Lane

by Trent Jordan

  We just wore different uniforms.

  And boy, looking at him from his angle, he was awfully handsome. And vulnerable. And a good guy. And...

  “Thanks for this conversation, Lane,” I said, using my words to create space. “I genuinely did have a great time, and I appreciate you opening up a bit to me. I... I promise we’re going to bring Shannon the peace she deserves.”

  “I know,” Lane said softly. “Thanks.”

  He cleared his throat, smiled, and sat back down. The body language was clear—let me drink in peace now. I tried to put a twenty on the bar to pay for it, but Lane put his hand out. Without a word, I nodded to him, expressing my gratitude, and let myself walk out the door.

  I headed home, not exactly angry at myself, but I told myself I had to be very, very careful around Lane. I had a job to do, and fraternizing with him was going to make that job very difficult. If he wasn’t a person of interest in the case—something that was becoming readily apparent, though professionally, I couldn’t make it a definitive statement—then it wasn’t as important.

  That didn’t mean things, where I’d need to be the prosecutor, wouldn’t come up that would require me to be cold.

  I just told myself that I had a job to do, and if I ever got myself too deep, if I couldn’t do my job, I’d have to make some hard choices.

  I just hoped that moment didn’t come until much later if it came at all.

  Lane

  My shoulder hurt like a motherfucker the next day.

  When I’d gotten shot, it felt like a hot sting. In the aftermath, after our medical team had taken care of the wound and I’d gone to the bar, it felt more like an onsetting sore ache, the kind of thing that was gradually building but wouldn’t be that bad. But now, when I woke up in my bed the next morning?

  It felt like someone had twisted my shoulder out of place. Literally, any moment that didn’t involve my shoulder hanging limply by my arm hurt like hell. I knew that it was going to make being at the shop and doing anything else a real pain in the ass.

  I won’t let it affect me, though. I will be strong. I will show up, and I will discuss with the officers what happened. I will speak with certainty.

  Unlike with Angela...

  Now there was something that had confused me. Up to the point where I had hugged her, for the most part, I was just unloading everything about Cole on to her. That conversation was much less about Angela being there and much more about me needing to express the truth, that I’d been so afraid to confront Cole. It was all true, everything I had said last night... unlike many of the thoughts in my head.

  And even with that awareness, I still couldn’t bring myself to forgive Cole. To admit such a thing would shift all of the burden on my soul, and that was a weight I did not think I could handle at the moment. If I ever saw Cole, I didn’t know what would happen.

  I supposed that was an upgrade over before when I was sure I’d probably kill him. But still, not being sure of what would happen didn’t preclude an actual fight from happening.

  But as soon as I had hugged Angela, something different switched. It was the first time I’d had a hug like that since Shannon’s funeral.

  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d had sex since then, but it had always felt like a very shallow endeavor. It was almost like going through the motions—I was President of the club, I’d say a few nice things about the girl, I’d take her back, we’d fuck, and then she’d leave. It was all an emotionless endeavor, in large part, because I didn’t have any emotions to give.

  And yet, that hug was more intimate than any sex I’d had in the past year. So when I pulled back and looked into her eyes, the intensity of my gaze was as much a thank you to someone for being willing to be close to me and let me unload my emotions as it was anything flirtatious or, perhaps, romantic.

  Maybe it was a little fucked up to feel so close to the woman who had initially threatened to get me behind bars. But pictures of people could change, and her understanding of me and my understanding of her had morphed. I... I felt very close to her.

  Very close.

  She was a great woman. She was very attractive—her curly hair and pale skin made her hair vibrant and noticeable, and though she had on work clothes, I could see the outline of a great body underneath it. There were women I’d hooked up with who had objectively thicker asses or larger tits, but she was more beautiful. I sounded so goddamn corny, but...

  Well, there was something I could barely admit, in part because it felt like blasphemy, but when I let the thought come to mind, it felt right.

  The feeling I got when I looked at her was the same feeling I got when I first locked eyes with Shannon.

  No, that didn’t feel right at all. Well, it did, but I couldn’t let it feel right. I had to move on from Shannon eventually, but with her best friend? What the fuck would that look like? That would be so... everyone would judge me so hard, but none would judge me harder than myself. And I was already an asshole enough with myself

  Yet, if I slept with her... I’d thought of it before, sure, but it was more of a game of dominance, a conquest than it was now... it would be intense and real. But would it be right?

  It didn’t really help matters that, when I reached into my jeans pocket from the night before, I found a crumpled-up napkin that had her phone number. I could remember at the moment when she gave it to me that I wouldn’t do anything about it other than put it in the Black Reapers’ database, but that was before we’d had that moment where we embraced and had our eyes drawn to each other.

  I headed to the front door from my bedroom, all the while gazing upon that crumpled piece of paper, the three in her area code smeared because of how I had folded the napkin. All I had to do was just pull out my phone, unlock it, press her number in...

  No. You need to get to the club and discuss last night. Whatever happens after that can happen, but you’ve got club business to take care of.

