Thank fuck it was rainin’.
Yeah, it fit the mood, which was good. Loulou woulda liked that.
But even better, it hid the fact that my grown ass son was cryin’ beside me as he comforted his woman and his sister. I didn’t blame him for cryin’. How could I when I’d spent the past forty-eight hours leaking tears like a broken fuckin’ faucet?
Besides, I was fuckin’ thankful that he had it in him to take care of Cress and H.R.
I was barely keepin’ myself together.
The crater in the middle of my chest kept yawning open like the jaws of a monster to swallow up every ounce of strength I mighta had under other circumstances. I was no father, no Prez. I was barely a man, held together by three bottles of Canadian whiskey and a serious prayer.
That’s right, Zeus fuckin’ Garro, President of the maddest, baddest, fuckin’ richest MC in the country was praying.
And he was praying with every atom of his crumblin’ black soul that God would send Lou back to him.
She wasn’t gone yet, I reminded myself for the thirteen-thousandth time. She was hanging on tight to life, fighting like only my little warrior could.
The docs said she had inhalation injury made worse by the preexistin’ condition of her lungs ’cause of the chemo. There was a thick tube stuck down her throat and they’d put her in a medical coma so her body could have a chance of healin’.
Wasn’t allowed to see her for the first five hours I sat there in the hospital reception, yellin’ and demandin’ to be let in to see my girl.
They refused.
She was seventeen and technically, still under the guardianship of her parents.
So, I’d had to wait five hours while the cops contacted the Lafayettes then visited with Lou. The mayor had glared at me as he came and went but there was genuine fuckin’ panic and sorrow in his face when he left after an hour of visitin’.
It was the panic, I was stuck on most.
I’d been railin’ at the fuckin’ nurses and doctors for the eighth time about lettin’ me in to see Lou when Phillipa Lafayette appeared beside me.
She’d been wearing a pink suit with a pink band in her hair. It struck me in the throat that she looked like an older, sadder Loulou. Phillipa tried to hide it behind her conservative, ugly clothes and a shit-ton of pearls, but she was almost just as much a bombshell as her daughter.
Thank fuck, I’d gotten to Lou in time to stop her from becomin’ her frigid bitch of a mother.
The woman had stared at me for a long minute. Watched my chest heave with the force of my fury, my fists tight at my sides and my eyes, I knew it, were crazy. I was a beast at the end of his rope, threatening to go green as the Hulk in about two seconds fuckin’ flat if someone didn’t let me see Lou.
“You can come in,” she’d said in such a soft voice I’d had to lean forward to hear it and she’d flinched as I’d done it.
“Come a-fuckin’-gain?”
Her lips pursed and she held her purse to her chest like a shield. “I said, you can come in and see her. She’d want that.”
I blinked at her for a sec before decidin’ not to give a fuck about the reasons for her change of heart.
“Put my fuckin’ name on the approved list,” I snarled as I stormed across the hall and into the white room housin’ my fallen angel.
Since then, this was the third time I’d been forced to leave her bedside and the only time it was worth it.
My brother Mute deserved a funeral befitting of the gods.
And we were givin’ it to him.
Every single brother from every chapter of The Fallen on the west coast of North America and our neighborin’ province of Alberta was in First Light Church Graveyard. They spread nearly as far as the eye could see like a murder of ravens and when we’d done the funeral procession through town, seemed every citizen in Entrance had come out to watch The Fallen flood Main Street on a tide of rolling thunder.
Only family was close to the deep wound in the earth where the casket was bein’ lowered, a circle of people linked by choice insteada blood that would always and had before, bled for each other.
Cops ran like a loose chain-link fence around the perimeter, hemmin’ us in and watchful of so many outlaws in one space. It was standard procedure for an MC funeral to have the cops up our ass but I fuckin’ hated that they were there today watchin’ like they always did instead of doin’. The only thing they were fuckin’ good for was keepin’ the press at bay.
“Zeus Garro, I understand you would like to say a few words.” Pastor Lafayette was doin’ the ceremony. It was fucked as shit but I respected the guy. He didn’t like my way of life, didn’t like that his granddaughter was livin’ that same life beside me, but he supported me anyway because it was what she wanted.
