by Trent Jordan
“The harsh truth is that last night, my father came to me and said that he had been working with the Fallen Saints, yes,” he said.
He let the words hang for a second.
“But it was merely so that he could act on behalf of the Black Reapers. He believed that being the plant inside of the organization would give him access to their secrets so that he could ultimately help the club.”
This was bullshit. I could see that clear as day.
The problem was, I wasn’t sure many of our members could.
“He told this to me last night because he figured out that the Fallen Saints were onto his game. The Saints set a deadline for what would have been this evening to murder Lane, or they would have murdered him. As his son, whom he loved very dearly, he first told me. I suggested that we go and tell Lane so that we could launch a strike on the Fallen Saints right when they thought that Red Raven would be doing their dirty work for them.”
Why is this the first we are hearing of this?
Pink Raven may want to believe this, but this is not true.
“When we got to Lane’s place, however, he said he wanted to go alone. He suggested that it would seem less like an ambush if he did so. I agreed and remained on the street. Little did I fucking know that the officers—the leaders of this fucking club—had their own ambush set up.”
He moved to the front of the room, made what I suspected was a rather rude facial expression to Lane, and turned to the members and prospects.
“Think about who your officers are here,” he said. “Are they leaders? Are they people you actually trust your lives to? Or are they all a bunch of assholes who lie and benefit themselves? Are they above you? While you fight for the pickings, they take whatever they want, even at your own expense?”
It was at that moment that I felt the eyes of Jon, the member who had first gone for Thea, fall upon me. The gaze didn’t fill me with dread or nervousness, but it certainly told me that there were people who were falling into line with Pink Raven’s beliefs.
“Let me tell you who your officers are,” Pink Raven said. “Your President, Lane? He’s a daddy’s boy. He got this gig not because he’s a leader, but because he’s a Carter. There is a Carter out there who is a real leader, but his name is not Lane.”
Fuck. I could immediately see Lane’s eyes widen with anger. Pink Raven and Cole… oh shit. This will get bad.
“Your Vice President, Axle? Asshole. Patriot? He’ll smile and slap hands with you and seem like a charming guy, but he’s a snake like the rest. Father Marcellus? He might be the one guy who is a decent human being, but unfortunately for him, none of the officers have a soul worth redeeming, so his impact is meaningless. But that all pails in comparison to the worst of them all.”
Here it comes.
“Butch. You fucking snake.”
I’d been called worse. I’d been yelled at, screamed at, shamed, and derided in some of the most unimaginable ways possible. Whatever Pink Raven was about to say here wasn’t going to hurt my feelings or bother me.
But it could easily splinter the club apart. And that was troublesome.
“You stand there all quiet, pretending to be a stoic man—a Sergeant-at-Arms who does the dirty work. But really, you just intimidate because you know you’re stupid. You could never be a leader of men. You can only follow orders like a fucking bitch—literally, like a dog. And because of Lane’s orders, you killed my father. You raised your gun, you aimed right between my elderly father’s temples, and you pulled the trigger. You killed a man who just wanted to live the rest of his life in peace.”
Again, nothing he said hurt me personally. But I could feel the vibe of the room change dramatically, and I knew that Lane was about to face the greatest crisis he had ever had.
“I will never forgive you for as long as I live,” Pink Raven said. “And to the rest of you. I know you didn’t have anything to do with this. My disgust and venom and hatred does not apply to you. And it is for that reason that I want to give you an opportunity. An opportunity to join an MC that will make a real difference.”
Fuck us all…
“I have spoken to Cole Carter. He has a group called the Gray Reapers. His is a club that will treat you fairly. He will treat you like an individual, like a man. His club will stand the test of time because it is a club—not a group of officers standing above you all.”
He then looked at Lane and appeared to wink. It was amazing that Lane didn’t punch him right in the face for that.
“I am going to join Cole Carter right now,” he said. “Anyone who feels the way I do, follow me to the town of Ashton.”
Without another word, Pink Raven pushed his way out of the audience. I looked to Lane, but he only raised his hand and motioned me to stand down. Pink Raven took one last look at me and laughed.
And then, of the twenty or so members and prospects in the room, about eight, including Jon, stood up and left with him.
“If you leave,” Lane yelled. “You can never come back. Think before you go!”
But Lane had already lost. It didn’t matter what he said. These members had been won over by Pink Raven. And that was just those who had made the decision in the moment—there was no telling who was going to decide tonight or in the coming days to leave.
All I needed was permission to prevent people from leaving. But, perhaps proving how right Pink Raven was, I kept quiet. I was the bitch. I did nothing without order from Lane.
Lane looked out at the now much more empty room. He looked angry. He looked furious. He looked…
Defeated.
“What you have heard just now are the words of a son who has lost his father,” he said. “We all knew that what we did would create a lot of chaos and heartache. But we stand firm in what we said. We will send you the recording showing Red Raven in cohort with the Fallen Saints. And we stand by the fact that Red Raven was not double-crossing the Saints; he was working for them. Understand this. Club unity is more important than ever. We need you here. But if you don’t want to be here, don’t waste your time.”
