"Yeah." I don't have to specify which nightmare. We've been brothers long enough that he knows. The warehouse. Thebodies. The guilt that sits on my chest like a stone, crushing me a little more every night.
I should have stopped Demon. Should have put a bullet in him and burned the whole thing to the ground instead of just walking away. How many people suffered because I chose escape over destruction? How many victims could have been saved if I'd been willing to do what needed doing?
"You did what you could," Judge says, reading my thoughts like he always does. "You and Carter both. You tried to save them, and when you couldn't, you saved yourselves. That's not cowardice, Phoenix. That's survival."
"Survival." The word tastes bitter. "While good men died."
"While good men were murdered by an evil one," he corrects. "There's a difference. You didn't kill them. Demon did."
Demon. Just thinking the name sends a cold rage through my veins. Three years since Carter and I walked away, and he's still out there. Still running the Vipers, still trafficking, still destroying lives, still calling it brotherhood while he poisons everything he touches.
The club I grew up in is unrecognizable now. Demon's made sure of that. Recruited men who are loyal to money and violence instead of principles. Men who laugh at the idea of honor, who see women and children as commodities instead of people worth protecting.
The Vipers used to mock me for not hurting innocent people. Called me soft. Weak. Said I'd never make it as a real MC president.
I took it as a compliment.
"You still think about going back?" Judge asks. He's not looking at me, just studying his whiskey like it holds answers. "Finishing it?"
"Every day." The truth comes out flat and hard. "Every single day I think about loading up the brothers, riding back to that compound, and putting an end to Demon myself."
"But you don't."
"But I don't." I knock back the whiskey, feeling it burn down my throat. "Because that's what he would do. That's who he is. And if I become that, then he wins. He turned me into him, and everything we built here means nothing."
Judge nods slowly. He's heard this before, this internal war I fight. The balance between justice and vengeance, between protecting the innocent and becoming the monster you're fighting against.
"Your parents would be proud," he says after a moment. "Of what you've built. Who you've become."
I have to look away, blinking against the sudden burn in my eyes. At thirty-eight years old, I shouldn't need my dead parents' approval. But I do. Every decision, every choice, every line I draw in the sand, it all comes back to them. To the club they believed in. To the son they raised to be better than the darkness surrounding us.
"I hope so," I manage.
We sit in silence for a while, two men haunted by different ghosts but bound by the same purpose. The Iron Phoenix was built on the ashes of our separate traumas, forged into something strong enough to hold us all.
Nine members total. Small, compared to clubs like the Vipers. But every single one of them is a man I'd trust with my life. MenI've vetted, tested, measured against the standard my parents set.
Judge. Brick. Wraith. Canvas. Diesel. Saint. Ranger. Echo.
And me.
Carter could have been ten, would have been my VP if he'd chosen to stay. But he needed to step out of my shadow, needed to be his own man instead of Phoenix's little brother. I understood that. Supported it completely. Told him the offer stands forever, and if he changes his mind, I'll have a patch with his name on it within the hour.
He's happy with the Savage Riders. I can hear it in his voice when we talk, see it in his face when we visit. He's found his place, his purpose, maybe even his peace.
I'm glad one of us has.
"It's almost four," Judge says, breaking the silence. "You gonna try to sleep again or just brood until sunrise?"
"Brooding seems safer." I pour another finger of whiskey. "At least I'm conscious for it."
He snorts. "Fair point."
I've never told Judge the worst part of the dreams. The thing that haunts me more than the bodies, more than the guilt.
In the nightmares, I'm always alone.
Standing in that warehouse surrounded by dead men who trusted me, Demon watching from the shadows with that cold smile, and there's no one there to stand with me. Carter's gone. The brothers are gone. I'm the last one left, the sole survivor of a massacre I should have prevented.