So, he was doin’ the ceremony for a biker and not carin’ that it was unconventional as fuck.
I stomped through the mud to the microphone beside the pastor and pulled my presidency all around me like a fuckin’ shroud. The sound of tears underscored the rain, could see the tracks of ’em on the cheeks of women and brothers alike. This was not a happy time for the club. The loss of a brother hadn’t happened to the main charter of the MC since I’d killed Crux and inadvertently started this whole mess.
It was up to me to be strong, to be Atlas bended on one knee with the world on my shoulders, holdin’ up my family for as long as they needed that from me.
I took a deep breath, thought of Lou to give me strength, and started.
“Wonder if those motherfuckers who ended Mute woulda done it if they’d seen a movie of his life. They woulda seen a neglected, abused kid with huge brown eyes wiser an’ more soulful than ten grown mens. They woulda seen his character grow with the struggle of bein’ different, how he found acceptance with a brotherhood that nurtured ’im and how he threw himself body and fuckin’ soul into givin’ that back and more.” The sobs were louder now, in my ears with more in my throat. Fuck, if I was gonna cry but fuck me if I’d ever had a better reason to.
“Yeah, I wonder if they woulda killed a man like that if they’d known him; if they’d known his quiet fuckin’ wit, how he could play us all like fuckin’ pawns without even sayin’ a word. He lived by a simple mandate like the rest of us, brotherhood, loyalty, livin’ free and even in the end, dyin’ hard. Brings me some small degree of comfort to know my brother died how he woulda wanted to, defendin’ his and my girl. Whatever place he’s in where fallen angels go, I know he’s livin’ a dead man’s dream ’cause a soul like his woulda bought him first class seats to paradise.”
I nodded out at the sea of my people, catchin’ eyes with Nova as he held Lila, with Buck as he cranked the mechanism that lowered Mute’s black coffin into the cold, wet earth.
“And while Mute finds peace in the Underworld, we’ll be busy up here findin’ justice for ’im,” I declared, hand over the microphone so only the force of my lungs carried the promise of vengeances to the eager ears of my brothers.
A shout swelled in the air like a punctuation mark.
I nodded, tipped my chin at the pastor, and stepped down.
King was the first to step forward when the coffin was finally bedded down, a silver coin in his hand, probably a nickel. His face was gaunt like a fuckin’ skeleton’s, his lips held tight against the force of his misery. I wanted to go forward and wrap my kid in my arms like I’d done when he was a boy, but he was a man now and it was man’s walk to the edge of the grave to pay last respects.
“Go easy, brother, knowin’ you touched our lives like the hand of God ’imself.” He flipped the coin into the grave, payment for the ferryman or the pearly gates, wherever death mighta taken him.
The Fallen always pay their debts, even in death.
So one by one, my brothers stepped up to toss a coin onto the coffin and pay Mute’s way to Eden.
It took half an hour just for the Entrance brothers and when I stepped up last, we were all soaked through past the skin to the fuckin’ bone.
But I took my time ’cause I had two coins, one for me and one for Lou.
My heart burned like a torch in my chest, never fuckin’ goin’ out, not since I’d rode into Entrance straight to the fuckin’ hospital and found Lou with tubes in her mouth and so many damn needles in her arms she looked like a pin cushion. Fuck but she shoulda been there beside me. I coulda been strong for her the way I didn’t feel strong for anyone else.
Instead, she was fightin’ for her life in a fuckin’ hospital bed and her brother, my brother, was in the cold ground.
“Rest in peace, Walker Nixon,” I said, usin’ his full name for the last time. “Deserve more than this for the guardin’ you gave my girl. Wish you could know I’d sell my fuckin’ soul to get you back. For you, for me, for the club and for our girl.”
I tossed the coins into the ground but couldn’t see ’em through the wet in my eyes.
Fuck me.
A small hand went to my back and I jerked around to see H.R. starin’ up at me with red-stained eyes.
“Dad,” she whispered through her tear-swollen throat.
I lashed my arms around her and carted her up against my chest, tryin’ to breathe through the knife in my heart as I held my sobbin’ girl in a group of mostly grown men who wanted desperately to sob too.
