“Yeah, well, it’s nothin’ for you to worry about, prospect. Just let it go.”
“You’re my friend, man. So of course I’m going to worry about it. About you,” he says.
“I appreciate the concern but I’m fine, brother,” I tell him.
“I can tell you’re not. I know it’s not my place to say anything but that guilt isn’t yours to carry. That Zavala prick came in with a plan. You were part of that plan. This is all I’m going to say about it until you’re ready to talk,” he says. “But he was always going to kill Prophet and leave you alive. How else would he be able to fracture the MC? Killing all of you would have rallied us all together and he knew it.
“Leaving you alive to tell his tale has the effect of striking fear into everybody’s heart as well as splinter the club. He assumes some people will blame you for Prophet’s death and some won’t. His goal is to drive a wedge between us and break us down before the fight comes. It’s psychological warfare. Don’t let him win, brother.”
I nod and let Adam’s words rattle around in my head and sink into my brain. Intellectually, I know he’s right. There is a wisdom in his words I can’t deny. But I’m not really in a place where I can hear the intellectual side of things right now. It’s still gut-level and emotional for me. I’m just not in a place where I can hear it yet.
“I appreciate you, brother. And I’ll think on what you said,” I tell him. “I’m just not in the right headspace to talk about it right now.”
“I get you, man. And there’s no pressure from me,” he replies. “Just think on it and know I’m always here when you are ready.”
I give him a nod. “Thanks, Adam.”
“Anytime,” he says. “Anyway, where were you last night? I called you because I got that new Star Battle game we’ve been talking about. Thought you might want to play.”
“Yeah, I went over to Pineville last night. Needed to get out of town for a minute and just have a quiet night,” I admit. “Ended up talking to the bartender, Fallon, for most of the night.
“Oh yeah?”
I nod and tell him about what happened at the bar last night, starting with the confrontation with those two idiots and ending with her asking me to go home with her. Through it all, he’s got a salacious little smirk on his face even though I made it crystal clear that nothing like that happened.
“Sounds like quite the conversation,” he says suggestively.
“Yeah. She’s great. I had a good time talking to her.”
“Talking to her, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Smart-ass. We were just talking,” I reply. “And now I’m feeling all conflicted and shit.”
“Why are you feeling conflicted?”
“Because we’re here for Prophet, dude. And I can’t stop thinking about Fallon.”
“Must have been a really good talk.”
“It was amazing. I felt like we really connected, you know?”
“That tends to happen when you’re balls deep in a chick.”
I roll my eyes and look at him. “It’s not that, moron,” I say. “And I don’t think your God would approve of you talking like that.”
“That’s what confession is for, brother.”
We share a quiet laugh, and I shake my head. I look out over the battalion of bikers gathered in the cemetery. Even Tarantula and Montezuma’s Warriors came out to represent and pay their respects to Prophet. Fifty strong. To me, that’s a testament to the kind of man Prophet was. Even his rivals had nothing but respect for him.
I tug the black armband up a little bit higher, making sure it’s secure. We took a vote and we all decided to go helmetless for the ride to the cemetery as a sign of our respect. All of us are also wearing a strip of cloth cut from each of our fallen brother’s shirts as a token of our brotherhood. Like some of the guys, I have my hair pulled back into a tail with the strips of cloth around that. Prophet’s bike should already be sitting graveside for the services. It’s going to be moved afterward and, since he was the founder of the Pharaohs, will have a permanent place of honor in our clubhouse.
We’ll also hang Beaker and Axle’s photos on our memorial wall alongside those of the other brothers we’ve lost so they can watch over the club. To my knowledge, the only fallen brother whose portrait isn’t on the wall is that piece of shit Grease who tried to sell us out to some militia group a little while back. We held no services or memorials for that asshole.
“So, you like this girl, huh?” Adam asks.
I shrug. “I’m not sure yet. I mean, yeah. We had a great time last night. She’s really easy to talk to and she makes me feel light,” I tell him. “She got me laughing and talking when all I wanted to do was get blind drunk last night.”
“And you really didn’t go in there trying to get laid, huh?”
