Lane

by Trent Jordan

  “But for now, yes, that’s the plan. As soon as you have gunfire back at you, you better get the hell out. Understood?”

  Patriot and Father Marcellus both nodded. I gave the thumbs-up, revved my engine, and roared up with the two of them behind me. The warehouse, up close, looked as dead as roadkill, but I knew better than to assume anything about the building. The Saints like to make things look dead, themselves included.

  I pulled up right to the window, dimming the headlight on my motorcycle. I hoisted out my rifle, lined it up to the window, and laid out nearly a full clip’s worth of fire. I didn’t stop until I had depleted everything.

  Which, I realized upon dumping all of my ammo, was a little too strange of an occurrence, considering that the Saints had not so much as fired back at me.

  “Patriot! Marc!” I yelled behind me.

  I looked back. Both were still there. Both had laid fire upon the building.

  We had either struck the luckiest hit in all of our rivalry’s history, or...

  “Not a muscle, Lane!”

  Fuck me.

  It’s Lucius.

  “Drop the gun, hands up, get off the bike, now! All of you!”

  I could hear the sounds of multiple guns clicking into place behind us. I felt unsettling sure that this wasn’t the police or the work of Angela to get us arrested for “safety” reasons.

  I dropped my rifle, raised my hands, hopped off my bike—making sure to keep it between me and however many Saints were behind me—and turned around.

  Sure enough, about two dozen Saints lined up in front of us. I looked over to my left and saw Father Marcellus and Patriot also raising their arms, their face grim with determination. I felt horrible for them—I’d let them right into a death trap.

  I let my emotions and my need for retaliation get in the way of my decision making. Being a leader just doesn’t mean puffing your chest up. It’s making smart choices.

  And now that decision is going to cost me the life of the chaplain and my best friend in the club.

  “Lane Carter, you are one devilishly stupid boy,” Lucius said. “Why the hell did you think this would be a good idea?”

  He hopped off his bike and stepped forward. He had thick, intimidating eyebrows, long hair that was black but graying by the year, and a bushy beard. Even in the dark, I could see several scars scattered across his face, the sign of someone who had engaged in more than his fair share of battles.

  He was also the only Saint to have a red cut—the rest of the crew wore black ones with the Fallen Saints logo, but true to Lucius’ form, he liked to have a special one to distinguish himself.

  “Hmm, silent, are we?” he said. “Very well. Kill the white one.”

  “No!”

  But I had yelled too late. A single bullet from a beefy, burly man hit Patriot, knocking him to the ground, where he remained motionless.

  “You fucker!”

  “I’m sorry, did you think we were going to greet you with cupcakes and ice cream for crashing our joint?” Lucius said with a smirk. “I have tried to eradicate you fuckers from existence for dozens of years now. You think that we would do that by fattening you up and giving you heart attacks?”

  The Saints behind him broke out in a chorus of laughter. I felt my chest tighten with rage. I had many reasons for wanting to kill Lucius, and he had only added to that long list with his murder of Patriot.

  “How the hell did you know we were coming?” I growled. “There’s no way you could have prepped for us coming without you knowing.”

  “Ahh, you are right that we knew you were coming,” Lucius said. “See, that’s the thing, Lane. You lead like a coward, refusing to get involved... you treat your men with contempt and try and remain above the dirty work, and guess what happens? Your men abandon you.”

  I looked left to Father Marcellus, but the wide-eyed expression on his face seemed like true, genuine shock. I highly doubted that they would have killed Patriot if he was the spy, either.

  Axle... Red Raven... Butch... which one...

  “And when your men abandon you, do you know how easy it comes to picking you off? Instead of it being a task or a chore, it becomes a delight. Instead of wondering if I’m going to kill you, I can just delight in wondering how I might kill you. Now, I’ll give you this much, boy, your sudden little run over here had our spy concerned. We didn’t know exactly what you would do. But given your arrogance and emotional volatility, we had a pretty good guess it would be something like this. We just didn’t think it would be so easy! Right?”