“Need to talk to you.”
The party was windin’ up, not down.
It was the way of biker funerals. First came the procession markin’ “Mute’s Last Ride”, then the ceremony, then the reveling. No one could celebrate a life well lived like my MC brethren.
The clubhouse was overfilled and spillin’ out into the complex, the big industrial lights on across the lot so that everything was coated in yellow. People were shitfaced, high off their rockers and drunk as Irishmen. Families had left when the food the old ladies had put out disappeared and now it was just the brothers, partying hard to forget and celebrate.
I wasn’t.
I didn’t want to be with my fuckin’ brothers drinkin’ beer and doin’ shots.
I wanted to be by my girl’s bedside just in case she woke even though the docs told me that wouldn’t be for days yet even if she did wake up.
She would.
She would wake up ’cause no God was cruel enough to give her to me only to rip her from my hands months later. No God would take away the idol of a man’s religion just when he needed it most.
She’d wake up.
And I needed to be at the clubhouse with my brothers. They needed their Prez. I loved Lou more than most grown men are capable of ever lovin’ anythin’. Loved her enough to kill and die for her ’cause only the finality of death could match the finality of my kinda love for that girl.
But it was my brothers who had taught me how to love like that. To do it eternally with loyalty and pride.
So, I was leanin’ against the wall beside the front door of the clubhouse, sippin’ a beer gone warm and listenin’ to Bat, Buck, Blackjack, and Priest shoot the shit.
Then, Bat said, “Need to talk to you.”
“So, talk.”
He rubbed his head and I noticed his hair was longer, that all our hair was longer now. It’d been nearly two months since we’d shaved our heads for my girl.
“Hate to say this, ’specially right now, but we don’t got shit to go on ’ere. The cops have been fuckin’ assholes about not sharin’ their intel and the only thing we know is that Ace Munford is leadin’ the Nightstalkers and the man’s got a helluva a bone to pick with you. We don’t know where their fuckin’ base is or how they knew about Lou and H.R. bein’ up at the cabin unless we have a rat in our ranks.”
“’Course we have a fuckin’ rat,” I growled. “I need to know who the fuck it is so I can gut the bastard with a chainsaw.”
Blackjack laughed. “What makes you so sure there’s a rat? They coulda been followin’ Lou or H.R. knowin’ they’re your weak spot and then just struck when the chance came.”
Buck thumped him on the back with a meaty fist. “Don’t be a fucktard, B.J.”
B.J. ran a hand over his pale buzzed head and peered up at me. “She’s your weakness, boss. Just sayin’ you should be careful with who knows that. Shame somethin’ happened to her ’cause of ya.”
I took a step forward, the fury that lay at the heart of me ignited with one fuckin’ little match. Trouble was I was fuckin’ furious with myself. “You wanna say that again, brother?”
He laughed nervously. “Nah, listen, I just meant, she’s a good girl. Maybe, maybe this is a sign that this ain’t the life for ’er.”
His words fucked me dry. They were the same words been goin’ ’round my head for the last four days since the fire.
She was too good for this life.
Too good for murder, wrath and greed, too good for all the vices I lived and breathed.
My girl was an angel and I’d taken her to the dark side like she had a hope in hell of thrivin’ there.
I did it ’cause I was a selfish fuckin’ bastard and once a man’s tasted the kinda sweet ambrosia Lou’d given me, there was no goin’ back.
So I didn’t pray to God that I’d leave her to a better life if—no when—she pulled through.
I knew myself and I knew I wasn’t capable of that level of self-sacrifice.
But I did pray.
I went every goddamn day to First Light Church and sat in the same front pew Lou’d spent almost every Sunday mornin’ of her life in ’til she found me again, and I fuckin’ prayed to God for her life. Pastor fuckin’ Lafayette had seen me the first day and sat with me each time, sayin’ nothin’ just lendin’ me his goodness so I could use it to amplify my own and make my prayers shine brighter.
If God’d give her back to me, I’d never let ’er go. Not to violence, wrath or greed. Not to vice or virtue. Not even to death.