  You did a good thing being President last night. Now it’s time to show that wasn’t a fluke. Don’t let it go to waste.

  I gently folded the napkin back up, placed it in my pocket, and headed for my bike.

  Riding was going to be a bitch with my shoulder, but I saw it as my punishment for a year of being aloof as President. I had to take it and do my job, and then, eventually, I’d get to be the leader I knew I could be.

  I was pretty sure I was going to die a few times on that ride.

  Right turns and straightaways weren’t too bad. They were easy enough to handle, and the roads at this time on a Saturday weren’t crowded at all.

  But trying to turn left? Oh, that was like trying to control a bull that had decided to dig its hooves in and refuse to move—and I didn’t mean the bike, I meant myself. My shoulder was so goddamn stiff that it sincerely took more effort to shift my shoulder so I could take a turn than it did the bike. Every left turn was met with a loud grunt and clenched teeth, and it was only when I pulled up to the shop that I let myself take a break.

  For all of about three seconds, that was. I couldn’t let the club see me acting weak and limping, but the pain I was in was unbelievable. It felt like a burn that made my vision go blurry and my head feel light. I tried to cover it up with a slow, confident walk into the shop, but goddamn, I felt like every step had to mask a grimace.

  Today, though, I noticed something that made me walk a little taller. People were taking note of me.

  They weren’t necessarily going up to me and thanking me for what had happened last night. They weren’t standing up and applauding for the work I’d done. But they looked at me with eyes of gratitude and hope. Perhaps Axle or Butch had spread the word.

  Perhaps, after all, getting involved actually would make things better.

  Patriot was the first person to actually come up to me. He extended his hand, and I took it with my right hand and pulled him in close for a hug.

  “Do you want to discuss last night, man?” he said after our usual hellos.

 
“Actually, yes,” I said. “I came here so we could call a church meeting. Let’s get whoever is here in there. I’ll be inside, so just whenever. No real rush, but don’t keep me waiting too long.”

  “You got it, man,” he said.

  Honestly, I just wanted the space so I could let out a few curses and swears because of my arm.

  As soon as I shut the door to our church, I bent over, taking my left shoulder in my right hand, and clenched my teeth hard. Damn, this shit hurt! The searing pain didn’t just remain in my shoulder—it was so intense that it felt like it was spreading everywhere. I had to drag myself to the President’s chair, so I could find a comfortable spot for my arm where I wouldn’t be grimacing every few seconds.

  This is what happens when you go on runs, I thought. You’re going to have to risk physical injury. You could get hurt. That’s the reality of what you do.

  And you know what?

  This honestly isn’t that bad. If anything, it’s kind of badass. Took a bullet to the shoulder, but still here the next day.

  I mean, death would suck, but...

  That one thought was enough to make me look at last night differently.

  But before I could let the old darkness win out, Axle and Butch entered. Axle actually almost smiled at me when he walked in, extending his hand.

  “That’s what we wanted to see, Lane,” he said. “Nice to see you out there last night.”

  “Agreed,” Butch said, taking their seats.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly.

  I didn’t think it was wise to add anything else. To do so risked me saying something that could have been construed as arrogant or cocky, and for once, I wanted to take a page out of Cole’s playbook and just be quiet. I’d let the officers decide for themselves my place in all of this, and the rest would play out as it had to.

  Father Marcellus and Red Raven followed. Father Marcellus came over and gave me a hug. I chose to remain in my seat, fearing that standing up would put my arm in a spot where it would hurt like hell.

  “Are you feeling alright, my son?” he said.

  “Well enough to be here,” I said.

  And that was absolutely true. Nothing short of a hospital bed was going to keep me from fulfilling my duties as President—and even then, there was no reason we couldn’t have our church meeting at the hospital room, albeit with a little more precaution than normal.

  Red Raven just nodded to me from the back as he took his seat.

  Patriot was the last to enter, and he sat down without saying anything else. He didn’t need to, given that we’d already said hello to each other earlier in the day.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said. “Let’s recap quickly what happened last night. We had a deal with the Hovas. By all accounts, things were going fine until the Fallen Saints ambushed us. I don’t think we had any casualties, as everyone’s still here.”

  I didn’t bother to mention my shoulder wound. I didn’t need pity from anyone right now. I just needed their respect and belief in me.

  “However, it’s obvious that we can’t let this action by the Saints go unnoticed. We need to retaliate, and we need to figure out what we’re going to do. Anyone have any ideas?”

  I looked first to Axle, but he didn’t have anything to say. My eyes traced across the room, trying to see who would speak up first.

  “We could make a late-night drive-by,” Patriot said. “Hit them and run, man. It’ll give them something to think about.”

  “True,” I said. “But I’m hoping to hit them a little harder than normal. I’m tired of this cycle of us potshotting each other. I’d like to send a message that we’re not to be fucked with like that.”

  There was another issue going on right now, and that was that I still suspected someone in the club was a traitor. It wasn’t like the Hovas were going to do anything to put themselves at risk, especially since they were fired upon, so it had to have come from us.