  He played to the crowd, drawing more laughs. I went to punch him, and to my surprise, no one shot me in my arrogance. Instead, Lucius just took the punch, spat on the ground, and smiled.

  “That was your one good chance,” he said.

  With that, he uncorked a wicked right cross that knocked me to the ground. It was a really bad sign that my knuckles hurt almost as much as my chin did.

  “See, here’s where it gets fun, Lane,” Lucius said. “You’re surrounded by some of the most dangerous men in California. You have one other man by your side, a chaplain who we’re going to kill when this is all said and done. But you? You don’t get to die so easily. You get to stew in your death.”

  It’s my worst fear come true. I’m going to die. There’s no getting out of this. I didn’t tell anyone else where we were. I’m going to die because of my own arrogance and my own paranoia.

  And...

  You know what...

  Fuck it.

  I’m not going quietly.

  I slowly rose to my feet, wiping blood from my gums as I shook my head of the punch.

  “Oh, so you got up, did you, Lane?” Lucius said, rolling up his sleeves. “I don’t know why you even bother. You know that this will be a death that you cannot escape.”

  I lunged to him, trying to strike him with a right fist, but he blocked my attack with a forearm that felt like it broke my wrist in half. He then socked me with an uppercut to the ribs, knocking the wind out of me, before sweeping my feet out from underneath me and knocking me to the ground. Then, for good measure, he delivered a swift kick to my ear, temporarily making me lose my hearing.

  “I’ll give you this, Lane, you got more spirit than I would have thought,” he said. “But if you think I’m going to show any mercy to you because of that, you’re out of your damn mind. My greatest regret was never getting the chance to kill your father. If I couldn’t kill him, then I’ll settle for his boy.”

  I crawled away as I tried to regain my senses, but as soon as I rose, I felt a knee come ramming into my chin, sending me back several feet. I rose, coughing up blood, and tried to get up. I saw Lucius coming for me, though I knew I had no chance. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst.

  And then I heard a thud.

  I looked up to see Father Marcellus tackling Lucius, knocking him to the ground. He landed a couple of punches while mounted on him, but then Lucius bucked him, rolled over, and delivered such a wicked punch that it knocked out the chaplain. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the punch had killed him.

  “I’ll be damned,” Lucius said with a smile. “You actually got a Black Reaper to help you. I never would have guessed.”

  He walked over to me, delivered two more hard punches that staggered me back, and then chambered his leg up and kicked me straight in the gut. The force knocked me down, and this time, I didn’t have the strength to get up. As much as I wanted to... as much as I wanted to see Lucius die...

  My body just wasn’t willing. I didn’t have anything in the tank to fight Lucius with.

  It was over.

  In the distance, I could hear motorcycles racing. I could hear what sounded like my father’s motorcycle, roaring in, as if coming to carry me up to the heavens to meet him. I could hear the sound of salvation. I just had to endure a few more seconds... and it’d be done...

  Angela... I’m sorry. I can’t... I can’t go on... but...

  I’ll say hi t
o Shannon for you... I’ll say...

  “You have been a pain in my side for long enough, Lane,” Lucius said, spitting on me.

  He yanked out a pistol. In my barely conscious thoughts, I kept focusing on three people. My father. Shannon. And Angela.

  The first two, I’d see soon enough. The last one, I regretted I only got but a few fleeting moments to spend with her. She was a wonderful woman, someone I had severely underestimated and misunderstood. Forgive me, Angela. You’ll be better with someone who isn’t in this world.

  “Farewell,” he said.

  I closed my eyes.

  I heard the gun rang out.

  And then I heard a hell of a lot more gunshots follow.

  “What the fuck?!?”

  I opened my eyes, seeing Lucius look to his right. My eyes followed, and I saw a sight that was impossible to believe.

