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He never got very far up in the Renegades’ hierarchy while he was still a free man, but he’s inched his way to a comfortable position in here. He’s far from calling any of the shots, but they listen to his opinions, which is probably just because of his age—forty-five — that gives him something like seniority.
He keeps glancing my way too while they speak, his face unreadable.
“So you don’t see a way?” Gene asks sadly then sucks on his cigarette so hard the flame eats well into the filter.
“Not without some serious inside help,” I reply.
“Can they provide that?” Gene asks, nodding at the group of Renegades in a very exaggerated fashion. Great, now they’ll think I’m sitting here worried about them. I’ve been trying real hard to ignore all their glances so far.
“I’m not sure they’re still my friends, Gene,” I say and grin at him. “And I don’t think they ever were the type of friends you trust.”
The Devils are the type of men you can trust. The type of friends that will have your back until the day you die. Or they die. But I left them. And my life’s been nothing but one shit storm after another ever since. I’ve been thinking a lot about that today too.
I have my shank safely hidden away in the rubber sole of my white, prison-issued deck shoes. When they come at me, which could be any minute now, I’ll prioritize taking out the two Riders. I owe Hunter and the Devils that much. Hopefully they’ll remember me more fondly than they currently do after that. Because I probably won’t live long once that’s done.
Snake gets up first, stretching his arms back behind him as the rest get to their feet too. He barks something at my father who tries to follow, and whatever it is, it makes him stay back, avoiding my eyes. The rest fall in around him as Snake leads the pack towards me. The two Riders are taking up the rear. It’ll take some maneuvering to get to them before the others get to me.
“We should go inside?” Gene says in a high-pitched voice, his dark eyes wide and full of fear, fixed on the approaching men.
“That won’t change a damn thing about what’s coming,” I tell him and remain seated. “And I face the music that’s meant for me.”
Damn, how I wish I’d just stayed with the Devils and Harper. Her music is meant for me. And now I’ll pay for that mistake.
Snake and the rest encircle the bench Gene and I are sitting on. There’s eight of them, including the two Riders who stop just behind the row of Renegades.
“You should tell your pet rat to scram,” Snake says, meaning Gene who is now so tense he’s shaking. But he’s standing—or sitting, more like—his ground.
“He’s neither of those things,” I tell Snake pointedly, but turn to Gene all the same, and tell him he should go inside.
“I’m staying,” Gene replies in a shaky voice, then vibrates all over as Snake looks at him sharply. “Get! Now!”
Gene shakes even worse and luckily recognizes the hard command in Snake’s voice as a threat. He glances at me apologetically as he rises and I nod at him reassuringly. The Renegades part just enough to let him limp away, then close the circle around me again.
What I’ll do is stay low to the ground and barrel through the first row of them, reach the Riders, slit their throats and then see what other damage I can do before it’s all over for me. That’s why I’m still sitting down. If I were standing, my plan won’t work so well. Closer to the ground, I have more of a chance.
I trained with the Devils long enough to be able to see that. But no amount of training with them or anyone else would convince me that I can survive an eight on one fight.
“You turning on me, Snake?” I ask him pointedly. “I see you brought all your friends to help you.”
He grins or snarls, I’m not sure.
“I saw you talk with Cross’ son yesterday,” he says. “You want him dead. We want him dead too.”
“And the rest of the Devil scum,” says one of the Riders—a tall wiry guy whose neck veins are sticking out and pulsing so nicely they’ll make an easy target for my blade.
Good luck with that, I’m thinking, but what I say is, “I’d like to see someone show them they’re not the top dogs anymore.”
“But would you like to be doing the showing?” Snake asks.
And now, even my dumb ass is starting to realize this isn’t the start of my last fight, but something else.
“Yeah,” I say. “Hunter’s the reason I’m in here. I’d like to finish what the Riders started, that’s for sure.”
I hope they’re not picking up on how choked up and clumsy my words are coming out. It’s one thing flinging threats at Hunter, when I knew he knew I didn’t mean it. But doing it for an audience of men out for his blood for real is quite something else. I feel like the worst sort of traitor. But the more I learn, the more I can pass on to the Devils.
“You’re not the only one,” the wiry Rider says, cracking his knuckles.
The other one—a short stocky man with such a thick neck I’m not sure my shank is long enough to pierce through the tendons and reach the vein—nods and snarls.
