Axle Page 17

  I felt pathetic having to stand there and take it. One wrong move would provoke them into fulfilling their promises twenty-four hours early. The only saving grace was I wouldn’t be working here tomorrow, but I knew that would just delay the inevitable unless I drove straight back to Utah.

  What do they mean by tomorrow night, anyway?

  “For now, consider yourself lucky,” Parker said. “Lucius wants us good.”

  “Parker!” Rick said. “That’s enough. We’re coming for you tomorrow, bitch. And when we do, your best bet will be to enjoy whatever happens. Because you won’t have a say in the matter.”

  He slammed the table with his palm before leaving as if that was supposed to intimidate me somehow. I held firm on not reacting, but to say I wasn’t scared would be a complete lie. I was fucking horrified at what the Saints would do, and I had every reason to believe they would do everything they said.

  When both bikes left, I just sat at the stool, shook. I still had the majority of my shift to get through, and at any moment, those two could have decided they didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

  But why would they wait until tomorrow? Because...

  Because they know the Reapers will retaliate first if they do something tonight? They’re getting their men in a frenzy for something tomorrow.

  I have to tell LeCharles.

  I pulled out my phone and texted him to ask where he was. He didn’t respond for several minutes, and each passing minute without a reply of any kind left me more and more panicked and concerned. His club needed him, and he needed his club. Whatever was going on with that needed to be put to the side, just like whatever was going on between us had to be put to the side.

  Shortly before eight, he still had not responded. I wasn’t supposed to take phone calls while on shift. But at the risk of undermining this new job I had, what was more important, making a phone call that could save some lives? Or selling a few cases of beer?

  I dialed LeCharles’ number. He picked up on the second ring.

  “What do you want?”

  He was accusatory. It was fair. He was in a dark place.

  “Where are you right now?”

  “At home,” he said. “Fighting like hell not to give in to the beer.”

  Shit. So, he’s sober.

  Or, at least, he’s coherent enough to sound sober.

  “LeCharles, I... ”

  I can’t tell him over the phone. He needs to see the fear in my eyes. He needs to see how serious I am.

  “I need you to send me your address,” I said. “I need to tell you something in person.”

  “What the fuck do you need to say that you can’t say over the phone?” he said. “You seemed to have an awful lot to say when we last hung out in person. I’d rather have the option of hanging up if—”

  “No, LeCharles, please,” I said. “This goes beyond our fighting. This is serious.”

  The silence on the other end of the line at least suggested that LeCharles understood the gravitas of my words, if not agreed with them.

  “Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I’ll text it to you. This better not be a ruse to yell at me some more, or I’ll kick you out by force.”

  “It’s not.”

  But he didn’t say another word as the line went dead. The next five minutes, waiting for him to send me his address, were some of the tensest I had ever felt. If he didn’t respond, then who would I inform? Would I really try and go to the Black Reapers’ clubhouse and say something? That seemed like a good way to step into a hornet’s nest. Even if LeCharles was a good guy, there was no guarantee that anyone else in his club would be.

  Frankly, I was only helping the Reapers because of LeCharles. I suppose Brian was a nice guy too, but there were many more that seemed to take pride in public disturbances.

  Thankfully, LeCharles texted me his address. I looked around. It was an hour to closing time. Only one person had come in after the Saints, and no one had come in for over an hour and a half. I might get fired for closing early on my first night, and it wasn’t like I could justify why in this detail.

  But fuck it.

  No matter how much we fought, no matter how much stress being with LeCharles put me under, he was still someone who I cared about. So much so, in fact, a stronger word might be apt for how I felt about him.

  But the only thing that mattered was I cared enough to head over for him. So, without a second thought, I closed up shop, got in my car, and sped over to LeCharles’ house.

  It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that if he didn’t listen to me, a lot of his friends would wind up dead.

  Axle

  I wasn’t even sure why I bought the beer.

  Maybe I just wanted the option to act like a shithead. Maybe I just wanted to say I’d done something to “treat myself” after everything from the previous couple of days.

  But really, I was too old to be doing shit like that. As soon as I got home, I had half a beer before wondering what the fuck I was trying to do. Drinking wouldn’t solve my problems. It wouldn’t even make me forget about them. I’d done this routine too many times and become too wise to pretend I’d find some temporary nirvana through the bottle. It would just make me even more miserable.

  I had to confront the people who had actually put me in this state. I had to confront myself for inciting things with certain people.

  And my first chance, apparently, would come tonight with Rose.

  Truth be told, I had no idea that she was going to be working at Bottle Revolution. I was not ready for that, and for that reason, I avoided her like the plague when I walked in. That feeling of avoidance lingered when I got home and she texted me. It was only when she called me that I felt like she was trying to speak to me for a real reason, but even then, I had my defenses up.

  It was only when she walked in and got right to the point that I understood I had to truly listen.

  “The Fallen Saints came to the store right after you did.”

  “Fucking Christ, seriously?” I growled. “The same assholes that tried to take you at Brewskis?”

