Page 152 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

He surveyed them again. “Which is why,” he continued, “I’m stepping down.”

Chairs creaked as men sat forward.

“As president, yes,” Walsh said, “since our president isn’t actually dead. And, for the record, I think he should be our president still. But I’m stepping down as VP, too.”

Mercy’s gut did a roller coast swoop.

Aidan’s head snatched up. “What?”

“Wait,” Dublin said, “you–”

Walsh cut across him. “I take full responsibility for deceiving you all. Knowingly. With good intentions, but I’m not sure if that counts.” He took a deep breath. “But doing that – all that followed – revealed to me that I need to take a step back. Not all the way back. If you’ll have me, I’d still like to be a member.” When his gaze flipped up, and moved around the table, Mercy could read that it would kill him to have his patches stripped. “I want to work in my capacity as the Money Man. As…” He turned to Aidan. “The vice president’s right-hand man.”

Aidan’s head kicked back. He blinked, like a fish at the bottom of a boat.

“I don’t want to be an officer,” Walsh said. “I want to be your accountant, and I want the chance to earn everyone’s trust back.” He pushed his chair back, stood, and stepped back against the wall, hands folded together in front of him.

Mercy leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, adrenaline cycling through him. He searched the table for anyone who might defect. Who might argue, ready to slap them down. But everyone looked properly slapped already.

“What the fuck?” Aidan murmured.

Slowly, giving anyone and everyone a chance to protest, Ghost shoved off the wall and moved to the president’s chair. Hedidn’t sit in it. Braced his hands on the back of it. Looked at them all.

He said, “I lied to you.”

Mercy heard several long, slow exhales.

“I could stand up here and give you a buncha shit about how I hated it, and I wished I hadn’t done it, and that I beg for your forgiveness. But.” He angled his head so that he was looking up at them all from beneath his still-black, straight, harsh brows. “That’s not really my style. And, honestly? I’m not sorry.”

“Fuck,” someone murmured.

Hound drew in a wet-sounding breath and said, “Didn’t think you would be, asshole.”

Ghost nodded, and took it in stride. “Yeah, I’m an asshole. I’m a dictator. I’m not a nice man, and, most days, I’m not even a good one. But. This club…this club raised me. It taught me what I didn’t want to do, when Duane was president. And I know I’ve made a lot of missteps” – he looked straight at Mercy, then Tango, then Aidan – “as president. But every decision I ever made was an attempt to hold this club together. To keep it whole.”

He shook his head, and dropped it for a moment, looking down at his boots. He sighed when he lifted his head. “I’ll let you vote on it. You can choose my fate. But I want to be your president, and I want Aidan to be your vice president. I hope he’ll hold my feet to the fire, and keep me honest. Abacus is gone. I killed the main man myself. And, if you’ll let me, going forward, I want to be more honest with you all. More collaborative.”

He shrugged, and stepped back, and folded his arms. “I’ll leave it to all of you. I’m ready to be your president. Vote whether that’s okay or not.”

The silence rang.

Aidan gaped at his father.

Slowly, because his arms were heavy, and twitching, and half-numb after holding himself up over his wife earlier this morning, Mercy stood. “Can I say something?”

“Yeah,” Ghost said, clearly curious, and no one else spoke up.

The silencedroned.

Droned like flies in the bayou. In a kitchen full of dead people. In a house that would never be a home again.

Mercy felt at peace.

He gripped the back of his chair, loosely, and he smiled. Smiling was so easy. It had always been, since the day Daddy was killed. It was smile or go crazy. And then he met Ava, and he started smiling for real again. At first because she was so sweet, and small, and she trusted him so completely, right away. This tiny thing who should have been terrified of him,Merci, Mercy, who tortured a man before he killed him. And instead, she turned his life around. Made it happy. Made it worth living.

When he’d first stood, he wondered what he would say.

But now, he laughed, and he knew, effective or not, that there was only one thing to say.

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