He shook his head. He looked like he wasn’t satisfied with what he said, but there wasn’t really anything he could say that could satisfy him.
“Fucking hell,” he grumbled. “Go home. We’ll send that recording out, and we’ll figure out shifts at the shop for the upcoming week. We’ll have another group-wide meeting tomorrow night when the shop closes.”
With that, he stormed past me. I followed him out the door, but Lane didn’t say a word to me. I couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking about Cole, let alone Pink Raven and those that had deserted him.
At this point, I couldn’t even think about what we’d do about the Fallen Saints. In a way, they’d succeeded.
Red Raven may not have killed Lane. But through his actions and through his death, he may very well have started the death of the Black Reapers.
Thea
Four Days Later
“Thea…”
I stared at Brian’s face, studying it as closely as I could, as I tried to make sense of the very short clip that he had made on my camera. I listened to him say my name over and over again, trying to parse out if he had meant to say something sweet, something heartbreaking, or something avoidant. I tried to sense if he was just struggling to say the words at all, or if he only meant to say my name.
It did no good. There was no making sense of it.
As I stood in my bathroom, finishing the last few touches of some makeup, I tried to think about what my gut believed.
In my gut, I believed that Brian wanted to say something nice and something kind, but that he couldn’t. It was no secret Brian struggled with words, but in the absence of my presence, knowing he could say whatever he wanted and that he wouldn’t have to witness my reaction… why wouldn’t he say something?
My gut was probably right, but an overactive brain sure had a way of making life really fucking difficult sometimes.
I put the camera down.
“Damnit, Brian,” I muttered.
I then picked up my phone, scrolled down my text history a bit, and found Brian’s conversation. He hadn’t said anything to me in days, even though I’d messaged him Sunday morning and again this morning, asking if he was OK. I guessed I had been ghosted and hurt.
Again.
At least with Shane, there was an element of sense to it. I’d broken up with him, and he’d come back at me with a vengeance; it was a classic story of a scorned lover, albeit from the guy’s perspective. But for Brian to disappear? Was the club business that bad?
Hey, hurry up. You don’t have time to be thinking and wasting time on this if you want to make it to Santa Clarita in time.
I didn’t even want to go to Santa Clarita. That was the worst part of it. I wasn’t going for any good reason—the honest reason was that Brian’s absence was making me feel lonely, and I didn’t want to feel those things.
Even if it meant hanging out with the worst person possible for me.
Hell, apparently, was a lot more tolerable when you were going there with other people. It was better than an isolated purgatory.
I finished my makeup hurriedly, not really caring to add some extra touches, which was probably for the better anyway. I grabbed my purse, my wallet with what little cash I had, and my keys. I got down to my car, took a breath, and sent out the closest thing I could to a cry for help.
“I’m going to a bar right now in Santa Clarita called Shooters,” I wrote to Brian. “Give me a reason not to be there.”
I hit send.
And then, instead of the blue box that usually appeared when a message went through, it turned green, suggesting that something in Brian’s phone was preventing the message from getting delivered. Perhaps it was nothing more than a temporary glitch, the kind of thing that would come and go in a matter of minutes or an hour or so, but at that moment, with my frazzled mental state, I couldn’t help but feel that he had blocked me or otherwise made it impossible for me to contact him.
So, this is how it ends.
Not with a bang.
Not with a whimper.
But with dead silence.
He couldn’t bring himself to say anything to me when he decided it wouldn’t work out. So he just snuck out in the middle of the night.
At least he gave me my camera back.
I knew I should have listened to him when he said he was a monster. I knew I should have recognized a man telling the truth when he said it. I think it was my mother who said when men admit weaknesses or flaws, they’re always telling the truth; it’s when they are trying to hype themselves up or make themselves look good that they are lying.
Either way… fuck.
Guess I’m going to have to handle this on my own. Get through tonight, get home, and then wake up and figure out what you’re going to do.
And you better ensure it doesn’t involve the Black Reapers.
Of course, despite all of my thoughts, I couldn’t help but think of Brian when I walked into Shooters in Santa Clarita.
It looked like the kind of place that he and the rest of the Black Reapers would have hung out at. Numerous pool tables lined the place, a full bar behind the counter that served everything from Bud Light to Manhattans and everything in between stood, and even a couple of dartboards hung on the walls. It was mostly empty with it being a Wednesday night, but there were two people seemingly on a date in the back, playing some casual pool. I saddled up to the bar and asked for a light rum and coke.
I had no intention of getting drunk, but if I remained completely sober, I’d hate myself even more for coming here. I’d already sacrificed a lot of my dignity by being desperate enough to show up here.
The bartender, with nothing else to do, made the drink and hovered nearby, as if hoping to make some conversation with me. But when I didn’t look at him and instead swiveled my chair to the side, giving me a full view of the entrance, he got the hint and went to the side a bit, folding his arms and checking his phone.
