I leaned back in my chair, watching him unravel.
“Executing you with a bullet to the brain was my first choice,” I admitted quietly. “But this…” I shrugged slightly. “This felt more fitting for a rat.”
I watched as the tremors worsened until his hand shook violently. He tried to pick up the glass but it slipped from his fingers and smashed against the floor. JD grabbed the bottle from the shelf and poured himself another glass, and Confessor looked up, watching his every movement.
JD smiled. “That wasn’t the whiskey you had, old friend. I gave you something real special, courtesy of our friends in the cartel.”
Confessor put his hands to his throat. “What did you give me?”
JD’s smile was cold when he replied. “Same thing Rafael Vargas’ son Mateo gave to his own father so he could take over the family business. Luckily there’s a stepson that’s willing to do a deal with us. He’s not quite as psychotic as his brother was.”
Peter’s breathing became ragged and he gagged, his skin going blotchy. “What’s happening to me?”
“You’re gonna be paralyzed,” JD continued calmly. “Bedbound. You won’t be able to move or speak.”
Peter’s eyes widened in horror. “No…”
JD leaned forward slightly and he smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a special retirement home waiting just for you. Someone’ll wipe your ass for the rest of your days. Now you don’t need to worry about how you’ll manage.”
“No, no, no, no…” Confessor whispered.
He tried to stand again, but his legs didn’t respond, and none of us moved to help him.
Confessor’s breathing quickened, turning ragged as sweat beaded along his forehead. His chest rose and fell too fast, panic taking hold completely now.
“You can’t do this,” he said, louder now, his eyes wide with panic. “You can’t. I rode with you.I bled for this club!”
“You sold us out,” I snarled, and my words landed like a hammer. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, straining to keep my rage under control. I knew this was the best form of punishment for him, but the urge to rip him apart with my bare hands for what he’d done was difficult to contain.
Confessor looked at me, desperation flooding his eyes. “You don’t understand,” he rasped. “I was scared. I didn’t have anything left. I thought…”
His voice faltered.
His jaw twitched.
There was a slight pull at the corner of his mouth, like his face was no longer obeying him. He stared at me, his breathing coming quicker as he panted.
“Please, brother.”
“Ain’t no brother of mine,” I said. I looked over at Bear. “What about you? Is he your brother?”
Bear shook his head. “Ain’t my brother. What about you, Moose?”
“Not my brother,” Moose replied, and looked across to Swampy. “He your brother?”
“Nothin’ to do with me,” Swampy replied, his deep, gravelly voice filled with hatred.
JD looked at Gods, who had now sat down next to Confessor. He was leaning back in his chair, a cigarette held between his lips.
“What about you?” JD asked.
Gods pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, taking a long, deep inhale of it before blowing out the smoke. “Not my brother. My brothers are fuckin’ loyal.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” JD agreed, banging his fist on the table, and we all joined in.
“So you see, Peter,” I said, “you ain’t nothing to do with us no more. You ain’t our Chaplain and we’re stripping you of your road name. You’re nothing. A no one.”
“My, my face…” he tried to say, but the words came out slurred, thick on his tongue.
