“What proof?” Devil asked, a hard scowl on his face. “So far as I could see, the only evidence you’ve got is a dead man’s word. That kid squealed about knowing us before he died, then I’m reckoning that those words were spoken in fear. And words spoken in fear don’t mean shit.”
“We’ve got letters between Ripped and the kid,” Gauge said, his eyes narrowing when Devil barked out a laugh.
“Ripped could barely write his own fucking name. There’s no way he wrote any shit to that kid, telling him to what? Watch you all? Where your safe house was?” He shook his head and leaned forward, his teeth bared like a dog ready to fight. “You’re lyin’.”
Gauge leaned forward, his features hard. Devil was a big guy, muscle upon muscle, but he was puny compared to Gauge. “Call me a liar again.”
Lincoln put his hand on Devil’s arm to get him to shut up. “Devil’s right. Ripped could barely spell, but if you say he did this, then he did. Either way, the kid is dead, Ripped is dead, and the Burning Eights are under new rule. We want peace between the clubs, not a bloody war.”
Gauge continued to glare at Devil, but Rider leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied.
“We want to work with the Highwaymen. Heard you got a good line coming in, but your supply and demand is working overtime. Thought maybe we could come in with you on it. Our clubs got a lot of connections.”
Hardy nodded. “We can talk about that.”
“And Battle?” I asked through gritted teeth. “My brother had to leave town because of your crew, despite the promise that shit wouldn’t land on our clubs. Six months he’s been gone because of your lies.”
Lincoln listened calmly, which only infuriated me more, but I forced myself to calm down. We needed this meeting, one way or another. If we could bridge the violence between our clubs, Battle could come home. I could see my brother again before we went to war with Benite and Hardy sent me to ground.
Lincoln nodded. “You’re right, I did promise that. But it wasn’t my promise to make at the time. Our club, as you can imagine, has gone through some dark times recently. We’ve had a president to bury and that drove a wedge through our club. But now I’m officially in charge and I can make that promise to the Devil’s Highwaymen, to you and Battle. The shit that happened is done—dead and buried along with Ripped and whoever the fuck that kid was you say was a mole for us. As far as I’m concerned, our clubs are at peace. So long as you agree, I’m satisfied we can do business again, and Battle can come back with no repercussions.”
Something still didn’t sit right with me, but before I could say any more, Hardy slammed the gavel down.
“All right,” Hardy said, “then it’s over.” He pulled out a box of cigars, took one out, and pushed the box into the middle of the table. “To our new brothers. To peace between our clubs, and to having each other’s backs in the coming years.”
I frowned. What the fuck was happening?
This wasn’t what we agreed on.
I turned to look at my brothers, but none of them were looking at me.
“And Skinny?” I snarled. “What about Skinny?”
Hardy glared at me. “Shit’s done. It’s been dealt with. Skinny will heal. Battle will come back, if he wants to. Now smoke a cigar and calm the fuck down. That’s an order.”
Lincoln smiled from the opposite side of the table before reaching for the cigar box. They all took one and lit them before leaning back in their chairs and smoking like nothing bad had ever gone down between our clubs.
It was a victory, I knew it, yet my mind still screamed for vengeance.
For Battle, for Quinn, for Skinny.
Or maybe that was my own guilt that was screaming at me. Telling me that this peace would be short-lived.
*
Our two clubs were partying still, despite it being past seven in the morning and not a fucking soul having slept yet. Men and women were fucking, drinking, snorting whatever they could get up their noses. Our two clubs had made peace and were enjoying the spoils of war. Battle was on his way home, his woman on the back of his bike and his club waiting for him.
I should have been happy.
Yet I wasn’t.
Far fucking from it.
Jesse slumped down next to me. “You’re a miserable son of a bitch, you know that?” He laughed, drunk off his ass and high on life. He was still young enough to see the innocence in life. The blood spilled was far enough away from him that it still might never happen to him. Little did he know.
“Like you know shit about me,” I grumbled. “Now fuck off and go get laid.”
He laughed and leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees. “Can I tell you something?”