  My vision narrowed. Anger was taking over me so much that if I didn’t unleash it on something, I was going to be a one-man brigade against the Saints.

  “And I think they’re planning a major assault on the Black Reapers tomorrow night,” she said. “If you don’t tell them or get them rallied, I think they’re going to get hurt badly. Maybe even destroyed.”

  And just like that, my anger faded.

  Not because I realized I needed to help. But because instead of anger, I just felt sorrow.

  “Well, let them,” I said. “That’s their battle to fight.”

  “LeCharles?” Rose said.

  “I got into a fight with one of the members. It got pretty bad. Whatever damage you see to my face is because of them. I... I don’t want to deal with them anymore.”

  Rose sighed. And then she did something that she had never done before.

  She grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

  “Hey, listen,” she said. “Fighting is part of any relationship. I didn’t realize that until after I saw you walk into Bottle Revolution, but it’s the absolute truth. The perfect relationship isn’t one where you never fight, but when you fight in either a respectful manner or in a way that allows you to hug after. We still have to learn that, but this isn’t about us right now. Whatever fight you had with the Reapers, it can be worked on. You need them, and they need you.”

  What she said made sense. But my guard was still up.

  “You don’t understand, Rose,” I said. “One of the guys said something racist. One of the guys who I think is being... a traitor.”

  “What did he say? And what was the context?”

  I sighed.

  “I accused him of being a rat, and we got into a big fight. After the fight ended, he said that they didn’t need my kind around.”

  Rose winced. At least that affirmed to me that I had had the right thought to call it racist
.

  “Even still, even if this guy turns out to be a member of the KKK or is some white supremacist, do you really want to see him killed?” she said. “ If he dies, don’t you think everyone else will too? Do you want to see all your friends killed?”

  All my friends...

  She made a good point. Butch might have been racist—truth be told, my gut suspected he had just chosen his words very poorly, but I was still going to be guarded around him—but even if that was the case, that didn’t excuse me letting the rest of the Reapers fall prey to whatever the Saints had planned. And in any case, let’s be honest, the Reapers were probably my only friends, if I had any.

  Jerome? He was just playing the game, trying to get me to reunite with him. His goal wasn’t to make me happy—his goal was to get the Hovas to a position of power in Southern California. Rose? Well, that wasn’t a question to ponder tonight. There wasn’t anyone else. And Lane had tried to stick up for me... and Patriot had stuck up for me when I was facing my own questioning.

  Maybe I had no true friends in the sense I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about my darkest secrets or darkest parts of my past. But I sure as hell had some guys that would stand up for me when things got ugly. If that wasn’t worth protecting, then nothing was.

  “What was said to you back at the store?” I said.

  “They said they were going to do awful things to me. As soon as I said I could call the Black Reapers for help, they got aggressive very quickly and said that after tomorrow night, there wouldn’t be any Reapers left. That’s really all I know.”

  Shit.

  “Not like they laid out their battle strategy to me.”

  “I understand. But this is critical to know.”

  I wonder if the rat knows I’m gone from the club, giving them a window to strike.

  “And you’re sure of this?” I said.

  “One hundred percent,” she said. “I don’t see why they’d lie about there being no Reapers tomorrow night. They were not shy about saying they were going to come and take me. They were practically gloating.”

  The very thought enraged me. I could all too easily picture the Saints dancing in celebration over Rose because I had practically seen it at Brewskis. If Lane, Patriot, and I had shown up just a few minutes later to that bar, I might not have seen anything, which would have been too horrifying to contemplate.

  I believed her.

  It may have been just what we needed between each other, but that was a conversation for another night.

  “I owe you,” I said, standing up. “I gotta go. You stay low. Don’t go anywhere at night. Spend the night here. Understood?”

  She nodded. I got up, leaned forward, and kissed her on the forehead.

  “The Saints may be laying low right now before tomorrow night, but that doesn’t mean they won’t take the chance to grab a woman alone.”

  “But Shiloh—”

  Shit.

  “I’ll drive you back,” I said. “But we gotta leave now.”

  Rose nodded. The way she looked at me, the way she yearned for me, it was like she wanted me to kiss her. She wanted to know I would be there to protect her.

  And I would.

  But not now.

  “Come on.”

  We hurried to our vehicles, with me riding behind her car. Along the way, neither of us encountered any trouble. I didn’t even see another motorcycle, let alone a Fallen Saint, who might cause trouble. But I didn’t care. All it would have taken was a single wayward pedestrian, working for the Saints, to mention that Rose was driving home alone before some assholes would be waiting for her.

  When we got to her complex, though, I never turned off my bike. She looked at me like she wanted me to come, but I shook my head. Whatever reconciliation, whatever conversation, whatever... whatever we had to do would have to wait until after tomorrow night. We had to take care of the Saints first.

  I did wait until Rose got to her apartment door. I waved to her, she smiled back, and then she disappeared into her apartment. With that, I blazed down to the Black Reapers clubhouse.

