I considered the question.
“I think there’s a good chance he’s off the reservation,” I replied. “None of this makes sense. We’ve got a truce, the Reapers voted on it. Shit with Gracie happened a long time ago—if this was a club hit, I don’t think they’d have bothered talking truce in the first place. Retribution’s worthless if you don’t claim it.”
“Asshole couldn’t have f**ked Burke over better if we’d planned it out with him,” Skid said, sighing. “We don’t shut this down, it could take him out. All of us f**ked then.”
I didn’t bother responding, because it was the simple truth. We had one shot at revolution in the club. Mason had already given Burke the heads-up—his cancer was spreading. The national president of the Devil’s Jacks MC was on his way out. He wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer, which meant Burke had to make his move soon or it was all over.
This was our chance to take the Devil’s Jacks back, make the club back into what it’d been created to be. A brotherhood of riders. Not a bunch of cheap thugs looking to line their own pockets. We’d hoped for more time to consolidate our position, but if the truce held, we’d have the votes we needed. The charters down south were desperate for help keeping out the cartel—help we couldn’t give them if we had to fight a two-front war with the Reapers.
“Hey, bro?” Skid asked.
“What?”
“Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure even if we manage to pull some kind of peace out of the fire, you won’t get to keep your pretty toy upstairs.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, letting myself fall back into a chair. I scratched my stomach and eyed his can of Monster. I needed some of that shit. “It’s f**ked.”
Silence fell between us.
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” he asked. “‘It’s f**ked’? Where’s the big plan? You’re the one always thinkin’ things through, telling us we need a strategy.”
“The plan isn’t coming together this time,” I said. “Do you still think we can pull it off?”
“Pull off what? Surviving tomorrow? I give us sixty-forty. Feelin’ optimistic.”
I laughed, because he was probably right. I’d get Em through it, though. No way that pretty girl was gettin’ caught in the crossfire. I wasn’t quite sure why I felt so strongly about keeping her safe, but I did.
“Tomorrow I’m going to meet with Hayes,” I said. “Burke’s checking out his story, maybe our sources down south can say whether it’s true he doesn’t know where Toke is. Based on Em’s reaction, I think there’s a pretty good chance he’s gone rogue.”
“How do you know she’s not spouting the party line?” Skid said. “I think we’ve established your dick’s doing the thinking when it comes to her.”
“You’re probably right there,” I admitted. “But I believe she’s telling the truth. According to her, he’s been on the run for a full week. He sliced her up at a party last weekend. She’s got a knife wound—someone cut her.”
That caught Skid’s attention.
“Damn,” he muttered. “What the hell is going on in that club? Hayes is serious as shit about his girls, no way he’ll let that stand.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “That’s why I’m not ready to give up on the truce just yet. If she’s telling the truth, they want his head as bad as we do. But what the f**k do I know? She could be setting me up.”
Skid laughed.
“There’s karma for you . . . You at least get laid up there?”
“I’m not gonna answer that.”
Skid started laughing so hard he choked on his drink.
“You f**king pu**y,” he muttered finally. “She’s got your balls in her pocket already. When’s the last time you got some ass? Haven’t seen any coming out of your room lately.”
“I’m not gonna answer that, either.”
“You think Princess Emmy’s got a bike?” he asked me, an unholy gleam in his eyes.
“No idea.”
“Better find out. You’ll look cute riding bitch.”
I considered tackling him, but it seemed like too much work. I flipped him off instead, then reached for a game controller.
“Wanna play?”
“Sure.”
It felt good to zone out, and for a little while I was able to pretend we were back at our house and this was just like any other Friday night. Well, except for being f**kin’ sober and having two girls cuffed to the beds upstairs.
Well, except for being f**kin’ sober. Heh.
After a while Skid spoke, not bothering to look at me.
“Just remember you can’t keep her.”
“I know.”
“Just checkin’, bro.”
“No worries. I got my orders.”
“Don’t forget—Jacks first. You really like her?”
“Jesus. What is this, Oprah?”
“If you give a shit about her at all, you’ll hurt her bad. Make her give up on you now. Burke wanted her to fall for you, but with this kidnapping shit nobody’ll think twice about her hating your guts after it’s over.”
I snorted.
“Considering she’s cuffed to a bed after being lied to, you really think I need to go out of my way to hurt Em more? Seems like overkill.”
“You got scratches on your back, dickwad. They don’t look like defensive wounds to me, so no, it’s not overkill. You need to hurt her so much she never looks back.”