The dude was around Tank’s height, but much thinner. His broad shoulders and chest, and the way he carried himself suggested a bigger guy, more muscular. Someone who could ride that Ultra Glide with ease. He waved to the woman, and Tank caught sight of a tat sleeve on his right arm, although he couldn’t make out the details. A memory seized him, and he looked down at the tattoo on his arm. The day after T-Rex was patched into the club, he and Tank had gone to the top tattoo shop in Conundrum to celebrate with matching tats.
His skin prickled and he stared harder at the man who had now retreated into the shadows. The way the dude held himself, the way he moved, his height, the sleeve, all reminded him of T-Rex. And yet T-Rex had at least fifty or sixty pounds on this guy, his hair was always short, and he would never be caught dead in tourist gear or without his cut. And T-Rex would never have been able to afford a bike like that. Hell, he doubted any of the Sinners except maybe Jagger or Zane would be able to drop that sort of cash on a bike.
As if he knew Tank was watching, the dude looked up and stared straight at him. But damned if his hair didn’t hide his face.
Tank’s phone buzzed, and he checked the text. Sparky and Gunner had seen two Jacks just outside of town and needed him to come right away and help chase the bastards down. Tank looked up again, but the man and woman were gone.
*
“I think T-Rex is alive.”
Tank paused, letting the Sinner executive board take in the revelation. He’d thought about the dude at the gas station as he and Sparky and Gunner chased and lost the pair of Black Jacks on the mountain pass. He’d thought about him when he returned to the gas station to ask about the couple on the bike. He’d thought about him on the ride home, and while he rolled around in his bed at the clubhouse, remembering the good times he and T-Rex spent together, and how well he knew his best friend.
Maybe not well enough.
“No fucking way.” Zane, the Sinner VP and Jagger’s best friend, folded his arms and glared, his eyes dark. “Dax tortured that Black Jack in our dungeon for three days. There was nothing coming out of that bastard’s mouth that wasn’t the truth. Yeah, it was hard to hear that the body Sparky and Gunner found in the Black Jack dungeon wasn’t T-Rex, and that he was still alive when we had the funeral, but Tank, man, now we know for sure he’s gone. You gotta let it go.”
Why the fuck did everyone keep telling him to let it go? If it had been him in the Black Jack dungeon, T-Rex would never have let it go. Never.
“I pulled the tapes from the gas station.” Tank spun his laptop around so everyone could see. The entire board was present: Jagger and Zane, Gunner and Sparky, Cade, Dax, and the senior member-at-large, Shaggy. T-Rex and Tank had shared the club’s junior member-at-large position and T-Rex’s empty chair was a reminder that someone would soon have to step into his shoes. “The owner wasn’t too happy,” he continued. “I had to pull my weapon and pay a heavy price so he wouldn’t call the cops.”
He pushed PLAY and showed the grainy footage to the board, although even he had to admit it wasn’t convincing. The cameras didn’t capture the things that had made Tank so certain he was looking at T-Rex—the way he held his shoulders and cocked his head when he was talking to the cashier, his stride and his constant fiddling with what Tank was sure was a knife under his shirt. But that damned hair hid his face, and the camera angle made it impossible to see the details of the tat on his arm. “He was buying pizza by the slice,” Tank offered into the silence. He stopped the tape on the best image—a full frontal of the dude, face obscured, but holding a pizza box in his hand.
“Doesn’t even look like him,” Shaggy said. “Wrong body type. Wrong hair. And where’s his cut? Can you imagine T-Rex going anywhere without his cut? Or being free and not high-tailing it back to the Sinners? That boy was born to be a Sinner. He lived and breathed for this club. He’s dead or he’s here at this table, and since I don’t see his face, then he’s not coming back.”
“It’s him,” Tank said, his voice rising in desperation. “Look how he moves…”
“Tank. Brother.” Jagger held up his hand. “It’s hard to lose a brother, but T-Rex was special, and we all know he was your closest friend. You’re gonna see him in so many faces. You’re gonna hear his voice again and again. And always you turn only to find out it’s not him, and you feel like someone’s just punched you in the gut. I’ve been through it. We all have. And although it’s hard to hear it now, it will get easier. Just give it time.”
“I just want to go back up there and check it out, maybe ask a few questions, drive around…”
“I hear you, brother,” Jagger said. “But if the man you saw was T-Rex, then he’s not in danger and he’ll be making his way home. If we weren’t at war with the Black Jacks, I’d drive up there with you to check it out, but these are dangerous times. I can’t let you go alone, and I can’t spare the men to go with you.” He thudded his fist on the table. “I’m not losing another brother to those goddam bastard Jacks.”