  It was going to be awkward having to speak to Butch again after everything that had happened. It was going to be awkward having to confront Lane after whatever damage he had taken trying to break us up. But part of moving forward, as Rose had said, was putting aside grudges for the greater good.

  And that’s when I figured out how we’d win the battle.

  I pulled into the lot and sprinted to the back. Inside, Butch was sipping on some whiskey while practicing some pool. Both of us froze when we saw the other.

  “Butch,” I said.

  “Axle,” he said.

  Both of us gulped.

  “Sorry.”

  Somehow, we both said it simultaneously. I snorted in amusement. Butch did the same.

  “Let’s talk later,” I said. “Where’s Lane?”

  “In church, alone.”

  That was all I needed to hear. We might have only said less than ten words to each other, but I didn’t much care. We’d have time to sit down and hash shit out over drinks later. For now, we had something far more urgent to take care of.

  I burst into the room, finding Lane doing some paperwork. A quick glance showed that it was the legitimate side of our business and not something for his eyes only.

  “Axle,” he said, surprised.

  When he looked up at me, I could see the black eye we had left him was pretty gnarly. It would take some time for it to heal, but as long as he could see, it was just another scar for us to joke about in the future.

  “We got a problem,” I said as I shut the door behind me. “The Fallen Saints are planning a major operation tomorrow against us. I don’t know details, but I am certain it’s going to happen.”

  “Shit, you’re sure?”

  “Rose found out from a couple of ‘em who tried to attack her,” I said. “It’s real.”

  Lane smacked his lips, muttering a few curses along the way.

  “And Lane,” I said. “We can repel them, but I really think they’re going to come in full force. We need to be prepared to take them out in greater numbers.”

  “So call the Hovas,” Lane said. “They owe us.”

  I shook my head.

  “Jerome and I aren’t friends right now.”

  “Axle?” Lane said, fear in his voice.

  “And frankly, even if we were, that’s not what I meant,” I said, ignoring Lane’s rising concern. “You’re going to have to reach out to someone for help. It’s going to suck, but it’s like I learned recently. Fights are part of relationships. You can either let the relationship die, or you can look past it and make amends after helping each other.”

  I put my hands on the table.

  “You know what you have to do.”

  Lane shook his head, went still, and lost himself deep in thought.

  When he finally looked up at me, he didn’t say a word about what I had just said. He didn’t nod. He didn’t give any indicator that he agreed with what I said.

  But I knew, looking into that man’s eyes, that he understood what I meant.

  The Next Evening

  We didn’t give a shit if the rat knew how prepared we were.

  I still had my suspicions about it being Butch, even with the apology, but frankly, we needed numbers so great that it was impossible to splinter off. The fact there were no Fallen Saints sightings after the sun had set told me that they had gathered everyone back at their base in preparation for an attack. The only question was when.

  I had a feeling this was not going to be a hit-and-run. This was them believing we were at a weak point—whether because of me or something else, it didn’t matter. They saw an opportunity, and they were going to take advantage of it.

  Around eight o’clock, we had everyone in the club capable of using a weapon ready to roll out into combat. We had given body armor to the officers and to as many club members as we could. For the ones who did not, we told them to take up f
lanking positions, the better to minimize their chances of getting killed in combat. We may have hazed our new members and treated them like crap in calmer times, but we didn’t play with lives.

  We weren’t the fucking Fallen Saints.

  I stood outside the clubhouse, wearing a helmet, listening as closely as I could to the Springsville night. There were sounds of motorcycles out and about, but none of them were coming any closer than a couple miles away. None of them seemed to be approaching us.

  The door behind me opened. Lane walked out.

  “Anything?” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “Do you think they set us up?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think this is a ruse. I think they’re really planning something.”

  Lane didn’t say a word. And then something caught his eye in the distance.

  “Do you see that glow?”

  We looked east. There was an orange glow and smoke.

  “The assholes set something on fire,” I growled.

  “How much do you want to bet it’s Brewskis,” Lane said. “Attacked it to try and get us out, now they’re burning down the fucking place to get our attention. Well, they’ve got it.”

  “You know it’s a trap,” I said. “We drive right into the teeth of the wolf if we do this.”

  But when I looked at Lane, I didn’t see the scared boy who had assumed the role of presidency just last year. I saw the face of a man that had evolved and matured in the last few months.

  “Protecting this town is more important than having a perfect strategy, Axle,” he said. “If anyone is in danger in that building or needs our help, we go. Understood?”

  “And our help?”

  “They’ll hear the gunfire and see the flames. It’s not like they don’t know where Brewskis is. Let’s get everyone rolling out.”

  It sure looked like Lane was becoming more and more the man that his father was every day.

  And if he could do that, then I sure as hell could put my grievances with others in the club behind.

  I could hear Lane’s voice booming behind me, calling for everyone to head to their bike and to follow me and him. I took that as my cue to jump on my bike. In total, there were about thirty of us, charging ahead, preparing to lay waste to the Fallen Saints.