GARRET
My bike ate miles for three hours before I turned back toward town. East on Route 12, south through the farmland past Hollister, and back again on roads I hadn't ridden in years. None of it helped.
Usually the wind in my face stole whatever emotion I was dealing with and swallowed it until what remained could be drowned by a few shots of bourbon. But today nothing seemed to help—and I'd managed to pick up a pint in Vincent to drown as much as possible.
I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that Sara had lied to me. She looked me in the eye while we had sex and knew how I'd feel about this whole situation and she let me make her come while she kept her precious secret. It hurt.
It hurt worse than her ghosting me for four years then waltzing back into my life like she had done nothing wrong.
How could she? I had a kid and I had missed so many important moments in his life—his first words, the first time he rolled over, when he crawled, his first step. I could never get those thingsback. They were gone, in the past, and I didn't even know what the future held.
But eventually I was tired and I was running low on fuel. I circled back toward Grove Hill, and home. And smoke was the first thing I saw when Route 9 curved toward the Anvil.
Thick black clouds rolled off the roofline in columns that smeared across the sky. Then I noticed the lights—two fire trucks parked at angles across the lot with ladders extended and hoses snaking across the pavement. Three police cruisers sat behind them with their lights flashing and a crowd stood in the road watching the bar burn. Club members and town folk all clustered to gawk at the sight.
I pulled my bike to a stop on the shoulder as the stench of gasoline hit me. The ripe scent permeated the air so thick it was obvious this wasn’t an accidental fire. Somebody had walked up to the Anvil and lit it up on purpose. It had me on my feet, weaving through people to find Fox and make sure he was okay as I glanced up at the first responders holding a hose on the flames.
Butch grabbed my arm before I'd made it past the first truck. He was covered in soot with a white cloth to his face coughing. "Where's Fox?" I asked.
"Tailgate." Butch jerked his head toward his truck at the edge of the lot. "You know this was them damn Locusts, right?" I scowled at him because I didn't doubt it was true. I just wondered what it was that Lightning had done to incite this.
"Breathe, buddy," I coached, turning toward where he had nodded.
Fox sat on the tailgate of Lightning's pickup with a bottle hanging from one hand and his eyes locked on the flames eating through the front wall. His face was blank, though the trace of sadness in his eyes revealed what he was really feeling. It felt crushing seeing the man who was supposed to lead us just staring like a mannequin. He had no motivation to gather the club and protect it, and I had no intention of letting Lightning do something rash and stupid.
I pushed through a few more clusters of people and stopped by our president, catching his eye.
"Fox," I said. "We need to talk about?—"
"Lightning's handling it," he grunted without looking at me.
Lightning stood twenty feet from the police line screaming at a group of patched members, his arms swinging and his face red. "We ride right now! Every one of you, right now, we go down there and we burn their whole goddamn city to the ground!"
"Mr. Laramore, you need to calm down." One of the officers stepped forward with his hand raised. "We'll conduct an investigation and?—"
"Your investigation can go to hell. Those Locust bastards torched our bar and you're standing here with your thumbs up your asses while they celebrate." Lightning shoved past the officer and pointed at the bikes lined up along the road. "Mount up! All of you!"
I watched the scene unfold knowing if I didn't do something my brothers were gonna march themselves right into a prison cell or worse. "Lightning," I called but he ignored me, and the cop grabbed his elbow.
Yeah, this was bad, but sending club members to torch an entire small town wasn't what I signed up for. We were brothers, and brothers stuck together, but I wasn't about to kill for anyone. Least of all Lightning.
"Sir, step back right now," the cop said.
"Get your hands off me?—"
Lightning threw an elbow, then knocked the cop to his feet, and instantly two officers tackled him to the pavement. His face hit the asphalt and they cuffed him while he swore and thrashed, and his boots scraped against the ground as they hauled him upright and walked him to the nearest cruiser, shoving him in. The door slammed shut behind him and his muffled shouting carried through the glass.
Then things erupted. Rusty and Butch were shouting, and half a dozen patched members started raising hell. It wasn't long before a few prospects were mounting up ready to take off, and I turned to Fox.
"Fox," I said again, turning back to the tailgate. "Lightning's been arrested. That puts me next in line."
Fox took a drink from the bottle and said nothing, but his eyes tracked up to my face. He was wasted, and getting worse by the second. I had to do something.
Butch stepped toward a police cruiser and Rusty was right behind him, and half the club surged forward with fists up and mouths running. One of the younger guys picked up a chunk of debris from the parking lot and cocked his arm back.
"Hold it!" I shouted, stepping between them and the cops. "Every one of you, stop where you are." Butch turned and Rustystopped mid-stride. "We're no good to the president if we're all sitting in a cell next to Lightning." My eyes swept the group and held each man long enough to make the point. "Stand down. Now."
"We gotta do something, Crank…" Rusty coughed a few times and covered his mouth with his arm, and Butch scowled at me.
