TRACE
The club was silent from the outside. There weren’t many bikes in the compound either. Bone actually had given him the time he needed to get his answers. Shocking, for a man who went off half-cocked at the drop of a mother fucking hat as of late.
Fortunately, he’d be able to get himself a private audience to negotiate his deal. A trade off. His life for Bone’s. The man had some small shred of honor left, at least Trace hoped so. He’d appeal to it. To the man Bone used to be. It used to be, that club honor dictated a life for a life. It was why he’d spared Big Ted’s daughter. Because she’d saved him.
He had no idea if Bone would let him out. It was different. That life for a life thing usually only applied to non-club members. Guys that were on the put to ground list and did them a solid to save their own skin.
Unfortunately, Tommy the torturer stood on the steps by the back door again, arms crossed, a cigarette hanging from his lips with an ash so long it was a wonder the thing even stayed lit.
“Pretty late to be coming back tonight isn’t it?” Tommy leered at him. Those big arms bulged under the guy’s leather jacket. Trace swore he could see the blood stains on Tommy’s hands even when they were clean.
“It might be late, but what I have to say isn’t going to wait until morning.”
Tommy rolled his eyes and flexed his arms again. “Too bad you can’t share it with all of us.”
“It doesn’t work that way and you know it. Bone sent me out to do my job. I did it. I’m reporting back.”
“It’s three in the morning.”
“Which doesn’t seem to hamper you. Let me guess. Working late again? You got a tough nut in there?”
Tommy’s eyes narrowed. The guy could put on a stone cold mask when he wanted to. He rarely betrayed his emotions and when it came to torture, he had unending patience. But then again, he actually enjoyed his job.
“Let’s just say the guy thinks he has stamina, but he has nothing on me.” Tommy flicked his half smoked cigarette away. It hit the gravel and remained smoldering, the acrid smoke drifting upward in dark spirals. He didn’t light another.
“Too bad your mom can’t say the same.”
“My mom?”
“Yeah. When I fucked her. Don’t know where you get yours from. I wore her out after the first round.”
“Fuck you, Trace. You never fucked anyone’s mother. You don’t fuck much of anything anymore.” Tommy slowly descended the steps. He did his best to look menacing, or rather, he just was menacing because he was fucking born that way, but Trace stood his ground. He’d been up against a lot worse and Tommy was his brother. If he wanted to kick his ass without reason, there would be hell to pay.
“Just tell me what you want, Tommy, and get the fuck out of my way,” Trace said, bored with the whole exchange already. He wanted to talk to Bone and Tommy was in his fucking way.
“Nothing. I don’t want anything. Not from you. I just want you to think about something. Whatever that information is that you have. It’s obviously important. My guess is that you didn’t find out about our rat, because the piece of shit I’m torturing down there is our newest prospect. John Davies. He was the rat. I can see I’ve surprised you, yet you still look like you have something burning to say.” Tommy’s eyes were completely feral.
Trace looked him up and down, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or just trying to goad him to get information out of him. There were no bloodstains on his clothes. He wasn’t dressed in his usual torture garb.
“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry. I’ve already changed and cleaned up for the night. I’m about to head out. It was just lucky timing that you happened to stop by at the same time I was heading out. I thought I’d give young John a little bit of a break until morning. Let him build up his strength. He’s going to need it.”
“You’re going to kill him then? The club’s own prospect?”
Tommy spat on the ground right in front of Trace’s left boot. “You know as well as I do what happens to rats. You know what happened to Big Ted and we all know he was honest as the day is fucking long or whatever that bullshit saying is. He was a good man. Bone killed him because he could.”
“I’ve heard this spiel already. You shouldn’t be mouthing off over and over, not on club premises, unless you want to end up in your own chair.”
“Bone would never torture me. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty like that. He would just put a bullet in my brain like he did to Big Ted.”
“And probably murder half your family. Watch your back, Tommy. Seriously. We both know that this is for life.”
“Do we?” Tommy’s left brow arched. “If you do, why are you blazing a path up those stairs with that look on your face? That ‘fuck you, I’m shipping out’ look.”
“I’m not shipping anywhere.”
“Says you.”
“Just fuck off, Tommy and let me in,” Trace growled. “I’m just about out of patience for the night.”
“Technically it’s a new day. Three in the morning and all.”
“That’s what I meant. Unless you want my fist in your fucking teeth, get the hell out of my way. And stop spouting off about that shit. If you want to leave, take your ass far away from here. Change your identity. Change your fucking face. Take anyone you care about with you, but don’t tell me about it. I don’t need to know. My loyalty is to this club first. Always has been and always will be.”
“That true?” Tommy crossed his arms again. His grin was absolutely malicious. “I know about that piece you have on the side. The one who has your brat.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Trace saw red. He charged Tommy, rammed the fucker up against the brick wall of the club. He had his arm against Tommy’s windpipe, crushing the life out of him, before he realized that he’d tipped his hand in the worst way.
He let go and took a step back, shaking his head. Tommy let out a strangled laugh. He rubbed at his throat. “You thought you were the only one who’s good at finding out shit.” He laughed again, the sound dark and bitter. “I know what you know.” He lowered his voice. “Trust me, I know. I think you should think twice about going in there. Maybe if it happens, we all get what we want.”
“Oh yeah?” Trace leaned forward, his voice so low Tommy had to strain to hear it even though he spoke right by the bastard’s ear. “You condone murder of the man you swore an oath to protect and obey? A man who is your brother?”
“I didn’t fucking condone murder of my brothers who have done nothing wrong. Honest brothers. Big Ted and his fucking family. That shit doesn’t fly. We all know that Bone is getting out of control. He’s lost his fucking mind. He’s drunk on his power. That fucker needs to be put to ground. We need new leadership in this place. Or maybe it will just finally fucking fold and we’ll all be free.”
Trace ground his teeth so hard that his skull ached. He was too tired for this shit. It was late. Real fucking late. He was being honest when he said he was out of patience. The hard truth was, he didn’t need his freedom anymore. He was always honest to a fucking fault. His code of honor, his oath, wouldn’t let him consider what Tommy was saying, even if it would be easier. He couldn’t not warn Bone. He had to barter. A life for a life. If Bone said no, or if he put a bullet in his brain for even asking, hell, he’d have to live with that.
Or not.
Ha fucking ha.
“You might be right about everything you said,” Trace rasped. “But it’s not honorable. I’m telling him.”
Tommy gave him a hard, cold look. Fuck, the guy was creepy. He finally shrugged again, in that nonchalant, disinterested way. “Go ahead. I’m not stopping you. I was just saying. Just telling you all the things you can’t seem to tell yourself. You’re a smart man, Trace, so I’ll ask you this. Does your honor system let you sacrifice many for the life of one man? Who do you love more? Your brothers or your Prez? Is a madman worth sending us all to hell for?”
Trace didn’t have an answer. Tommy stared him down for a minute more, the silence stretching on between them, thick and wild and burning in the dark night. Finally Tommy slipped into the shadows of the compound and a few minutes later, his bike roared to life.
He left Trace alone with his thoughts.
Alone with his decision.
Bone or his brothers? He knew the club was going to shit. No, hell, they’d been there for a long time already. Bone was bad. He was going to condemn them all to some stupid war and feed them, one by one, like fodder to the cannons. He didn’t care if they all died. They were just minions to do his bidding. What Bone wanted, he got, and what he wanted was absolute control.
Trace stood rooted to the spot, his feet heavy as lead.
Either way, his decision could very well cost him his life.