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I breathe, trying to absorb his words, knowing he's right but struggling to believe in myself enough to let them sink in.
After a few moments of silence hanging between us, the shed appears. Leaving our previous conversation behind, I bring the UTV to a stop. Following orders, Grey and I stroll over to the double doors, unlock the deadbolt, and remove the chain before pulling them open and walking inside. The air reeks of piss, and the pungent smell comes from the man in the middle of the barn.
"How long do you think Prez will keep him alive?" Grey walks over, checking the half-empty IV bag keeping our guest hydrated and alive.
"Fuck if I know. I'm surprised he hasn't put a bullet in the bastard already, since the cocksucker isn't talking."
The guy struggles to lift his head, so I fist a handful of his greasy hair and lift it for him. Crusty rust-colored blood covers his mouth and chin. The foul smell of his breath churns my stomach. "He's breathin', for now." I release my hold on him, and his head flops back down. I grab a bottle of water and rinse my hand. "Let's head back. Church should be starting soon."
We leave, put the chains and lock in place, load up in the UTV, and head back toward the clubhouse.
The other men rolled in a short time later, and we're gathered around the table as Church begins. Jake starts us off. "Our guest still hangin' in there?" He looks between Grey and me.
"Still breathin'," I report.
"Prez, the fucker is starting to stink," Grey adds, scrunching his nose, remembering the stench.
"Nothing notable to hint at what club they claimed to be a part of. They had no IDs. And the one we're keeping alive isn't talkin'." Logan states the obvious, his frustration at the situation apparent.
"I vote we put a bullet in the bastard and move on," Quinn chimes in. "The claim that they belong to a club could be nothing more than a lie."
"Perhaps." Jake scrubs his beard. "However, we can't forget about the one that got away. There's a possibility he went runnin' back to someone, and that alone is cause for concern," he says and heads nod around the table at the truth Prez speaks. The unseen and unknown are more of a threat to the club. You can't defend yourself against what you can't see. Our leader sits silently for a few beats. "Gabriel, you and Blake get the pleasure of putting that worthless piece of shit out of his misery. For now, we remain alert. There's no immediate threat to the club, so keep going about everyday life with an extra awareness of what's happening in our town and who's coming through it. Eyes and ears, men. Got me?"
A round of “yeah” echoes off the walls, followed by Jake smacking the gavel against the table's surface. "All right, brothers. We got day jobs to get to." Jake's eyes land on Gabriel. "Let me know when the job is done."
"You got it, Prez," Gabriel mutters, then his indifferent stare finds mine. He says nothing, but I know he means for me to follow him out of the room, which is what I do. We stroll through the clubhouse. On the way, I make eye contact with Ember, sitting on one of the sofas, her legs crisscrossed, with a laptop. She smiles at me, and the gesture wraps around my heart like a warm embrace. Too soon, I take my attention from her beautiful face and walk out the front door. Gabriel heads across the yard to where the van is parked and climbs behind the wheel, and I jump into the passenger seat. He takes off, heading for the back of the property. I say nothing to him, knowing the mindset he has entered with what we’re about to do.
Once inside the barn, where the soon-to-be dead man is strung up like a meat rack, Gabriel moves about until he finds a shovel. "Get him down." he orders, his tone filled with darkness. Following the order, I lower the man to the ground, then rip the needle from his arm. The guy moans, trying to move his arms, no doubt stiff and painful from being strung above his head for so long. The cable binding his wrists together is embedded in his skin. Gabriel walks outside, tosses the shovel into the van, then strolls back inside and squats, grabbing the broken bastard by his arms.
"Get his feet," he says, and working together, we carry the man out and chuck him inside the van. I slam the back doors closed and take shotgun, then Gabriel drives to the dumping grounds where we buried the other guy a few nights ago.
Once there, I take my pocket knife and cut through the layers of tape wrapped around the man's feet, then step back. "Out." I aim my gun at his face.
The piece of shit hesitates, but he finally swings his feet out of the back of the van. He's weak, but he stands. "Move," I order, and he slowly limps toward the freshly-turned dirt. Gabriel produces a pair of wire cutters and snips the binding around the guy's wrists. My brother then tosses the shovel at our thief's feet.
"Dig," he growls.
The man shakes his head in defiance.
Gabriel clenches his jaw. "Your other option is a slow death from dismemberment. Take your pick."
The man seems to reconcile with his impending death, and he picks up the shovel and begins digging his final resting place.
Several hours later, I'm reclined on the sofa inside the clubhouse, acting as a bystander while the brothers and their women enjoy a few drinks and listen to the music that fills the room, along with their banter.
Ember slides in beside me. "You've been sitting over here all by yourself most of the afternoon. Are you okay?"
"Got a lot on my mind."
Ember places her hand on my thigh, and my pent-up tension eases at her touch. "Anything you feel like talking about?"
"No." The truth is, I'm feeling drained, both physically and emotionally. I need to get away for a few hours and know where I want to go. "I'm out of here." I stand.
"Oh, um, okay," The disappointment in Ember's voice has my attention, and I look down at her. She's staring down at her lap, then she raises her head so her soul-searching eyes connect with mine.
"Come with me."
Ember cocks her head, and her eyes widen in disbelief. "Really?"
