“If it’s Pappy, he’s been planning this for a while,” Taz growls.

Griz curses and starts coughing. When the fit’s done, he points at T. “Don’t go shootin’ your mouth off. I get where Goose is comin’ from. He’s layin’ it out for us. But we can’t point the finger and go jumpin’ head first into a war with the Greenbacks, without fuckin’ proof. We got nothin’ that ties this shit to them, or anyone else.”

“Did Ramble say anything else?”

Griz sits back with a frown and shakes his head.

“You really don’t think he did this?” Taz, ever the mouth, can’t let it lie.

“You younger fucker’s just don’t get it. So let me explain it to you. Cap saved Pappy and Smoke from a Viet Cong jungle camp. He’s the only reason they made it out of Nam alive. If it wasn’t for Cap, the best those two could have hoped for was dyin’ or rottin’ for years like me in the Hanoi Hilton. And it wasn’t no fuckin’ picnic boys. It wasn’t anything like the kind of war you’ve seen.” Griz motions to Dozer, Edge, Bodie, and Goose. “I lived in my own filth for more days than I care to say. I can’t ever look at rope again without throwin’ the fuck up.”

He eyeballs Taz. “They both owe Cap their lives, and they know it. I can tell you right now, Pappy didn’t give the order to have Cap taken out,” Griz states, and then proceeds to say, “Cap would laugh in your fuckin’ face for even thinkin’ it.”

“Then maybe another GB went behind his back.”

“Now that’s possible. He’s spread thin and he’s got more members than he knows what to do with.”

“So maybe he caught wind of it and he’s tryin’ to get rid of the evidence. Either way that still fuckin’ makes the GBs guilty and—”

Griz half stands and leans over the table toward Taz. “Boy, I’ve had about enough outta you.”

Edge puts his hand on Taz, which Taz quickly throws off in a huff.

Griz sits back down.

“If it’s this Henry guy they’re lookin’ for, how’d they catch wind of him?” Goose asks.

“Either they tapped the same source we got it from or someone’s talkin’.”

Taz stares straight across the table at Griz.

Griz growls and mutters how he’s gonna kick Taz’s punk tattooed ass.

I slap Griz’s back. “No one is questionin’ your loyalty. But there is a little too much club business and other shit bein’ whispered in ears outside of this room. Someone’s got flappy lips. Plus, we got a guy fillin’ us in on their movements. Not a big leap to think they’ve probably got someone here doin’ the same. Not sayin’ it’s a brother, but we gotta stop talkin’ about business outside of the Chapel.”

Everyone nods in agreement, some brothers rap their knuckles on the table.

Edge sighs. “The last thing we need right now is doubt and speculation circlin’ in the club. I’ve been back a day and already I can see this club’s on shaky ground. Look at us. At each other’s throats. Fightin’ brothers. Questionin’ a founder like he’s some prospect.” He spears Taz with a glare. “Whoever took Cap down, wanted to fuck with the club. They’ve done that. We’re not gonna let ’em crowbar our asses apart.”

Goose chin lifts. “Edge is right. And our focus needs to be on figurin’ out who’s leadin’ this motherfuckin’ train, protectin’ Cap, and pullin’ our shit together. Once that’s done, we have a sit down with Pappy and Smoke, on their turf if that’s what it’s gonna take. We can go under the pretense we want more details about a GB chapter here and what that means for us all. But we subtly let it slip we got a witness we’re interrogating and see if Pappy reacts, or ask for their help in findin’ this Henry guy and see if they really go lookin’. Either way it’ll put Smoke on notice, and tell us if Pappy knows somethin’. Because you can bet your ass if he knows about it, he’s gonna react. No finger pointing necessary.”

“So first order of business is we vote. We figure out who sits at the helm,” Dozer affirms and gets nods from everyone.

“Yeah, we do. But before we do. I got somethin’ to say,” Edge states. But he doesn’t move, and he sits and stares at the table. His fists, which are both on the top of the table are bone white. He’s silent for so long, Dozer nudges him and whispers, “E.”

The chapel’s dead silent and brothers start throwing each other what-the-fuck glances. Then Edge blinks and slowly stands. He grabs the collar of his cut and slowly starts to remove it. Now what-the-fuck-is-he-doing flares through every brothers’ eyes.

Even Dozer voices it. “Edge, what the fuck are you doin’?”

Edge removes his cut and respectfully lays it on the table.

Is he saying he’s out?

Jesus. No. Fuck. No.

“Brother,” I rasp. “Don’t.”

“Not what you’re thinkin’,” he replies in a hoarse whisper. He takes off his shirt next and we all get a good fuckin’ look at what the inside’s done to him. I caught a glimpse of it before but it didn’t register at the time. He’s rail thin. Thinner than he looked when he stepped out of the prison gates. But it’s his ribs poking out, mixed with his dead eyes and gaunt face that tell the whole picture. Fuck, he looks like he’s aged ten years, and is recovering from living in a concentration camp.

Edge raises his head and turns around. The entire table reacts. Curses fly, and gasps, and yeah . . . more what-the-fuck’s ring out.

Edge’s clubpiece, his five-year HOC tat that covers his back, like mine does, is in tatters. It’s been sliced, burned—chunks of it are completely gone.

Me and Griz and D are on our feet. To say my stomach’s rioting is an understatement. My fists are at my sides ready to fly, but I’m fucking speechless. I can’t even form words.

“You all need to know,” Edge’s voice no longer sounds like him. It comes out more as a growl, and half-demonic. “That I’m not in the right frame of mind nor can I physically do the shit I need to do to sit at the head of this table. So I don’t want any of you fuckers votin’ me in.”

Finally, shock subsides and fury pushes the words from my mouth. “Who the fuck? We paid for fuckin’ protection!”

He ignores my question and turns. Addressing each member at the table, excluding me, he says, “You vote, you vote for Griz or D.”

“You gonna tell us who?” Goose demands.

“Yeah, when I’m ready and stronger, and when we’re stronger. I’ll tell you and we’ll handle it together. We’ll spill so much blood that we’ll be drowning in it. But for now, I just need time. I got to deal with some of it on my own and get my head right.”

Every brother simply stares at him. Until Griz nods and says, “Okay, brotha. Anything you need.”

Edge meets each brother’s gaze and gets the same around the table. When his gaze lands on me, I stare back.

Revulsion and fury transform and burst into something I can’t handle and can’t control.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The emotion that hits me is like a tidal wave. A fucking Amtrak train and it’s barreling through me.

Edge sees it. Recognizes the breakdown that’s coming. “We’ll vote in two days. Now everyone out.” When no one moves and I’m a second from losing my shit, he yells, “I said OUT!”

I did this. Oh, fuck. Jesus H. Christ. My failures. My actions. My girl. Sent him to hell. As the brothers trickle out, I fight the ticking bomb in my chest. My gaze takes it all in again. His body, his eyes, his back, and a dam ruptures. I fall forward, head in hands on the table as I absolutely lose my shit. Great giant sobs rack my chest. We paid, but I don’t need Edge to tell me . . . he had no protection. He had no one at his back. No one making sure he came out alive. I can only imagine what he endured.

Oh fuck.

Moisture coats my hands. My body is racked with the shakes as the guilt tears through me. The more I try to tame it, the more it unleashes in torrents and escapes.

The chair squeaks to my right. A hand lands on my back. It moves up to my neck and squeezes. Edge’s voice is thick. “This isn’t on you. Stop that shit, right the fuck now. This isn’t on you.”