I’d keep her safe, I promised the Almighty, and I’d do it keeping ’er at my side and guardin’ her ’til my last fuckin’ breath.
Still, I didn’t need fuckin’ B.J. remindin’ me of the dark voices in my head sayin’ I was no good for her and where the fuck did he get off thinkin’ that shit himself?
“You got a problem with me, Blackjack?” I asked low.
Somethin’ dark flashed in his eyes then fled like prey. “Sorry, brother, you don’t need my shit.”
“Damn right, he doesn’t.” Buck hit him again, this time hard in the shoulder. “Shut your mouth ’til I tell you to fuckin’ open it again.”
“Prez, there’s someone here you need to see,” Axe-Man said as he came up the steps.
“Who?”
“Lysander Garrison.”
Immediately, I was tearin’ down the steps to the front gates. The fuck stood there talkin’ to a mean lookin’ Nova.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here? It better be to fuckin’ explain why you were with those fuckers who killed my brother and got my girl wastin’ away in the hospital,” I roared as I picked the six-foot-two motherfucker up by the neck and shoulder and shoved him into the chain-link fence.
He blinked at me, calm as could fuckin’ be. “It is.”
“Start talkin’ then.”
“After you let me go and told me to get lost forever, Officer Danner picked me up as I was hightailin’ it outta town. Told me he needed my help puttin’ the Nightstalkers down for good.”
Buck snorted behind me. “Like the cops could take down an operation like that. Fuckin’ pigs.”
Blackjack laughed his nervous, yippy laugh.
I turned to glare at him and found him sweatin’, lookin’ back and forth between Lysander and me like we were puttin’ on a tennis match.
He was high as a fuckin’ kite and somethin’ about havin’ a high brother involved with club business had always seemed like a bad fuckin’ idea.
“Get him in a cold fuckin’ shower ’fore he keels over and dies,” I ordered Priest who immediately acted, his face twisted with disgust as he dragged the tweaker away.
“You gonna tell me where those motherfucking Nightstalkers are hidin’?” I asked, turnin’ back to Lysander.
“No,” he said. “But mostly ’cause they don’t have a base of operations here. They have a clubhouse down in Vancouver right now, but they won’t relocate ’til they flush you out. Like I said, I’m workin’ with Danner and even the cops can’t get a location on ’em.”
“Why the fuck would you help Danner? You think I was lyin’ when I told you I’d put you in the ground if you showed your face again in Entrance?”
“Wanted to be able to look my sister in the eye again and tell ’er I’d made things right.”
“And how are you makin’ things right? Far as I can tell, my brother is dead ’cause of you,” I snarled in his face.
“I know. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. But Ace is a maniac and no matter how long I ride with him, I can’t predict what that high motherfucker is gonna do. Someone told him your girls were up at that cabin. One of The Fallen.”
“Fuck,” I roared into his face and squeezed his neck tighter. “Who!?”
“Don’t know. All I came ’ere to tell you was that Danner’s a good cop and between the two of us we’re this fuckin’ close to nailin’ ’em.”
“And what the fuck do you want me to do about it?”
I stared at his neck to center the anger threatenin’ to overwhelm me. I stared at the pulse in his throat thumping up against my thumb and I thought about how easy it would be to snap his neck. I’d done it before; it wasn’t as hard as you’d think.
“One of the players, Warren, he has a thing for Louise—” His voice cut off with a garble because I now had my hand pressed to his windpipe.
“You dare to fuckin’ mention her name when she’s barely fuckin’ breathin’?” I said quiet. “Don’t think you understand that I’m a fuckin’ monster, Sander, and I ain’t afraid to kill a man. Not even one that’s kin to my son’s woman or one in bed with the fuckin’ police. I’ll snap your neck and have you with the pigs in record time. You know it takes pigs eight minutes to eat a full-grown body?”
Finally, there was fear in his eyes and his body stank of it, of sweat and somethin’ more metallic.
“You go back to Danner and you tell him to get his glory on his fuckin’ own. The Fallen is not helpin’ anyone but their own,” I growled then shoved off him before I throttled ’im and stalked off to take my frustrations out on a fuckin’ punchin’ bag instead of Garrison’s motherfuckin’ face.
