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At least Benjy was alive, no matter how pale and weak he looked.
And young. God, he was so young.
“Jack,” he croaked, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Shhh,” I whispered, and took his hand as I sat next to the bed. “Take it easy.”
The smile faded. “…I’m sorry…”
I stared at him in shock. “For what?”
“…I shouldn’t have… let him do that…”
“Jesus Christ, kid, if anybody should be apologizing, it’s me. I should’ve stopped him.”
“…not your fault…”
“It’s not yours, either.”
“…did you… get him…?”
I knew what he was asking.
Had I avenged him?
It stung that Lou was the one who had granted his request, not me.
In fact, I had done everything I could to make sure Benjy hadn’t been avenged.
Because the Midnight Riders were legit.
Because we weren’t outlaws anymore.
I wondered even more than ever if that was the correct call.
Maybe Lou was right.
No.
Don’t question yourself.
Revenge isn’t worth the club’s future.
“It’s taken care of,” I assured Benjy.
He nodded, visibly relieved, and drifted back into a narcotic haze.
I left him like that, in the grey area between waking and sleep, life and death.
36
Much as I hated to, I called Lou out in the parking lot of the hospital. I needed our stories to be straight before I went to the police.
“Did you find Roach?” was the first thing my VP asked.
“You could say that.”
“I keep calling him but he doesn’t answer.”
