Ghost, Thorn, Rock, and I manage to get our asses out of there before the Spiders can come after us. I race back to Tanner Springs, now out of the range of headset contact with the van so I have no idea what Gunner’s status is. We get back to the clubhouse in record time, but of course the van isn’t there yet. I jump off the bike and immediately go find Smiley in the TV room.

“Get your shit ready,” I tell him. “Gunner’s hit in the thigh.”

When I come back out to the main room, Rock’s telling Angel what happened. I go outside and wait for the van to show up. About five minutes later, the rumble of an engine approaches, and Sarge flies in on Gunner’s bike.

“They’re right behind me,” he barks. “Let’s get ready to move Gunner.”

There’s a shitload of blood. Gunner’s still conscious, and trying to joke around as we carry him in, but his face is pale and strained. He grits his teeth in pain when we set him down on the pool table that’s been covered with large sheets of plywood.

Smiley’s face is grim as he examines the wound. “He’s fucking lucky it doesn’t look like the bullet hit the bone at all. There’s no exit wound, so the bullet’s still implanted.” He looks at Gunner. “I’m not gonna remove it. It’s not worth it, and it could be close to a blood vessel. Taking it out I might hit something and do more harm than good.”

“No worries, doc,” Gunner says, giving him a tense grin. “It’s not like I’m planning on setting off any metal detectors at the airport.”

Smiley shoos us away from his makeshift operating table and gets to work. By now, a few of the old ladies have heard the men are back, and they’re trickling in. Jenna runs to Ghost, who enfolds her in a tight embrace. Sam’s over by Hawk, and I can see by her expression she’s trying not to cry with relief. Geno’s old lady Carmen is there, too, as is Trudy, Rock’s wife, though she seems a lot calmer than the others. More years of being used to the drama and danger of being an MC prez’s old lady, I guess.

For the first time since all the shooting began, I think of Sydney. I can’t help but feel a pang of regret that she’s not here. Though even if we were still together, I might not have told her about this run. I wouldn’t have wanted her to worry.

As though she could read my mind, Sam chooses this moment to detach herself from Hawk and come over to talk to me.

“Have you called Sydney?” she asks, her voice quiet. “She’ll want to know you’re okay.”

“We’re not together anymore,” I bark, a little too harshly. It’s not Sam’s fault, after all. “It didn’t work out.”

“I know,” she says, her eyes reproachful. “I’ve seen her at the coffee shop. She’s a mess, Brick.”

She’s not the only one. “It’s a done deal. Anyway, she didn’t know about any of this. So what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

I know Sydney would be right here with the rest of the other old ladies, welcoming me back, if we were still together. My mind flashes back to how natural she looked hanging out with Jenna and Sam, as if the three of them had known each other for years. My throat constricts.

“Look, Brick,” Sam continues. She sounds angry. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you. But I can’t imagine that Sydney would ever consciously do anything to hurt you. And frankly, I can’t imagine you ever doing anything to hurt her.” She pauses, as though considering her words carefully. “You know,” she says, “if there’s one thing I’ve noticed about a lot of the men of the Lords of Carnage, it’s that most of you are as stubborn as the day is long. You’re used to getting your way, by whatever means necessary. And I think sometimes, you need the women of this club to pound some sense through your thick skulls. So I’m just gonna say this. You are most likely being an ass right now. And Sydney doesn’t deserve that.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?” she challenges. “I know what it looks like when two people are in love with each other. I know what it looks like when someone’s lying to himself.”

“Sam,” I warn. I swear to God, she’s lucky she’s a woman, and that she’s Hawk’s old lady.

“Fine,” she says with a disgusted look. “I’m done. But everyone in this club can see it except you, Brick. I don’t know why you’d throw away a chance at happiness.”

“I’m happy,” I bark, and it sounds so ridiculous that even I almost laugh.

“It’s never as hard as stubborn people make it out to be, Brick,” Sam says, and shakes her head. “All you have to do is realize it.”

Fuck me. I watch her walk away, relieved as hell that this conversation is over, but now I’m just fucking angry. I go over to the bar and ask Jewel for a beer.

“Sure thing,” she says, reaching for a bottle in the cooler. “By the way, how’s Sydney? I haven’t seen her around…”

“Not talking about it, Jewel,” I cut her off with a growl. She raises her eyebrows but says nothing, and hands me my beer.

By this time, Smiley is finally finishing up on Gunner, so I head back to see him. There’s a sheen of sweat on Gun’s face, but he’s not as pale as he was. A half-bottle of whiskey and a shot glass sit next to him. As I approach, he grabs the bottle and fills up the glass.

“Hey, there, brother.” He gives me a crooked grin. “All sewn up. Smiley, you’re a genius.”

