Page 36 of The Order of Disorder
Road Captain.
That makes Wyatt third in command. Right after Silas.
That’s when I notice Silas sitting a few feet away, watching, and not clapping either.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Maybe this is what Wyatt wanted to tell me behind the storehouse. That he was rising in the ranks.
His betrayal goes so much deeper than I ever could have imagined. He’s not just patched-in, he’s club leadership. He’s almost as O.D. as Billy is.
After his speech, Billy makes his rounds. He starts with Wyatt—Ryan, whatever. They look close. Billy’s got his arm slung around his shoulders, the two of them leaning in, talking low, like they’re in on some private joke. Every now and then one of them laughs. Billy throws his head back, then gives Wyatt a firm smack between the shoulder blades, all grins and brotherhood.
It makes me sick.
Silas watches from one of the smaller tables, arms crossed, beer untouched. His face hasn’t changed since the speech—flat, unreadable, with that dead-eyed stare he always has. He doesn’t smile, or clap, or laugh. He just watches Billy and Wyatt like he’s measuring them both for coffins.
He looks about as thrilled to be here as I am.
I amuse myself by picking my hamburger into pieces, then sprinkling the mess back over my plate like I’m feeding birds that aren’t there.
My arms feel heavy, like they belong to someone else. My limbs move like I’m underwater. I keep forgetting to blink until my eyes sting.
The sun’s too bright. Sound comes in waves—too loud, then too soft, then gone entirely. I’m floating in and out of the moment like a ghost tethered to the wrong plane.
No one at the table looks at me, but I feel the weight of their attention in their avoidance. The silence. The side-eyes.
I don’t care.
My skin itches under the cotton of my clothes, but scratching doesn’t help. My head’s full of static. My stomach flips every time I breathe too deep.
Everything’s soft and far away. Like I’m behind glass. And every time I lift my gaze, Wyatt is watching me.
At some point, I rest my cheek on the table just to ease the weight of my head. The burger smells sour now, so I push the plate away before I gag.
In the distance, Billy’s dropped the family patriarch act. He’s on a bench with one girl straddling him and another curled against his side. The one on his lap lifts her shirt and flashes him. He claps his hands to his cheeks in pretend shock, and then throws his head back. howling with laughter.
I need a drink.
I lift my head to find Cash but the motion disorients me, and before I know it I’m on the ground. People are frowning, looking down at me. But one of them is Cash.
“Cash,” I say to him. “A whiskey.”
Someone tries to pull me up but I like it on the ground. I go limp, boneless, refusing to stand. Then Cash is looking down at me again but this time he has Billy with him.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grits out. It’sAngry Billy. This is the worst one. Angry Billy is not very nice. “The fuck is she on?”
Cash shrugs.
“Everyone back the fuck off,” Billy snaps, waving his arms. The circle clears fast. His gaze burns into me. Then he calls out: “Silas!”
“No,” I mumble. “Nonononono.”
But Silas is already there—leaning over me and smiling.
“I need you to take care of her,” Billy is saying. “I can’t fucking do this. Just keep her in one place until Mr. White gets here.”
Silas nods, but another voice cuts in.
