I set the journal on his desk. “Christina’s diary. There’s something you need to know about how Titan really died.”
King leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m listening.”
“Christina killed him.” The words came out flat.
King’s face went blank. “What?”
“She walked into that room, and she killed him and Kimberly. Steele and Stone set it up, but Christina pulled the trigger.”
“Grace’s mother.” King said it like he was testing the words, like they didn’t fit together. “Grace’s mother killed Titan.”
“Yes.”
King stood abruptly, pacing to the window. His hands flexed at his sides. “Jesus Christ.” He turned back to me. “How the hell is that possible?” King ran a hand over his face, processing. “Does Grace know?”
“Not yet.”
“Fuck.” He sat back down heavily. “She’s weeks away from having a baby, Popeye. How the hell do we tell her this?”
“I don’t know.” I met his eyes. “But she deserves the truth. And you deserved to know what really happened. This is your club now. You can’t lead based on lies.”
King stood and resumed pacing. “Jesus Christ. Do you know what this means?”
“It means the entire narrative about Titan’s death is a lie,” I said. “It means Steele and Stone have been covering for Christina all these years. It means the power structure in Arkansas was built on protecting that secret.”
“It means,” King said slowly, turning back to me, “that Grace’s mother was capable of killing a man to protect her daughter. And everyone who knew—Steele, Stone, whoever else was involved—they let the club believe it was outside retaliation.”
“They used it,” I said. “Used the lie to consolidate power. To justify their moves. And the whole time, Christina was the one who actually pulled the trigger.”
King ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.” He sat back down heavily.
King was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “What else is in that journal?”
“Enough to tear apart everything I thought I knew about Christina.” I picked up the journal again. “There’s one more entry. I haven’t read it yet.”
“Are you going to?”
“Eventually.” I looked at the closed book in my hands. “But right now, I needed you to know this. The club deserves the truth about its own history, even if it’s ugly.”
King nodded slowly. “Thank you for telling me. I know this can’t be easy.”
“Nothing about this has been easy.” I stood. “But it’s the right thing to do. Christina made her choices. She lived with them.And now we have to figure out what to do with the truths she left behind.”
“Don’t tell Grace,” King stated.
“She deserves the truth,” I said. “She deserves to know?—”
“No.” King’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Absolutely fucking not.”
I stared at him. “King?—”
“No,” he repeated, standing now, his jaw set. “Grace doesn’t get to know this. Not now. Not ever.”
“She might find out some other way,” I argued, even as something in my gut twisted. “Someone else might?—”
“Who?” King’s eyes flashed. “Who the fuck else knows, Popeye? You and me. That’s it. Steele and Stone are dead. Christina’s dead. Titan’s dead. There’s no one left to tell her.”
He was right. Christ, he was right, and I hated it.
