Butch

by Trent Jordan

  “Butch, they are fucking stealing members from us!” Lane roared. “My brother has always been an envious little prick, and he’s always just waited for the right opportunity to take advantage of my hardships. He used my father’s death to…”

  “Lane, man,” Patriot said. “Keep the accusations fair.”

  “Fuck, I know, it’s just… OK, fine, but he was always envious of Shannon. He’s been envious of me. And now, with Red Raven’s death, he’s manipulating Pink Raven to take members from us. OK? That cannot be fucking allowed!”

  “Lane, calm down—” Axle interjected, but Lane’s look cut him off.

  “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he said.

  “We are not going to win this battle against the Fallen Saints if we ourselves are divided, my son,” Father Marcellus said. “We need to be calm and reach a consensus.”

  “There is no fucking consensus to be had! I’m the goddamn president! I am making the decision to charge ahead. Cole is taking advantage of the group and Red Raven’s death!”

  There was one question that kept coming back to me that I felt wasn’t being addressed that needed to be asked.

  “Have you directly talked to Cole this?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t fucking matter,” Lane said, which immediately provided me the answer. “He’s always been an ass. He’s been nice a couple of times, but… look, I don’t care what he did for brief spurts. I care what’s happened over the course of our lives. And over the course of our lives, Cole has been nothing but trouble and difficulty for me.”

  But I couldn’t have disagreed more.

  In my interactions with him, Cole had been the more generous, the more presidential, the gentler of the two. Cole was the one who had made an effort to be part of the club far more than Lane ever had. Granted, Cole had his issues of being jealous of his brother and of insecurity at living up to his father’s name, but that didn’t make him a bad guy.

  If I had to guess, it was more Pink Raven’s doing than Cole’s, and Cole was happy to let events unfold as they were. Unfortunately, Lane and Cole were less of role models than Cain and Abel were to each other.

  “We’re rolling out tonight, God fucking damnit,” Lane said. “And that’s final.”

  “Lane,” I said clearly. “As your Sergeant-at-Arms, I need to tell you that this is a mistake. The Gray Reapers will know our every move. They will know what you plan to do, they—”

  “I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Butch,” he said. “I’ve made up my mind. The decision is final.”

  With that, Lane slammed his fist on the table and stormed out of church, announcing the decision to the rest of the club. No one looked at anyone else—I think we were all waiting for someone to speak up. By chain of command, that would have meant Axle, but even he looked too stunned to respond in any way.

  “Do we follow him?” Patriot finally asked.

  “Yes,” I said instinctively.

  But I knew they needed more than that.

  “He is the club President,” I said. “And he is a Carter. If no one else goes with him, he will still go by himself. We need to protect him, get him home, and then knock some sense into him.”

  I think the only reason my words worked in any capacity was that I so rarely spoke. Otherwise, the discussion probably would have gone on a lot longer.

  As it was, I still had no idea if my move was the right one. For all I knew, this could very well have been the final ride of the Black Reapers. Just because I supported Lane as the Sergeant-at-Arms, however, didn’t mean that I thought this was a good idea.

  I found it to be a profoundly stupid idea.

  But with Lane already hustling to his bike, I didn’t feel like I had any choice but to follow him and protect him. The time for words, Lane had decided, had ended. We just had to hope that he’d get the chance to use his words again because if not, I didn’t see how the club could survive.

  Either he’d die, and we’d all crumble and be assumed by the Gray Reapers, or he’d live, but with so many people upset by his actions, no one would do anything in support of him. And then the Fallen Saints, licking their chops, step into the picture once more…

  For now, I looked back and saw about a dozen bikes following the two of us as we pulled out of the Black Reapers’ headquarters. It was a pitiful sight. I was so used to at least two dozen, maybe even more, bikes following us when we went out to attack the Fallen Saints. Rather than looking like a well-oiled military unit, we resembled the thing that I hated being called most.

  A gang.

  We looked like a group of thugs brought together to launch some quick strikes on something. I fucking hated it, but it’s not like I could pretend things were different.

  We were also a gang in that we weren’t acting on rational information or intel. We were going purely on instinct.

  The more I thought about this, the more I hated this idea. I had no idea where we were going, nor did, I suspected, anyone else in the group. Lane seemed to have an idea, although how I had no clue.

  We rode southwest, out of Springsville, for about fifteen minutes to a part of California so remote I wasn’t even sure what town it was in. By the time we got off the highway, I was convinced that this was less ambushing the Gray Reapers as it was some sort of showdown. The Gray Reapers would not have operated out of such a desolate location. There just wasn’t any reason to.

  But then we rode a little longer, and we came to the entrance of a new town, Ashton. It was even smaller than Springsville, and far enough away that there would never be any reason for any territorial club disputes. The Hovas were the closest, but that was like saying Iowa was closer to Los Angeles than New York City.

  And then Lane held up his hand, and we all came to a stop. I saw it just as we turned the corner.

  Waiting for us were about twenty bikes, all turned on, all with men wielding rifles, all ready to kill us at a moment’s notice.

  But none of them were yet.

