Pacino’s eyes were pinging around the room.
“Pacino, what the cops haul you in about?” Spartan pressed. “You’re all in for us to crawl up Beck’s ass, he’s a rat. What’d we do the cops were so interested in? What’d Beck run to them and share? Having an argument about how long a term is for president?”
“It’s a year, everyone knows it’s a fuckin’ year,” Pacino muttered.
A loud boom sounded when Eightball’s huge fist landed on the table and he thundered, “Answer, goddammit!”
“Digger’s up for whackin’ some porn junkie,” Pacino said fast. “He needed an alibi, I gave him one. I took my brother’s back. That’s why they hauled us in.”
There was a very long moment of very heavy silence.
Then Muzzle pulled out his chair, sat in it and leveled his eyes on Pacino, saying quietly, “Not takin’ his back now, are you, brother? Just laid him out. Eightball makes some noise, you spill. Nice.”
“It’s about brotherhood, loyalty,” Pacino pointed at Beck, “honesty.”
“You got one down,” Eightball said, pulling out his own chair and sitting in it. “Though, sayin’ that, you knew this and convinced us to lay the hurt on Beck, he ratted us out. So honesty seems sketchy too.”
“You kill this junkie?” Web asked Digger.
“What?” Digger asked back, looking so damned shifty, considering his normal level of shifty, it was nauseating. “No way. Just was home alone. Cops don’t believe dick, a man’s home alone, mindin’ his own business.”
Web gave up on Digger and looked to Pacino. “He kill this girl?”
“How do I know?” Pacino spat.
“Brotherhood, loyalty,” Griller muttered, taking his own seat. “Warms the heart.”
“I’m on record with the pigs sayin’ he was with me,” Pacino snapped. “That’s both.”
“Either a’ you geniuses think to bring this to the club?” Spartan asked. “You know, seein’ as we’re so solid right now, can withstand a hit, like one of us a suspect for murder without the other ones knowin’ about it. My old lady woulda lost her mind, I was hauled in by the cops again. I woulda lost mine, I was hauled in and I had no clue what it was about. Already nearly lost my job over goin’ down, what we did to Rosalie. My boss’d can my ass, cops showed and pulled me in again. And I kinda like my kids. So I’d kinda like to make sure they keep getting fed.”
“We thought we had it covered,” Pacino muttered.
“Well, you didn’t,” Web clipped.
Pacino focused on Beck. “Anyone think to ask Beck why he knew all this shit, he didn’t bring it to the table?”
Because he was waiting for it to implode.
He could not say that.
“Because I had a woman I didn’t pay enough attention to, and that fuckup led to fuckin’ my club up. I got somethin’ happenin’ with my woman now that needs attention, I made that call. The damage was already done. It couldn’t get any worse, I took a coupla nights and looked after my woman. I was gonna make another call to have a meet when I got the call to come to this meeting. I knew what it was about. What I didn’t know was that two of my brothers were gonna lay me out.”
“Convenient, you were gonna call,” Pacino said snidely.
“No. Just truth,” Beck lied.
“Enough,” Web sighed, taking his own seat.
Anyone left standing did the same.
Except Beck.
But Digger and Pacino went to take their seats.
“Feet, brothers, do not sit,” Web growled.
Both their eyes shot to Web, but he was looking at Beck.
“Beck, you sit,” he ordered.
“But—” Pacino began.
“First meeting of Resurrection has just begun,” Web announced, cutting Pacino off. “Beck sits, we can discuss our first order of business, revoking the patches of brothers Digger and Pacino.”
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!” Pacino yelled.
“Second,” Spartan said loudly.
“Aye,” Hardcore said.
“Aye,” Griller said.
“Aye,” Rainman said.
“Aye,” Eightball said.
“Aye,” Muzzle said.
“Beck?” Web prompted.
Beck took his seat, focus on Pacino, and said, “Aye.”
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, motherfucker,” Pacino threatened, attention glued to Beck.
“You look at him funny, I’ll set you on fire,” Hardcore growled.
Pacino glanced nervously at Hardcore, because Hardcore was called Hardcore for a reason, before he turned back to Beck.