  Butch, Axle, Patriot, and I were on the run, so it seemed unlikely that any of them had willingly put themselves in the line of fire. That only left Red Raven and Father Marcellus, but both of them seemed impossible. Red Raven had given his life to the club. In fact, he was older than my father when he joined. Father Marcellus was of the faith and, even outside of that, one of the most comforting men I had ever met in my life.

  I considered the possibility that a club member had figured out our mission and had relayed the information to the Fallen Saints, but that, too, seemed improbable. Last night’s run had been played very close to the vest within the confines of the walls.

  Regardless of it all, there was a part of me that suspected whatever strike we ended up making would have to be made on the spot, the better to prevent someone from revealing our plans to the enemy.

  “Did you have something in mind?” Axle asked.

  I didn’t. I had some rather dramatic ideas, of course—raid their compound. Send all of our forces in to kill Lucius at his home. Find a way to ambush Lucius and his allies in broad daylight.

  But they seemed to go a little too far. I was looking for something in the happy medium. Something that would quell the violence a bit, but something that wouldn’t incite an all-out bloody war.

  “I mean, fuck, if we want to send a message, just attack their base,” Patriot said with a chuckle.

  “No.”

  All eyes shifted to Red Raven, the only member of the club who could command such a presence.

  “To attack their base would be like stepping into the hornet’s nest without regard for the consequences,” Red Raven said. “It would take but a moment to realize what a terrible mistake we have made and what a terrible price we would wind up paying. I fear that if we were to do such a thing, all of us would perish, either at the moment or when they would hunt us down. The Fallen Saints do not care for keeping peace. They only care for attacking those who have wronged them.”

  Patriot didn’t even bother to speak back up. He knew that while Red Raven may have only been the Secretary, he was like a shadow president in a lot of ways—his words could command and control a room. If he shot an idea down for being foolish, there was no further debate on the idea.

  “Alright, any other ideas?” I said.

  “What about a trap?” Patriot said, perhaps trying to make up for his rejected idea. “Give them what appears to be an easy target, and then take them out accordingly.”

  I was pretty sure all of us waited a couple of beats to see if Red Raven would dispute what had just been said. But he remained silent, instead, his heavy breathing the only thing audible from him at that moment.

  “I kind of like the idea,” I said. “How do we feel about it?”

  “It’s something we haven’t done before,” Axle said. “Could catch them off guard.”

  “Agreed,” Butch said.

  “Though devious, such a move would have the Fallen Saints walking upon eggshells of sorts,” Father Marcellus said. “I believe it’s a good idea, Patriot.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Alright, let’s put it to a quick vote,” I said. “All in favor of using an ambush as a tactical maneuver to retaliate on the Saints?”

  We didn’t even have to go around the circle. Everyone said “aye” shortly after, and it was put into place.

  “Now then,” I said. “I’d like us to take a day or two to come up with some ideas for an ambush. Obviously, the nature of an ambush is such that we can’t telegraph it. If we attack today, it’ll be obvious. But if we can set something up for later... ”

  “Then it has a much greater chance of working,” Axle said.

  “Yep,” I said. “Anyone have anything else they need to say?”

  A brief silence fell. I saw Axle and Butch exchanging a glance, but nothing came of that. I briefly locked eyes with everyone, and when nothing else came, I went for the gavel.

  “Well, then, this meeting is—”

  “Lane,” Axle said. “Last night? That’s what we wanted to see.”
r />   I gently let my right hand move away from the gavel.

  “It was good shit, brother. Your shoulder will heal. You need to work on not being such a dumbass in shootouts. But we can get behind a President who puts himself in the line of fire.”

  I let myself smile. I didn’t think it mattered that I was willing to show a little bit of emotion.

  “Appreciate it,” I said, before going for the gavel once more and slamming it. “We’ll meet in two days to discuss ambush ideas.”

  The various officers slowly rose. As usual, Patriot hung at the back, and we waited until the other four officers had walked out and shut the door behind them.

  “Told you things would be fine,” Patriot said with a smile.

  “It’s early,” I said with a shrug, a shrug I regretted as the pain went through my arm. “But I appreciate it. We’ll see how things go if shit hits the fan.”

  “I mean, you’re not going to be perfect, man, but if you’re putting yourself there, you’re doing much better.”

  I shrugged only my good shoulder and nodded.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Where did you go last night, by the way?”

  “Brewskis,” I said.

  “After a shootout? That’s ballsy,” Patriot said with an amused expression.

  “Yeah, and where else am I going to get a drink late at night on a weekday in this town?”

  He had no response to that. Maybe it was a bit ballsy, but I kind of liked living on edge as I had there. Though bring a friend next time. Or make sure Angela will be there.

  “So, this ambush idea, you really think it’s going to work?”

  I bit my lip. As badly as I wanted to tell Patriot I suspected one of the officers was a traitor, I could not rule him out. As painful and horrible as that was, until I really dug into the situation and unearthed the rat, I had to consider that any of the other five men could have been the rat for the Fallen Saints.