The room goes dead silent. I don’t realize that I’ve lowered my gun until my arms drops and the weight of the .38 is apparent in my limp arm. The rest of the room all blends together like I have a bad fucking case of tunnel vision. All I can see is Ryan—not Trigger, the guy he’s become—and, for a moment, it takes me back to before either of us were patched.
Back in the day when we were just dumb fucking kids with a dream and no goddamn clue as to what the reality of being patched means. I wouldn’t trade a single fucking second of the time I’ve spent in this club and all that it’s given me—family, brothers, loyalty, and even pride—but there’s a price for all of those things. My choices aren’t my own. The club says jump, and I don’t ask how high. I just fucking do it and wait to be told I’m doing it wrong. That’s how this life goes, and, for the first time since I patched in, I realize there may be a downside to that kind of loyalty.
“How well do you know her?” Grady shouts. The hand that holds his gun shakes with fury. Something about this situation is really fucking him up, and it’s more than just not trusting Princess. Something about this irks him on a much more personal level than I expect for it to. “You really standing here and telling us you’re going to take responsibility for her? If that mouth of hers gets her ass busted? You’re going to bet your life on her silence?”
Everything about this is fucked in a way I’ve never seen before. Ryan isn’t an idiot. He knows what it means to take responsibility for Princess. It means that if she talks, it’s his ass on the line. Taking responsibility for your woman is what we do when we ask the club to vote her in. Trigger’s not stupid enough to push for that yet, but taking responsibility for Princess is a big fucking deal. Looks like Grady’s about to have a serious fucking fight on his hands because I know damn well the next thing Trigger proposes to the club is going to be to vote Princess in—and then she’s everyone’s responsibility.
Looking around the room, I find that a few of the other members have also lowered their guns. We’re witness to something pretty big happening right now. Ryan’s always been a selfish fuck, so for him to be willing to make that sacrifice must mean that he’s serious about Princess. I can’t quite figure it out though. He avoids her like the plague, and when he is around her he’s all moody and shit. Not that he’s Mr. Smiles around anybody or anything, but he’s always so tense in her presence. I didn’t see it before, but now I do. I see a selfish, bastard of a man falling in love.
And it fucking kills me.
I never thought I’d see the day when Trigger was a better man than me. He’s always been the bastard between the two of us, but the way he’s taking it to the wall for his girl? Fuck if I don’t feel like a goddamn tool for not doing more for my girl. She won’t ever admit it, but she needs me, and she needs the club. She’s got Forsaken in her bones and in her heart. Nic’s not a civilian. Like me, she couldn’t make it in her perfectly bland fucking world filled with cubicles and nine to five paper pushing. We need the edge, and the grit, and we need to feel alive. I just have to show her that I can be the man she needs me to be.
“Enough,” I say. I bring my gun back up and point it at Grady’s arm. “This isn’t a fight you’re going to win, Bro.” Grady’s eyes slip over to mine. His features turn downward at the corners, as if he’s in physical pain from what’s going on.
“This ain’t right,” he says much more quietly than I expect. It’s not exactly defeat that shows on his face, but it’s a temporary concession. “We’re a brotherhood. We live and die by a code. If we don’t got that, we don’t got shit. If that doesn’t mean something to the rest of you then I don’t even know who we are anymore.”
Grady lowers his gun and shoves it back into the waistband of his jeans then stalks out of the room. The heavy wooden door wooshes at his exit then slams in his wake. We lower our guns, but don’t move to sit back down. The room is far too charged with energy. We’re just going to have to table the discussion for another time.
“You see what’s happening here?” Diesel says as he places the palms of his hands on the table and rests his weight on them. First, his eyes meet Ryan’s, and then mine. “We’re falling apart over pussy, and it’s bullshit.”