“Butch was important to me,” Parker said, his gaze still on Casa. “I want vengeance for his death, I don’t give two shits about your war or your drugs or your fucking clubs. None of that matters to me. What I care about is Butch, finding his killer, and making them pay. What I care about is finding out who he made that call to…” Parker’s words died off as we all stared at him.
For once Dom didn’t look like he was going to kill Parker; instead he just looked wounded by his words, as if they had cut him deep.
Casa looked at me, his aim still steady but the anxious look in his eyes showing me that he wasn’t so sure on what to believe anymore, but that he’d kill Parker either way if he felt like it.
“What do you think?” I asked Dom, because the whole thing was getting deeper by the minute, and if we got part of it wrong, someone was going to end up dead who didn’t deserve it.
“I think he’s right,” Dom said with a shake of his head. “And I think I know who it is.”
Both Casa and I stared at him in surprise.
Dom pulled out his cigarettes and lit one up, his face thoughtful as he struggled to word what he needed to say. Eventually he looked up at me, his eyes full of pity. “I’ve suspected something for a while, Jesse, but I didn’t have any proof. Still don’t, not really, but my gut says he’s telling the truth.” He nodded toward Parker.
“Who is it?” I asked, my brain buzzing from all the information.
When I think back to that day, I think I already knew who he was going to say. I think, deep down, if I would have been able to see past my own self-pity, I would have seen the man’s face that had sentenced my brother to death. Goddamn, the air in there was too thick and hot, fucking choking me with every breath I took. Because with the realization came the guilt.
The man who hated me had gotten the wrong brother killed.
Dom’s shoulders sagged, his face taking on lines of pain as he spoke. “Butch taught me to trust my instincts, and my instincts tell me that Hardy is dirty and has been for some time. The name the Razorbacks—that night down in Atlanta when we read the note—I’d seen it once before, I just couldn’t place where. It wasn’t until last night that I remembered where.” Dom dragged a hand down his face and went on. “Rose had been emptying the trash from Hardy’s office a couple of weeks ago—you know how he is with shit like that. When Pops had the stroke she had been coming out with the bag of trash, and had dropped it when she ran to him. We’d both gone with him to the hospital, though I left her there once Pops got the all clear and a couple of prospects turned up to watch over him. I headed back to the clubhouse. When I got back, the trash was still all over the floor—so I cleared it up, and on one of the pieces of paper I saw the name Razorbacks. Didn’t think anything of it, because it was just a name and none of my fucking business, and then I forgot about it.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Casa said angrily, but behind the anger I could hear the doubt in his voice. “It’s just a name on a piece of paper.”
“He’s right, that could mean anything,” Parker said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Casa yelled at him. “This is club business—you shouldn’t even be here.”
To me, it all made sense, right down to the fact that Hardy hadn’t seemed even a little bit surprised when I mentioned the name to him. But why would he send me to the meet if he knew they were going to be there?
It was obvious now that Hardy had turned on his club.
On his brothers.
But would he really turn on his own sons?
Because if he had, I was going to make him pay for it even if it was the last thing I did. Because if I thought I had felt rage before that day, it was nothing compared to what I felt as the pieces began to fit together, and the desire to walk right out of there and blow Hardy’s fucking brains out was instinctual.
“Easy, Jesse, we need to do this right,” Dom said, sensing my next move.
But I could barely hear him through the rage ringing in my ears. Dom reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged him off and glared up at him as another thought dawned on me.
“How long have you suspected?” I asked, slowly.
Dom shook his head and threw his cigarette to the ground. “Couple of weeks,” he replied. “Rider had let slip that Hardy had gone on a couple of meets on his own—not wanting any club support, extra money in the safe when I put the books away, that sort of shit. Nothing huge, but enough to make me wary of him.”
“But did you suspect he had something to do with Butch’s death?” I gritted out, needing to know for my own selfish reasons.
Dom nodded, his gaze slipping from mine as guilt crossed his features. “That night we found out about Butch, he didn’t seem surprised—like, not at all. He seemed pissed off more than anything else. Thought it was weird when he stalked off to take a phone call in his office instead of dealing with the fact his eldest boy was dead, but people deal with pain in their own ways, right?”
“It was supposed to be me,” I said. “Rider had asked me to go check it out, but Laney had been drunk as shit so Butch told me to go because he said he needed some air anyway, and I let him go even though it was my job.”
All those months I had blamed myself, when it had been Hardy’s doing, not mine. The pain I had put Laney through as I tried to push her away from me to avoid the fallout from my crazy, fucked-up life. I had ruined everything in my self-pitying. And Hardy had let me—likely watching from the side-lines and enjoying every minute of it since it was him that had burned his words into my mind…
‘It should have been you…’
Yet Dom’s betrayal felt worse somehow. I hated Hardy, always had, and I knew the feeling was more than fucking mutual, but I had thought Dom was my friend, yet he had let me live on in agony, blaming myself for something I had nothing to do with.
I didn’t think when I punched Dom in the jaw; I reacted. His words cut me deep and hard, like a blade to the heart as they tore through me, destroying muscle and bone and organs as they created a great chasm in the center of my chest, like a bomb had exploded. I hit him over and over, reopening the healing wounds on my knuckles from the day before. And Dom didn’t fight back once.
