his disrespectful look. Should have done and felt a whole lot of things, but instead I just felt shame. Shame for letting him down, and shame because I knew he was right.
“And what happens when they retaliate? Now that the code is broken, what happens if they go after our families? Our women?” Rider fumed.
“They’re off limits,” one of the younger prospects said sheepishly.
“Not anymore, thanks to these idiots,” Rider growled.
“Calm down, Rider,” Gauge grumbled, placing his hand on Rider’s back.
Rider shrugged out from under it and spun on him. “Calm down? Calm the fuck down?!” He was shaking he was so angry, and any normal man would have been fearful, but we weren’t normal men. We were the Devil’s Highwaymen. We were soldiers, warriors, and we feared nothing and no one. Not even our own brothers.
“My life for my brothers and my brothers for my life,” Hardy said, his grip on my shoulder tightening. “This motherfucker knows how it goes. But you”—he pointed, stepping toward Rider—“you seem to have lost your way, brother. You forgot what this club is about, what we do and why we fucking do it.”
“I ain’t forgot nothin’!”
“Benite was cutting this club out. Turning the Reverend on us. Turning other clubs against us. He was the reason that Battle couldn’t come back; fucker was bartering against our brothers like he owned them. He was a fucking weed that needed plucking out of the ground.” Hardy grabbed the bottle of whiskey and a few glasses from the top of the bar and lined them up before pouring whiskey into four glasses.
“So you pluck him out, not his kid,” Rider said, his anger giving way to disappointment. “Not a civilian that ain’t done nothin’ but be born into this fucked-up mess.”
Hardy tutted and handed me a glass of whiskey before grabbing two more and walking toward Rider and Gauge. “That would be like cutting the head of a weed. Those fuckers grow back in abundance. I wanted to pluck it out of the ground and make sure that soil was poisoned real deep so nothing grew back in its place.”
Gauge took the shot glass of whiskey, his wary gaze staying on Rider. Hardy held one out to Rider, who glared at the glass with disdain.
“Drink with your brothers,” he ordered. “I’m your prez and this is your club. Learn your fucking place, brother. They don’t know it was us. They just know that they treaded on toes that don’t wanna be treaded on.”
“It’s not going to come back on us,” Gauge said. “Take the drink, Rider.”
“It’s not right,” Rider said, disappointment and regret lacing his words. “It’s not fucking right.”
“Nothing in this world is right, but we do what we do in order to survive.” Hardy walked back to the bar. He looked at me and winked, giving me an uncommon smile as he reached for his glass and then turned back around.
“We did what was necessary, Rider. It’s done. We all either drink over our success or drown in your disappointment. What’s it gonna be?” He waited a beat, his hard gaze on Rider.
“Who the fuck are you?” Rider asked with a shake of his head. “I can’t agree with what you did.”
Hardy threw the whiskey to the back of his throat and slammed the glass down on the table next to him. “I’m your president, motherfucker. Now drink your fucking drink, deal with your fucking demons, and get on board with this shit. It’s done. Don’t let it be a waste.”
Gauge hesitated momentarily before drinking his whiskey, and Hardy nodded approvingly before glancing at me. I drank mine, wishing for a fucking vat of it to drown myself in. His words—his speech—was laced with threats, and we all knew it.
“Good man,” he said to me before looking back at Rider. “Well? Which way is my VP gonna fall? You going to stand by your club and your brothers? Or turn away from us?”
Rider took a deep breath before turning his attention back to me. He threw the whiskey to the back of his throat and shook his head.