“Better keep close watch over that pretty porn snatch you’re bangin’—”
That’s all he got out.
Because he started retreating when Beck’s chair hit the wall behind him and he prowled swiftly around the table.
Pacino tripped over his own feet, but what took him down to his back was Beck’s fingers wrapped around his throat.
He planted a knee in the asshole’s chest, got in his face and squeezed.
“What were you sayin’?” he whispered.
“Thro . . . Beck,” Web murmured from close.
Pacino kicking his feet, his fingers digging into Beck’s wrist, Beck asked, “What was comin’ outta your mouth?”
Pacino opened and closed that mouth, unable to get anything out, or any oxygen in, his face getting red, one hand went from Beck’s wrist to beat the floor as his body jerked viciously, fighting for air.
He should never have told them he was with Janna. She wanted nothing to do with the club, he should have made sure the club didn’t know she existed.
To keep face with them, show he was moving on from Rosalie, earn trust with sharing, keep them thinking with their dicks he was the big man, he got in with a girl in the porn scene, he’d shared.
Another lesson learned.
And time to right that mistake.
“You don’t even remember Janna exists,” he whispered. “You got me? You walk outta this room, she’s not even a memory. Confirm I’m heard.”
Frantically, Pacino nodded.
Beck gave it another five seconds.
He counted it out.
Slow.
When Pacino’s eyes started bugging, he put his weight in the man’s throat to push up.
He stood over him. “You better’ve just given me the honesty, brother. Anything happens to Janna, I swear to fuck, you’ll beg me to drag my knife from your balls to your gullet to end the pain I’ll bring.”
Pacino got on his ass and scrambled away, doing it until his back hit wall, grabbing his throat and sucking in air.
Beck didn’t move anything but his eyes, and he did that to follow him.
“Think that’s your cue to get the fuck outta here,” Eightball noted, and Beck tore his gaze off Pacino to see Eightball leaning a forearm into Spartan’s shoulder, boots crossed at the ankles, Spartan’s arms crossed on his chest, eyes on Pacino like he was fascinated by the workings of an ant.
Spartan was not a small man.
Jesus, Eightball was one tall motherfucker.
He hadn’t paid any attention to these men at all.
Lost in grief, his own mindfuck, like he’d done with Rosalie, he hadn’t paid any attention to his brothers at all.
Maybe, they were a lot like him. Maybe, dead-end jobs and kids wanting the latest smartphone and even shit dicking with their heads Beck had not made the effort to know, they’d looked for a brotherhood and found themselves on a path they didn’t want to be on and didn’t know how to get off.
Just like him.
But he didn’t know.
Because he hadn’t paid a lick of attention.
Beck looked back when Pacino struggled to his feet, drew in a big breath, two, before he sneered, “You bunch of big dumbfucks will be disbanded in a year. You don’t got what it takes to be an MC.”
“Funny, feels to me like the heavy that’s been weighing us down has just been lifted,” Griller remarked. “I feel like a flower blossoming.”
“The poet speaks,” Muzzle muttered with humor.
“Swaying in a light breeze,” Griller went on.
“Crazy fuck,” Core mumbled, but that mumble held amusement.
“Losers,” Pacino said under his breath as he moved to the door.
“Fucktard,” Eightball replied.
“Asshole!” Pacino shot back, standing at the door.
“Man, you aren’t gonna win this because, first, your ass ain’t out the door yet and it’s still out the door. Second, I’ve sunk my dick in pussy in the last decade, to be precise, this morning before I came here, I came in her, and you can’t get pussy unless you pay for it, which I think is half the definition of a fucktard. And third, you actually just are a fucktard,” Eightball returned.
Pacino scowled at Eightball before he gave his parting shot.
And it was the parting shot of a fucktard.
“I hope you all rot in hell.”
“That’s somethin’ a girl would say,” Rainman remarked.
Pacino slammed out the door.
“Digger, door works for you too,” Web noted.
That was when Beck turned to see Digger was standing, rooted to the spot.
“Digger, Resurrection meetings are for brothers only. You need to leave,” Web pushed.
“I don’t have my brothers, I don’t have dick,” Digger whispered.
“You shoulda thought of that before you offered us up to Lannigan,” Web returned.