  Lane put his kickstand down and got off the bike, tossing his helmet to the ground. He probably thought it looked bold and heroic. It just looked petulant.

  “Cole Carter!”

  On the other side of the line, Cole dismounted his bike. And then someone else dismounted their bike and followed right behind. Pink Raven.

  He’s their Sergeant-at-Arms now. Holy shit.

  I wasn’t about to let Lane go up there solo, so I kept behind him by about five feet, one hand on my pistol, taking in the Gray Reapers. I mentally figured out who I’d shoot first if I had to.

  I had to do the coldly rational exercise to keep myself from thinking about how stunning it was that many of our former allies, many of the men who had partied with us, many of the men who had fired a gun on our side for our protection were now the enemy.

  And yet, despite being the enemy, no one was pulling a trigger. No one wants this fight, no one except Lane and maybe Pink Raven.

  For now.

  Lane and Cole came about three feet apart from each other, close enough to stare each other down and zone out the rest of the world, but not so close as to trade blows. Pink Raven tried to stare me down, but I kept my eyes on Cole—the Gray Reapers would go as he would go.

  “So this is how you do it, huh?” Lane said. “It’s the same old Cole Carter. You do something nice for me, and you think that gives you license to do whatever the hell you want, and—”

  “Shut up,” Cole said.

  I didn’t show any visible reaction, but Cole’s words surprised me. I was so used to Lane walking all over Cole that I had not expected this out of the younger Carter.

  “I did not do anything,” he said. “Phoenix joined the club of his own accord after you killed his father. He then personally recruited everyone else. Maybe it’s your leadership that’s in question, Lane, if so many club members left so willingly.”

  “Phoenix?” Lane said with some distaste.

  “You called me Pink Raven once,” the man who now, I guess, went by P
hoenix said. “But that was a condescending name, a name meant to show me how soft I was. But that is no more. Out of the ashes of my father’s death and my departure from the club comes Phoenix.”

  Lane chortled. No one, myself included, joined him. I would protect him, but that didn’t mean I was going to light unnecessary fires on his behalf.

  “Even if that is true, which I find very hard to believe,” Lane scowled. “You allowed him to take my men. Maybe you could have been a good brother—”

  “Good brother?” Cole said. “You kicked me out of the Black Reapers, Lane! I’ve now come and rescued you twice, and after every incident, your response is to act condescendingly to me. And you expect me to be the good brother to you? Why the fuck would I ever do that?”

  Lane looked speechless.

  “You know that’s not… you know…”

  “What? Say it.”

  Lane shook his head.

  “You know that we have our differences,” Lane said. “You know that this is who I am. You know I’m working on it.”

  Cole took a long breath.

  “I do, Lane,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that actions don’t have consequences. You can’t just assume because you say you’re working on yourself that that’ll make everything better.”

  “Look, I’m not here to do a confessional,” Lane said. “Here’s the fucking truth, Cole. You want the ugly truth? We don’t have the manpower to defend ourselves against the Fallen Saints. We’ve lost so many people to you that we will get run over in due time without them back. I need you to tell them to come back to me.”

  “Tell them?”

  Cole had really grown a spine. If he weren’t my enemy right now, I might have even been a little bit proud about his newfound toughness.

  “These are not dogs for you to command, Lane. These are men. Maybe it’s high time that you treated them like that instead of just expecting to boss them around.”

  “I don’t treat them like dogs, and you know that!”

  “Which is why you let that asshole kill my father without any sort of process, right?”

  Phoenix’s words seemed to hit Lane, but they didn’t affect me. I’d done what was in the best interest of the club. Now, cleaning up was in the best interest of the club.

  You wish it were that simple.

  “Your father was a legitimate traitor, Phoenix,” Lane said.

  “Lies!” he roared. “You lie! Yes, my father was a double agent, you know why? So he could make the club better. So he could see the end of the Fallen Saints come faster. You think my father would fucking betray the only group he’s ever known?”

  “Phoenix—”

  “No, fuck you,” he interjected. “I know the truth.”

  No. No, you don’t.

  “You know what your father said to me when we were on the porch?” I said.

  Phoenix glared at me with the kind of hatred that only a true demon could. I made him this way. He is my creation, my responsibility.

  “He said, ‘I recognized that the Black Reapers are a dying breed. The Fallen Saints may have terrible morals and ethics, but they’re survivors. And in a world like this, morals will only get you as far as those who play by them.’ Your father believed he was a pragmatist, but in reality, he was a liar.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare—”

  “Enough!”

  Somehow, both Lane and Cole had managed to speak at the same time. The two turned their attention back to each other.

  “I am asking you nicely, Cole,” Lane said. “Return our men to us, and I’ll let you have the Gray Reapers.”

  “Or what?” Cole said.

  Lane folded his arms and stood silently. It was almost like the threat was supposed to be implied.

  “Alright,” Lane finally said, turning away. “Butch, kill him.”

  “No.”

  Lane stopped, glared at me, and then looked back at Cole and Phoenix. Phoenix had put his hand on his gun, ready to draw, but as soon as I had said “No,” he had stopped, almost too stunned to even more, let alone draw his gun on me.