  About three dozen bikers had shown up, raining fire upon Lucius and the Fallen Saints. How... who the hell... the Black Reapers came?

  But...

  Did the spy change his mind? Or... the hell?

  I hurried off behind a nearby motorcycle before Lucius had a chance to finish what he started, but I didn’t think he even bothered with me. I never heard a bullet strike the ground near me, nor did I feel anything hit my leg or back. When I got behind the bike, I peered around to see a sight that, two minutes ago, seemed impossible.

  The Fallen Saints were fleeing. A few had been killed, but none stood their ground or remained. Lucius, noticeable in his red cut, sped to the front, having the protection of some twenty bikers between him and the gunshots.

  “What the... fuck…” I said.

  But I was nevertheless grateful. I rose to greet Axle, Butch, and whoever else had come to help me.

  And yet, before I had the chance to do so, all but two of them had pulled off. No one I recognized was remaining. It wasn’t Axle or Butch.

  I approached slowly, noticing that their cut was a little bit different than the Black Reapers. These were not... but they were similar...

  Gray Reapers?

  What the hell?

  “Thank you,” I said, struggling forward. “But... who are you?”

  My vision was blurry, my body hurt like it never had, and I wasn’t sure I could so much as hold a pencil, let alone drive a vehicle.

  But what I saw next was something I never, ever would forget.

  The closest biker pulled off his helmet, put it by his lap, and stared at me.

  “I did this as a favor.”

  My eyes couldn’t believe what I saw before me. It was impossible. It had to be impossible.

  But if this was, in fact, an illusion, it was a damn good one.

  “Cole?”

  But if it was my brother, he didn’t say anything else. He put his helmet back on, revved his engine, and drove off with his companion.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Hey, can we get out of here, man?”

  Then I turned around and saw a second sight that should have been impossible. Patriot, though bleeding from the shoulder, looked at me with a thumbs up and a cocky half-smile, half-grimace.

  “You’re alive?”

  “I faked being dead,” he said. “Let them think the one shot got me. I see they put some makeup on you.”

  “Yeah, fuck off,” I said, but I was smiling—or as much as I could with all of the battle wounds on my face. “Can you drive? I’m not sure I should be.”

  “Yes, because as bikers, we care so much about the rules of the road,” Patriot said. “Yeah. Let’s get the priest in and get us to the hospital, huh?”

  “Fuck, please.”

  I tried my best to help Patriot carry Father Marcellus, but it really just felt like I was performing ten percent of the work. Still, that was ten percent I would not have been able to do if I was dead.

  I still couldn’t believe I was alive.

  Actually, I couldn’t believe anything that had happened in the last twenty minutes.

  The Saints had known we were coming. Patriot had faked his own death. Father Marcellus had come to help me. Then, of all fucking people, my brother, hidden and absent for a year, had suddenly appeared to rescue me at the last second... and apparently, he’d formed his own offshoot of the Black Reapers?

  The number of questions I had running around in my head hurt almost as much as the physical damage.

  But for now, I was just grateful to be alive.

  Angela

  As soon as Beth had informed me that someone had found Cole Carter, Lane’s brother, I knew that he was perhaps the only person who could help Lane.

  I refused to talk to anyone else on the Black Reapers after what Lane had told me about there being a spy. But I couldn’t let the information go by without doing something. So as soon as I got outside the hospital, I called Cole.

  I still didn’t know how the hell I managed to convince him to come and help. I knew the turning point in the conversation was when I said he was getting justice for Shannon, but even then, it went from “fuck Lane” to “where is he going tonight?” When I told him he was going to take care of the Saints somehow and couldn’t tell anyone, Cole simply said, “He’s not going to be the only one,” and then hung up.

  I must have remained in that hospital multiple arms’ lengths away from the remaining Black Reapers as I hoped and prayed that the arrival of Cole would be a good thing for Lane. I just hated the idea of him and two other Reapers going to fight, yet I didn’t want to meddle in club business. I knew what I had done was a risk on multiple levels.

