Reaper's Fall
He’d always be a brother regardless, but once a man stopped riding he usually didn’t last very long.
“Grab a seat,” Pic said, nodding toward a spot in the center they’d left open for me. Usually I tried to hang back, but seeing as Pic called the meeting to discuss what’d happened over the weekend, I expected to do a lot of talking. “So, Painter’s got a full report for us—let’s start with the Nighthawks and then move on to the other issue. All yours, brother. Welcome home.”
I gave him a chin lift, then launched into my story.
“Gage is making good progress,” I told them. “Marsh—that’s the president—has a sister he’s fucked in the head over. I don’t know what their relationship is all about, but it’s weird. Anyway, the sister—Talia—is fucking around with Gage, which got us an invite to a party there.”
“What’s this Talia like?” Horse asked.
“She’s a total bitch,” I told him. “But she’s hotter than hell. Gage doesn’t like her, but at least he can bang her without a bag over her head.”
Duck gave a knowing laugh. “He’s always gone for the wild ones.”
“Yeah, well I don’t think he’s going for this one, not more than he has to. On a more serious note, though, things aren’t good in that club. They’re split down the middle between Marsh’s people and the older brothers—the ones who came in before Marsh took over. I got the impression Marsh was scoping us out, like he had work for us.”
Horse and Ruger shared a look, and I saw surprised faces all around the table.
“Oh, it gets worse,” I continued. “Their prospects are a fuckin’ joke. They’re bringing them in fast. Met one kid who doesn’t even own a bike yet.”
“Goddamn it,” Duck grunted. “We can’t let it stand.”
Hard to argue with that.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But we want to be careful about the timing—can’t let the whole network fall apart when we cut off the head.”
“Fair enough,” Pic said, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms, his face growing more serious. “So now that we’ve covered that, let’s talk about the real issue. Tell everyone about the snitch.”
“It was a guy called Hands,” I said. Bolt sat up abruptly as our eyes met across the table.
“Same Hands who set up Bolt?” Ruger asked, his voice cold.
“Yup,” I said, my voice grim. “At least according to Gage. That shit went down while I was gone. We spotted him at the party. I managed to knock him out in what looked like an accident, and then I helped one of the prospects haul him home. He never laid eyes on Gage, so no chance he tipped off Marsh.”
“You should’ve called me,” Bolt said, his voice cold.
“Gage said we couldn’t risk a call, not when we planned to take him out,” I said bluntly. I didn’t mention the part about Bolt losing his shit.
“You think they suspect you set him up?” Pic asked. I shook my head.
“No way—it looked like one of their prospects tripped me. Not only that, I’ve got a witness that he was safe and sound asleep when I left him. Don’t think it’ll be a problem. Anyway, we went back after the party and picked him up, then I drove him over to Bellingham in a rig Gage managed to scam up somewhere. They questioned him there.”
Bolt narrowed his eyes.
“Rollins?” he asked.
“Rollins,” I confirmed. Bolt smiled slowly, a smile so dark I could hardly hold his gaze.
“Bet that was ugly.”
“Yeah,” I told him. “It was real bad. I’m sorry we couldn’t call you, brother, but I promise you this—we took care of him for you. Hands wouldn’t talk at first. Guess he was still holding out hope he might get out alive so long as he protected the information. After a few hours I took a break to grab some sleep. Eventually he broke, and they woke me up so I could hear what he had to say for himself.”
“And?”
“Well, he’s been feeding the feds information about clubs in the region,” I said. “Apparently that’s not new information, but this is. He’s working with Marsh.”
“Marsh knows what he’s doing?”
“Think so,” I said. “Not sure how much Marsh trusts him, but he knows that Hands is a snitch. Real question is whether Marsh is using him or he’s using Marsh. Or was using Marsh . . . Rollins finished him off not long after that.”
Pic nodded thoughtfully. “Rance taking care of the mess?”
“He’s got it covered,” I said. “They gave me a ride back to Hallies Falls so I could pick up my bike, and then I started back home. Speaking of, I had a little complication.”
“What’s that?” Pic asked, frowning.
“Fuse blew out on my turn signal and I got pulled over,” I admitted. They all stared at me, then Ruger gave a little snort. Horse laughed outright, and I saw smiles all around the table. Cocksuckers.
“You get a ticket?” Picnic asked.
“No, just a warning. She even held a flashlight for me whi—”
“She?” Duck asked, smirking. “So in the last twenty-four hours, you kidnapped and helped murder a guy, crossed the state twice . . . and you got pulled over for not using a turn signal by a girl cop? Christ, Painter. Only you.”
I flipped him off.