Page 130 of Dagger

“Do we give ‘em a choice?” Cash asked, his mouth stretching into a grin. “Take the bullet or do the time?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do,” I replied. “Just make sure you don’t leave yourselves vulnerable. We move in at oh-six hundred. Be ready to ride thirty minutes before. Tonight, kiss your wives and kids goodnight and tell them this time tomorrow, one way or the other, it’ll all be over.”

Silence descended over the room while every man sitting around the table fell deep into their thoughts.

It was a significant moment, years in the making, and we all knew it, me and Abe probably more than the others. My mind went to my twenty-first birthday when my ma and pop gave me my old, green bike, the one I’d been eyeing up ‘cause it was the same color as Leesy’s eyes.

“Is that new club over in Mapletree still causin’ shit?”

“Yeah,” Mom stated. “Dad had a face-to-face with their VP, Thrash. They want in on the Demons’ business. He offered Dad their backup if needed.”

My brow creased in thought. “I don’t trust ‘em.”

Mom’s amused stare slashed to meet mine, and she smiled knowingly. “That’s exactly what your dad said. Needless to say, he passed. Told Thrash to keep the Burning Sinners out of Hambleton or get shot in the head.”

I hummed, deep in thought. “Maybe Pop should’a shot him there and then. It may have saved us some hassle in the future.”

Mom shrugged. “It’s not for me to say, John. I don’t get involved in club business. Your dad knows what he’s doing.”

I rubbed at the stubble on my face thoughtfully. “Right.”

I tipped my head back, thinking about how my club had suffered thirty-four years of bullshit from the Burning Sinners. It had been a mistake to let them settle so close to us—I knew that now—but back then, we all believed they had the same morals as we did and that ol’ ladies and kids would stay off-limits.

Then Iris was taken, and we got them in a chokehold when we killed the men who hurt her. We thought we had the upper hand and used them to offload the shit we didn’t want, but really, all along, they were biding their time.

Errors were made, errors that now had turned out to be deadly, but we wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

We were about to end a war that was thirty-four years in the making, and it would be all over in the space of twenty-four hours.

The men were prepared, we all knew where we needed to be. Colt had been briefed, traps had been laid, and all the major players had been pinpointed.

“Colt’s moved his men out,” I informed the table. “The Sinners who are left are partyin’ it up at the house Henderson’s ma left him. All cameras are off, and Colt’s got our alibis sorted. He's playing with our cameras, so there’ll be proof we’re at the clubhouse all morning.” I paused before asking, “Any other business?”

Silence.

I picked up the gavel and smashed it into the sound block. “Get the fuck outta here and go spend the night with your loved ones.”

A chorus of “ayes” went up and chairs scraped across the wooden floor, the men standing and making their way to the door.

Abe remained seated.

My stare met his and held while we had a silent conversation, waiting for the door to close behind Atlas, who was the last man out.

The second the door clicked shut, Abe’s forehead furrowed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I rubbed at the ache in my chest. “You know that ain’t true.”

“The Sinners murdered them, not you,” he insisted, sitting back in his chair.

My elbows rested on the table, and I held my head in my hands. “Doesn’t matter. You know I played into it. Should’ve seen it in Shotgun, but I was so caught up in my own wants that I ignored it.”

My eyes lifted to see Abe rolling his. “Oh, shut the fuck up, John,” he snapped. “Last time I looked, you weren’t Theresa Caputo. How the fuck are you meant to know everything?”

“Tell that to Fender and his kids,” I retorted. “Or even better, tell it to Iris, who hours ago was sat with her ass on the asphalt, reliving all the shit she went through thirty years ago. The buck has to stop somewhere, Abe, and it stops with me.” I leaned forward and snarled, “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

He too leaned forward, raised his hand, and pointed a finger at me. “Don’t you dare.”

My head reared back. “Huh?”

---