  If it ever got out that I had coordinated with club members to strike at someone, even if that someone was the head of a club that caused Springsville the worst trouble of all, I was all but barred from public office forever. If Lane found out I had contacted Cole... well, that seemed like it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I had to hope that he saw I did it because I cared about him.

  I had broken so many laws tonight and had associated with so many characters, the Angela of just a month ago would have looked at me now in horror. But the biggest difference between that Angela and me now?

  I knew what was more important between the spirit of the law and the letter of the law.

  “Coming through!”

  I looked up to see some emergency nurses hauling in three men—one of them Lane Carter.

  “Lane!” I shouted.

  But before I could get any closer, a young Black Reaper cut me off, snarling at me.

  “Beat it, bitch,” he said. “This—”

  “Let her by!” Lane shouted.

  I didn’t know how he heard me over all of the noise, but the member sure got the message. He backed off, looking unsure if he was supposed to keep growling at me or apologize and move to the side. I ignored his mixed facial expressions and followed the nurse into the operating room.

  “Is he going to need surgery?”

  “Possibly,” the closest nurse said to me. “But we need swelling to go down. We need to make sure his vitals are fine.”

  “I’m fine,” Lane said. “I just need to be alone.”

  “Sir, we need—”

  “Leave me alone!”

  A tense silence came over the room.

  “Lane,” I said gently as I sat by him. “Let them do what they need to, to make sure you’re not going to die without care in the next hour. And then we can chat. Go ahead.”

  Lane rolled his eyes, but I arched my eyebrow at him. He couldn’t help but smile and give a short laugh, even though it looked like it hurt.

  I couldn’t lie, that man looked beat up to high hell. His lips were swollen, his nose looked out of place, bruises spotted his face, and I didn’t even know if he had more damage elsewhere on his body. His breathing was a little bit shallow, as if he’d broken his ribs.

  But with that smile... somehow, that smile just broke through everything and showed me a certain beauty that rugged features or a nice body could never approach.

  And I t
hink that beauty, as strange as an adjective as it was for a man, was exactly why I was falling for him. Objectively, he was hot. Some women might say he wasn’t their type, but it was hard to find someone who would argue that he was not attractive.

  What was certainly not arguable to me, though, was that his smile, his character, and the complexity and growth he had undergone made him a unique, special individual. Considering where we had started from, it was something of a miracle that being here in his hospital room wasn’t about prosecuting him or informing him of charges, but to be here and comfort him.

  I had no idea where we were going to go. There was a good chance that, after I told him about Cole, that he was going to ask me to leave, and I’d only see him in professional settings. But I had a strong appreciation for him, for what he did for the town, and for what he had done for Shannon.

  Hopefully, we can honor her memory and her love, not by wondering if it’s wrong, but by trying to focus on what’s right. And there’s an awful lot that’s right here.

  Lane grunted and groaned every so often as the nurses prodded him and did a variety of tests on him. He tried to bite his tongue, but more than a few times, he swore about the pain. I just held his hands in such moments, which even for me stretched a little bit longer than I had hoped.

  It was an enormous relief when the nurses finally did leave, saying that they needed swelling to go down and would keep an eye on him, but he was at no immediate risk of hemorrhaging or anything of the sort. The worst of it out of the way, I waited until the nurses shut the door and leaned over.

  “I’m sure you’ve got quite the story,” I said with a laugh.

  “Why even lie,” Lane said with a laugh. “I mean, you’ve got probable cause to arrest me for about a half-dozen crimes.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But if I do, you’re going to serve time at my place.”

  Lane arched his eyebrows, gave a short laugh, and squeezed my hand.

  “But for real, I should tell you everything that happened. If you’re going to be with me... you deserve to know.”

  If you’re going to be with me... he wants to be with me.

  He wants to make this work. Oh my God... Lane...