Page 23 of Traitor

The room spun around me and, for the first time in a while, it had nothing to do with the tequila. This wasn’t me going down for murder anymore—it was all of us going down for such a vast array of shit that I couldn’t even begin to fathom prison sentences and fines.

We were fucked and Grey was right, I had to sober up for good and find the snitch before the federal government came crashing down on all of our fucking heads.

I looked around the meeting room at all the men who’d become like family over the years. They all wore matching somber expressions—shit, even Little Ricky looked scared. Crossbones looked like he wanted to punch someone—probably me. He’d never forgiven me for arresting him back in 2009 and, given the way things were going, I couldn’t say I blamed him.

I had to put my bullshit personal feelings aside and take care of this.

If I got a handle on this, then it might help me with the Monica situation. That would, in turn, help me with Lauren. This wasn’t over…not by a long shot.

I looked at Grey. “May I?” He nodded and I ran through the speech in my head.

Okay, Mike. Sober up. Any time now is good.

With a deep breath, I began. “Alright, motherfuckers. Listen up. The Sons are trying to take over and right now it looks pretty fucking awful for us.”

Grey cocked his head to the side and I realized that my motivational speech was severely lacking in motivation. I cleared my throat and tried again. “What I mean is that we’ve been here before with other clubs. It’s war, plain and simple. From here on out, no displaying colors in public—you might as well stick a fucking target on your back. No going off on your own, find a buddy. That goes for family members too. The Sons won’t hesitate to take out your ol’ lady. Gentlemen, you fucking own this area. Now it’s time to act like it.”

Carnage piped up from the back of the room. “How the fuck are we acting like we own the town if we’re shedding our kuttes? They’re going to see us as a bunch of pussies.”

I smiled patiently. Now, we were in my territory. I’d readThe Art of Warcover to cover—shit, I’d lived my entire life in a warzone. I was at home there.

“Well, Carnage, as my good buddy Sun Tzu would say,‘Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.’We want them to think that we’re weak—so, who gives a fuck what they call the club?‘All war is deception’—my bro said that one too. I’ll take care of the legal side of things, but it’s time to rally the fucking troops. Grey, call in the other chapters. We need to convince the Sons that we’re backing down when, in reality, we’re building a motherfucking army!”

Comedian beamed at me and began clapping. “There ya go, Junior!” He yelled and the others followed his lead.

Grey nodded to himself, never taking his eyes off of me. “You heard the man.” He raised his voice above the others. “Make it happen!”

Fuck, I should’ve been a speechwriter.

Lauren

April 2015

The banging on the roof got louder, but I tried my best to block it out while paying bills. Luckily, it was a half day. I didn’t think my nerves could handle a full eight hours of this.

There was a large thud that shook the building when a piece of equipment fell over and I jumped, dropping my pen to the floor.

I’d just retrieved it when my office door burst open and Dr. Mulloy marched in and hissed, “What the hell, Lauren? Why is there a six-man crew up on the roof when I have a full clinic?”

I stared stupidly at her. “But…but, it’s Friday. Why are you here?”

She blinked incredulously. “It’s fucking Monday! Good lord, are you hungover? Still drunk?”

I pursed my lips before softly replying, “Something like that.” It wasn’t alcohol that had me behaving erratically, it was sleep deprivation—the most dangerous drug around.

I was losing touch with reality now.

I’d scheduled the roofers to come on Friday—I was sure of it. I pointed at my desk calendar. “I asked the roofers to come on the thirteenth.” It was even circled on the calendar.

She lifted several stacks of paper off my desktop and sighed. “Look at the month, Lauren. This is your calendar for March. We’re in April now.”

I dropped my head to my hands and groaned. “Sandra, I’m so sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now.”

She sniffed, “It’s Dr. Mulloy, Lauren. Show some professionalism. Can you explain to me why you’re drunk on a Monday morning? You and the boyfriend have a long weekend?”

Dr. Mulloy always made a point to ask about him and I usually remained non-committal on it, but I was exhausted. “Actually, we broke up.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, giving me an odd look. “Did something happen? Was it another woman?”

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