And then the door swung open, and I saw him.
Shane Peterson.
My ex, the one who had ruined my life completely.
And I wasn’t sure what I was going to feel when I saw him, but I had to be honest, it wasn’t nearly as good as I’d thought—and that was saying something.
For one, while Shane was never the most attractive person in the world, he generally kept himself in respectable shape; he didn’t sport a six-pack, but his belly hadn’t protruded from his shirts. He didn’t have a lot of facial hair, but he generally wore it well. And, speaking of wearing things well, he usually dressed the part for certain occasions.
But the man standing before me was none of those things.
It couldn’t have been that long since I had seen him, but I guessed that he had gained at least twenty pounds since the breakup. He wasn’t obese, but he wasn’t appearing on any calendars anytime soon. He almost looked like he had the beginnings of a dad bod, really.
His facial hair was scruffy and scraggly, not resembling a clean appearance at all. And as for his dress… well, that was at least put together somewhat, but the belly combined with the awful grooming made it look like he had fallen apart just as badly as I had after the breakup.
If he has any hope of being like Brian, though, there is no shot.
“Hey!” he said, sounding somewhat frantic. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Hey,” I said, remaining in my seat, even though he approached me like he wanted to hug me. “No worries.”
“How are you? You look great.”
Oh, Jesus. He just wanted a second chance, didn’t he?
“Thanks,” I said.
I felt like a bitch for keeping my voice flat and dry, but what was I supposed to do, give him false hope for something that just wasn’t going to happen?
“Life’s been fine. How about you?”
“Oh, fucking crazy,” he said. “Lost my job recently, so that’s been shitty. Haven’t had time to go to the gym, you know how it is.”
Do I? Are you saying I look like I haven’t gone to the gym? I knew that wasn’t what he was saying, but I certainly wasn’t going to refuse the chance to put words in his mouth that made him worse than he was.
“But I got some opportunities, family connections working their magic, you know? But tell me about you. You’re still looking beautiful.”
OK, we are not going to go down this road like this.
“Shane, before we keep talking, I need to make one thing very clear,” I said, surprised at my willingness to speak so honestly—I guess Brian had given that to me. “I came here because I wanted to see how you’ve been. But that does not mean that I am interested in you right now. In fact…”
Am I really going to say it?
Yes. You need to.
“If I’m honest, if there was any chance of me liking you, it went out the window when you show up like this, and you talk about how life’s been shitty. So let’s keep this light and respectful, not flirtatious.”
Shane’s immediate reaction made it obvious that I’d called him out on his plan, almost like magic. He was trying so hard to remain cool and calm, but it wasn’t working, not in the slightest. Every word I said seemed like a dagger that penetrated deeper and deeper into his spirit, and every “no” was like a shot to his heart.
“Of course, of course,” he said, but his tone of voice was utterly defeated. “Yeah, sorry. Just, you know, I was sorry for what I did, and—”
“Why?” I said.
Shane swallowed. It almost seemed like he’d come in here with a script. Frankly, I couldn’t believe that I was finding it in me to be so blunt, but I was pretty damn grateful for it.
“I… I recognize that I fucked up,” he said. “You broke up with me, and it was something you needed to do. I respect that. But then I got mean. And I shouldn’t have. And—”
“Shane.”
Tone it down. Be firm, not cruel.
“I understand
why you acted the way you did after the breakup. I’m asking why you wanted to apologize and wanted to meet up with me.”
“Well, it was just to see what would happen.”
I instantly called bullshit on that. It was painfully obvious to see that he was still hoping for a reunion. I could have understood if he still had feelings for me but was feeling things out to see if it was wise to get back together. But when he came back with the sole intention of wanting to get back together? When “just to see what would happen,” was nothing more than a mask to cover his true intentions?
No shot in hell.
“I see,” I said with some wry sarcasm. “Well, you got until when I finish this drink to see what will happen.”
I tried not to be too mean about it, which was probably to my own detriment. I drank at a moderate pace, not exactly slow, but not gulping the whole thing down in one swallow. And just as I expected, Shane had a script to what he was going to say, but as soon as I called him out for something I thought was bullshit, he would panic.
And it was in that panic that I could see the true side of him, the side that showed he hadn’t changed. I could see that if he had changed, it was only for the worse. Karma had dealt him a bad hand, and while I couldn’t exactly wish ill will on anyone, I wasn’t exactly upset about these turn of events.
“Well, I see you’re near the end of your drink,” Shane said, nervously laughing.
That was unsettling. That was just creepy. Shane used to have a great laugh, but seeing that kind of nervous laugh was the kind of thing I would have expected from a desperate man who needed change or a drug hit, not the guy I’d once worked with. I was beginning to suspect there was a lot more shit going on in his life than just a job loss.
“Would you, uh, like another?”
“I said at the end that was the time you’d have, and I meant it,” I said. “Shane, I appreciate you apologizing, and I appreciate you coming out here. But it doesn’t change anything about us. I hope you get it together and I hope you manage to find a good job, but for now—”