Smiley laughs. “Not hardly. But you keep believing that.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small bottle of pills. “You’ll want to take these to ward off the risk of infection. One pill, twice a day.” He gives Gunner a pointed stare. “Try to lay off the alcohol until they’re gone, too.”

Gunner snorts. “Not gonna happen. But let the record show you gave me your professional medical opinion on that.”

Smiley moves off, and I lean against the table and hold up my bottle to Gunner, who clinks his shot glass against it.

“How you doin’, brother?” I ask him.

“Feelin’ no pain. Well, not much, anyway. Smiley deadened that shit before he stitched me up. I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” I’m not gonna make a big deal out of it, but Gunner getting shot threw me. He’s my closest friend, in the club or otherwise. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known anyone outside my family.

“Looks like all in all, the run was a success,” Gunner says with a grim smile.

“Yeah.” I take a long pull off my beer. “Now we wait to see what the fallout is. Either way, it had to be done.”

“Agreed.” Gunner looks out at the bar. “The women sure look happy to have their men back,” he observes.

“They do.”

“Any reason why Sydney isn’t here?”

Goddamnit, I should have known.

“Jesus fuck, is everyone gonna hound me about this?” I explode.

“We are if you’re being a jackass,” Gunner says evenly.

“Motherfucker,” I snarl. “I’m done with this.” I stand up and move to leave, but Gunner stops me.

“Look, brother,” he half-slurs, the alcohol clearly beginning to interact with the painkillers he’s taken. “I really like Sydney. She seems like a great chick. Plus she’s got awesome tits. Even so, I wouldn’t say a word about this if I thought for one second you were really done with her.” He shakes his head and snorts. “But Jesus Christ, man, have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like shit. And you’ve been drinking like you’re training for the Olympics of liver poisoning. You’ve always been kind of morose, but I’ve never seen you be such a goddamn martyr.”

“Martyr?!” I’m pissed. If Gunner wasn’t lying on this table right now recovering from being shot, I’d fucking shoot him myself.

“Yes, you goddamn martyr. Look at you. You’re fucking miserable. How is this better for you? For either of you?”

My hand is clamped so tightly around the bottle I wonder if it might break. I try to loosen my grip, but I can’t.

“I don’t know which one of you did what,” Gunner continues, oblivious to the fact that I’m thinking about punching him. “Or which one of you thinks the other one is in the wrong. But I know you. I know how you are. Shit, I’ve heard you say a thousand times that relationships are bullshit. That people are fooling themselves if they expect anything out of them. Even though you can look around you and see evidence you’re wrong right in this room.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snort.

“I know you’re head over heels gone for Sydney. I know she’s completely crazy about you. Jesus, Brick, are you really gonna just throw that away?” Gunner leans forward, looking me in the eye. “I tell you one thing, if I had a woman who felt that way about me, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight. You brought that girl to this clubhouse for a reason,” he murmurs. “Why the fuck are you punishing both of you, for every other couple that didn’t make it?”

I’m not, I want to say.

Fuck you, I want to scream.

You have no idea what you’re talking about, I want to yell.

“You know I’m right, brother,” Gunner says. “So you can hold on to your bullshit theories, and continue to be a recluse and an idiot. Or you can realize you deserve to be happy. And so does Sydney.”

“Okay. You’ve said your piece,” I bite out. “You done?”

“Not really,” Gunner says cheerfully. “But I know that’s all you’re gonna listen to before you kick my ass, so it’ll have to do.”

I toss my empty bottle into the bin, go grab another beer from Jewel, and head upstairs to my apartment. I can’t deal with anyone else’s shit right now. It feels like the whole club is conspiring to tell me that I’m wrong about Sydney. They don’t know what they’re fucking talking about it. I mean, hell, I know she didn’t lie to me on purpose to hurt me. She probably thought she was doing the right thing, fucked up as that is. How the fuck she got the idea that keeping information from me was protecting me, though, I have no goddamn idea. Especially when she was in danger.

Kind of like how you wouldn’t have told her about this run today. Because you wouldn’t have wanted her to worry about you. Even though you could have died.

That’s different. There was nothing she could have done about this run. Why make her worry? If I’d known about that shit with Devon, I could have protected her. What happened at the coffee shop never would have happened.

It’s not that different. You told her you couldn’t trust her, because a lie of omission is still a lie. If that’s the case, how could you expect her to trust you ?

Fuck. All this shit is making my head hurt. I cross to the dresser, grab the mostly full bottle of whiskey that’s sitting on the top, and throw myself onto the bed. I need to get drunk. I need sleep.

And mostly, I need to stop thinking about Sydney Banner.