Tats, in addition to being the MC’s tattoo artist and running a tattoo shop that’s booked a year in advance, is our top cleaner. A scary, mad-scientist you’d never suspect when you looked at the man covered in tattoos, including his bald head.
He’s quiet, standing off to the side, in the main room of the Cell, while Grinder and I stand in the middle. The walls and floor are stainless steel, and there’s a drain in the middle that makes blood and body fluid clean-up simple. Meat hooks hang from chains bolted into the ceiling. There’s a wall displaying all the tools of the torture trade, which is handy and practical, but it also does the trick to let our prisoners know how badly they fucked up to land themselves in this place.
Grinder looks relatively calm for a man about to meet his death, but his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and looks at me.
Still, I question his reasoning and decisions for landing his ass in this situation, as well as his acceptance of his fate without even fighting. It could be that he knows fighting is futile, or maybe it’s because he’s lived and breathed our MC since he was a kid and knows how things work. He’s never been anything but trustworthy. That’s why we started involving him with the club’s finances, to help Pix in her dual role as enforcer and treasurer.
None of us on the Council saw this coming.
“No burial?” Grinder asks me, pulling me back to this atomic shit sandwich.
My jaw shifts as I clench it. I fucking hate this. He was a good brother, a loyal member of the Havoc Guardians in every way that mattered, except for dipping his dick into forbidden pussy.
He knows that we can’t bury him, though. Not because we’re denying him an honorable resting place, but because of evidence. If Razor got a hold of Grinder’s body…well, I didn’t trust him not to use it to try to take Ash down.
Instead, I ask, “Is there anything you want your mama to have?”
Reaching up, he removes a long chain with a cross that was tucked under his shirt. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“We’ll tell her that you died protecting the club.”
He shudders out a shaky breath and nods.
“Was it worth it?” I ask quietly.
Was having Angelica, someone he knew was one hundred percent off-limits, and who could result in his death, worth it?
I ask myself that same question every night before I fall into a restless sleep.
But my situation is different for multiple reasons.
Leeva is somewhere far away from the MC.
She’s my best friend, but she’s my hated blood-brother’s old lady. She had chosen Guerilla over me, not that I ever allowedanything other than friendship between us. I hid for years how much I loved and wanted her.
But more than that, Leeva wouldn’t forgive me for the part I had played in her pain before it all went to hell and she ran. Which leads us back to the point that she’s somewhere far away from the MC.
When I focus on Grinder now—and truly look at him—I see it. He's a broken man. Shattered.
"I loved Angelica." His voice is hoarse and raw. "She waseverythingto me. Yes, I knew the risk, but it didn't matter because she was mine." He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head. “Or I thought she was. When I tried to convince her to leave with me, she just laughed in my face and told me I was an idiot. She chose Tank.She'sthe one who told him about us and why I'm facing death today.”
Fuck. Well, isn't that the arsenic on the blade twisted in his heart.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t want to do this, Grinder.”
He extends his hand and grips mine, squeezing it tight. “It was an honor to serve under Ash, you, and the rest of the Council, Army. Don’t let my dad, or Thunder, or the rest of the old guard fuck shit up.”
His actions make this so much worse for me.
“I said my piece to Ash.” He tilts up his chin, dropping my hand. “I’m ready. Do it quick like you promised. Please. I don't want to beg when I know you have no choice.”
If only we all could face our death with this courage and dignity.
Taking my gun from my holster under my cut, I flick off the safety and press it to his forehead. I could shoot him in the back of the head, so I didn’t have to stare into his eyes while I enforced his punishment, but that’s the coward’s way.
If he has the courage to look me in the eye while literally staring down the barrel of a gun, then I owe it to him to do the same.
His whole body shakes, and his hands clench. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tats shift, as if ready to grab Grinder if he's going to come at me—either in a conscious last-ditch effort to save himself or involuntarily. I shake my head, telling Tats to remain where he is, then focus on looking at Grinder's broken spirit through his haunted eyes.
