“Holden.” His voice was a whisper, wet and rattled. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. “Did I—did I do good?”
“You did good, kid.” I could barely get the words out. “You did so good.”
“I proved myself, right?” His eyes were glazing over, that eager light fading into something distant. “I’m a full brother now?”
“You always were.” I gripped his hand, feeling the life draining out of him with every heartbeat. “You always were, Danny. From the first day.”
He smiled—and then his eyes went fixed, and his hand went limp in mine, and he was gone.
Nineteen years old. Turns twenty next month.
Wouldhave turned twenty next month.
The firefight ended eventually. I don’t remember how. One moment I was holding Danny’s body, and the next Dutch was pulling me up, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my ears. The shooters were dead or fled—I didn’t care which. Handful and the follow van had taken primary and were heading to the pickup—I didn’t care about that either.
All I could see was Danny’s face. That last smile.
I proved myself, right?
“Holden.” Dutch’s voice finally cut through the fog. “Brother. We need to move.”
“He’s dead.” The words came out flat, empty. “Danny’s dead.”
“I know. And we’ll mourn him properly. But right now we need to get out of here before more show up.”
I looked down at my hands. They were covered in blood. Danny’s blood. The blood of a kid who’d taken a bullet meant for me because I hadn’t seen the shooter in time.
My route. My plan.My failure.
“Holden.” Dutch’s grip on my arm tightened. “We go. Now.”
I let him lead me to my bike. Let him position Danny’s body in the cargo van with more gentleness than I’d ever seen from our president. Let him signal the brothers to form up, to ride out, to return from the mission that Danny had died to protect.
The ride back to the clubhouse was a blur of asphalt, wind and the taste of bile in my throat. Every mile, I replayed the ambush in my head. Every mile, I saw Danny stepping in front of me. Every mile, I felt his blood on my hands.
I’d promised to bring everyone home. I’d promised to keep him safe. I’d told him to trust my lead, to follow my orders, and he had—he’d followed them all the way to his death.
The clouds finally opened up as we pulled into the compound.
I parked my bike and sat there for a long moment, rain soaking through my clothes. Danny’s blood still on my hands. Brothers moved around me. I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Because if I moved, I’d have to face what had happened. I’d have to walk into that clubhouse and see the empty chair where Danny should have been sitting. I’d have to call his mother—his mother, fuck, how was I going to tell his mother—and explain that her son was dead because I hadn’t seen the shooter in time.
“Brother.” Colt’s voice, soft and steady. “Come inside. Get dry.”
“I killed him.”
“No. The shooter killed him.”
“He took a bullet for me.” I finally looked up, and Colt flinched at whatever he saw in my eyes. “He jumped in front of a gun because I didn’t see it coming. That’s on me.”
“Holden—”
“Leave me alone.”
He hesitated, then nodded once and walked away. I stayed on my bike, rain pouring down, replaying the moment over and over until I couldn’t see anything else.
Danny’s smile.