  “No?” Lane said, sounding as much scared as he was angry, perhaps thinking I would leave the club for the Gray Reapers.

  “We need to save our violence for those who deserve it,” I said. I need to control my dark side. We all do. “We kill each other here, then the Fallen Saints win. We accomplish nothing tonight with bullets.”

  “Fuck that,” Phoenix said, stepping forward with his gun in his hand.

  But Cole stopped him.

  “The fuck, Cole?”

  “He’s right,” Cole said. “We may not be friends. We sure as hell aren’t family right now. But that doesn’t mean that we need to be enemies.”

  Phoenix kept his gun against Cole’s arm, as if contemplating whether or not open defiance was the best course of action. I prepared myself to grab Lane and pull him behind me. If I had to die here, at least I would have died exterminating the rat in the club.

  “We’re not fucking done, you and I,” Phoenix said to me. “I will avenge my father’s death. Let’s be very clear on that.”

  With that, he holstered his gun and took a few steps back. The immediate threat of a fatal fight having faded, Cole turned his eyes back to Lane.

  “We share a common enemy, you and I,” he said. “We’ve shared that threat for years now. But right now, I don’t want to ally myself with you. You have grown in the last year, but you still treat me like the little brother to be bullied. When you’re ready to treat me like a man, we can talk. But until then, stay out of Ashton. This is our territory, and if you come here, you will be presumed to be the enemy until proven otherwise.”

  Without another word, Cole turned around and went back to his bike. Phoenix stood in his spot by his bike, giving me death stares. I put my hand on Lane’s shoulder.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “We got lucky tonight.”

  Lane looked back at me with something I hadn’t seen in a while.

  Sorrow.

  Being with Angela had given him some happiness, but I knew it never would erase the pain of fighting with his brother like this. And now, with his “little” brother standing up to him and the Fallen Saints soon healthy enough to launch new attacks, he knew he had two options. Humble himself, or let the Black Reapers die.

  But that was a battle for another day. For at least tonight and a couple of days, we were safe.

  And so long as that was the case, I had someone else that I needed to see again after a night like this.

  Thea

  Brian had sworn he would come back.

  I believed him. Nothing had happened since he had left that made me believe anything would change otherwise.

  But still, the day had been long, the months had been longer, and my life since the end of my white-collar days had seemed like an eternity. I was not so easily put at ease, and even though I had never felt like I understood Brian better than just before he had left, I still wasn’t sure I understood what had pulled him away.

  It was not my place to know, and I understood that. But still. I just did my best for what felt like hours to wait and hope… wait and hope… wait and…

  And then the sound of heavy footsteps approached the door. The door swung open without a knock, but I didn’t jump in a startle or act surprised. There was only one person who could have come in right now.

  I looked over to see Brian enter the room, a haggard look on his face. I’d never seen the poor soul look so exhausted, and that was saying something considering what all he’d been through. I stood up and walked over slowly.

  “Well?” I asked. “How’d it go?”

  He sighed, taking his boots off.

  “It’s over, for now,” he said.

  Over, like, the drama is done? Or over, like, there’s no hope of a happy ending for the club?

  “The good news is that the Black and Gray Reapers managed to avoid shooting each other,” he said. “Bad news is, I’m not sure anything else
was really prevented.”

  “But the worst was prevented,” I said, trying to remain optimistic for his sake. “That’s gotta be worth something, right?”

  Brian shrugged, but even that seemed like it was a heavy burden for him to fulfill. I leaned over to him and hugged him, and he collapsed into the hug, so much so that I almost lost my balance.

  “I suppose so,” he said. “Truth be told…”

  “What?” I said when he wasn’t forthcoming with what it was that he wanted to say.

  He took a second, motioned for us to head over to the couch, and followed me there.

  “You remember how you told me to be more accepting of myself and to be kinder to myself?” he said. “Well, that’s part of why I didn’t kill that boy who was trying to take you at Santa Clarita. And… it’s why things didn’t escalate beyond what they did at the confrontation. I stepped in.”

  He shook his head.

  “I hate saying that. I’m not the person that prevented it. It was Lane and Cole choosing to look at each other and recognizing that they still care about each other.”

  “Or they know they’re capable of it,” I said. “But they may not have had that spark of realization if you hadn’t stepped in and said something.”

  “Guess so.”

  But there was no guessing for me. I knew Brian had done it.

  I couldn’t say what would happen between him and the rest of the club. Ever since we’d started to see each other, I hadn’t actually stepped foot back in their headquarters. I was sure that the club had its own issues to work out.

  But as far as I was concerned, because Brian had finally realized this part of himself, he could be capable of much more with me.

  With us.

  “You know what I remember about that moment?” I said.

  “Which one?”

  “You rescuing me. I remember how you could have been the same old Brian. You could have killed Shane without having to exert a whole lot more energy.”

  “So, he has a name.”

  I had to admit, that was kind of funny. As fucked up as it was, yeah, I did laugh a little.

  “Yes, he does, be nice.”