“Nah,” I say before turning my gun on the only patch holder standing and put a bullet through his skull. The pride the Prospects once wore is diminishing now that they are looking at what could be their final moment. I should fuck with them, but I won’t. They’re almost innocent. It pisses me off that none of them were packing. Their sponsor probably told them they couldn’t carry.
“Turn around,” I demand, and the lip of one begins to quiver as he obeys. I walk around them so I can look into the face of the wounded man on the floor. “Why are they prospecting when you have been handing out patches to everyone else?” He hesitates to answer and Shady puts the toe of his boot in his side. He yells and when Shady releases it, he starts talking.
“They didn’t come from an MC. The only way you can roll up without prospecting is if you came from a three-patch MC.” His information isn’t enough to betray his club, but if he answers my next question, that information will.
“Why are you building an army?” Silence. Just as I had predicted. He was loyal to a degree, at least. When Shady pushes against his side again, he talks but it’s not what I want to hear. I predicted that too.
“Fuck you! I ain’t saying shit!” he screams at Shady, who looks at me. I shake my head, a move I’ve grown accustomed to here lately.
“You’re gonna talk, but it ain’t gonna be to us. You seem like a smart man, so I’m only gonna say this once. If you fuck it up, your wife and kids will be getting a visit from us. If you don’t have a wife and kids, we’ll get your mother, your father, your grandma, your exes, fucking mailman . . . something. We will find your weakness and we will torture them in front of you. If y’all been talking about me like I think you have, then you know I don’t make idle threats. Your SA made this shit personal. And he fucking paid for it. This wasn’t an act of Sinner’s Creed. It was an act of Dirk. You tell them that. If you wage a war with our club, you will lose. If the club wants to retaliate, tell them to bring all they got to me, I’ll be waiting.”
I turn back to the Prospects, who wear a look that tells me they are fixing to puke or cry. “When they ask you, and they will, you better let them know what that motherfucker said to me about my ol’ lady. Remind them of the uninvited visit they paid to property of Sinner’s Creed. If you don’t, it’ll be your door I’m knocking on.”
I gauge their reactions and find the one that looks the most guilty. I put my gun behind my back and step up to him, his forehead only a couple of inches from my nose.
“Saylor,” I say, the name burning the back of my throat like a fucking torch. His eyes widen and I know he knows something. “How do you know her?”
The man on the floor starts to say something, but Shady silences him. “Don’t lie to me. I really don’t want to kill you.”
He looks nervously over at the pool table, knowing that although he can’t see the man, he will know him by his voice. “Shady, explain to our friend over there what’s gonna happen if he or any of his brothers puts a hand on one of these Prospects.” I can hear Shady’s muffled voice and the man’s low cries. He won’t touch him. “Talk.”
“I don’t. I was told to follow her and I have been. She goes to this clinic and the club found out she was sick.” He pauses and I know it pains him to say it, but not as much as it’s gonna pain me to hear it. “She’s dying.” The sadness in his eyes is real. And I wonder if he has ever encountered Saylor, or if he is affected by her from a distance.
“How do they know that? Did she tell you?”
“No! Tick, the SA, he talked to her but all he said was that he was your friend. They were in the lobby at the hospital. He never went back . . .” He trails off and I pull my gun from behind my back. I place the barrel right between his eyes, scared that even though this isn’t his fault, his answer might make me angry enough to kill this innocent kid.
“Did he touch her?” I snarl, feeling a mixture of panic and anger forming inside of me.
“He just kissed her hand.” I lower my gun, the relief that he only saw her in a public place and that she wasn’t harmed, almost bringing me to my knees. The anger inside me dies. The panic dies. Saylor will soon die. My sadness is back.
“Get him to a hospital.” I sidestep the Prospects, and Shady is beside me as we jog to our bikes. Sirens are in the distance and I’m sure they’re not for us. Nothing neighbors the building, and the traffic from the interstate is loud enough to drown out any sound that might reach a passing car. But the noise is enough to have me distancing myself from the scene as fast as possible.
And there isn’t a sound loud enough to drown out the Prospect’s words that are screaming in my head. “She’s dying.”
—