I kept my eyes straight forward. Didn’t wanna see the face of my best friend as he took me out. The minute hand of the clock on the dashboard ticked by five times before he quietly asked, “Is it true?” My jaw clenched as his words hit my ears. When I didn’t answer, Tanner slammed his hand on the steering wheel and spat, “Is it fucking true?”
I stared hard at the dying tree at the side of the barren dirt road. The branches, dry and cracked, slowly falling to the ground. “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. My gaze fell to my hands . . . to the fucking white-pride tattoo that stared back. The St. George shield that took up most of my right arm.
Tanner said fuck all after that. It was a few minutes before I looked over at him. His face was blank, staring through the windshield.
“You’re my fucking brother, Tank.” His voice was quiet, raw as all hell. His head finally turned to me. Brother was still without tattoos. He was in the army, doing his American duty. In communications or some shit. Tanner was never just gonna be on the front line, shooting at whichever fucker threatened our lands. They’d seen he was a fucking genius and put that brain of his to work. Of course, all that communications shit would only benefit the Klan. The heir knowing how to hack computers? A fucking gift in Landry’s hands.
Tanner was nothing like the kid I’d met that day years ago on the Spicewood land. Tanner Ayers was finally the white prince his family had groomed him to be. Savage, smart as fuck, and didn’t bat an eye about slitting an enemy fucker’s throat.
That now included mine.
“You fucked up. Landry expected you to be with him on that kill.” He shook his head, and a flush of rage climbed up his neck. “He fucking counted on his second in command in that place, and you bailed!” His breath was coming quick now. “Why? Why the fuck do you care about a fucking nothing spic?” He looked at me like he didn’t know me. Like we hadn’t shed blood side by side for the cause.
But that spic he spoke of, he weren’t nothing. I’d gotten to know him. Shared a room with him for a while before Landry pulled some strings and got me with a fellow Aryan brother. I thought back to the day I’d met him . . .
The minute he entered the cell, I smashed his back against the wall. “You listen to me, you fucking dirty spic. You even breathe wrong in my direction and I’ll slit your throat and let you choke on your own blood.”
The spic met my eyes, then fucking laughed. “Sure you will.”
My hands fisted his shirt as rage surged through me. I shoved him back, then spat, “I ain’t going back into solitary again, so just stay the fuck outta my way and don’t make me kill you.”
The kid, because no way was he older than eighteen, pushed past me and lay on his bed. “Chill the fuck out. I don’t intend on getting in anyone’s way.” He moved to the bed and picked up a book. He looked at me over the pages. “This is a book. You should read one.” He paused. “And not the shit that’s been doctored for your ‘people.’” He waved it in my face. “Real books. By real people with real problems. Ideas about how to resolve those problems . . . no matter what their skin color or religion.” My lip curled as he turned and started reading. Landry would get me to another cell. I just had to try not to kill this prick before that happened.
Turned out Carlos was a good kid. But a kid that had fucked up and made an enemy of the wrong guy—Johnny Landry. Hadn’t known to keep his mouth shut, spouting from his books and making us KKK brothers look like idiots. Landry was just out of isolation when it all went down. I got the message, but I took as much damn time as I could getting there. I knew I couldn’t save Carlos if Landry wanted him dead, but I knew I couldn’t help kill him either. Turned up to see Carlos bleeding out on the floor, that fucking book he loved so much on the floor beside him, the shiv I’d given him sticking out of Brant’s neck—one of our soldiers, fucking dead too. Staring down at the pool of blood, at his eyes frozen over with death, something in me cracked. The kid was just a mouthy kid. But to Landry, he was standing in the way of making us a pure race. He’d had to be taken out. Carlos’s mouth had had to be shut for good. I’d warned the kid. But he hadn’t listened.
I stopped eating with them all after that. Kept the fuck away when Carlos’s dead eyes would never leave my head.
And in turn, I signed my own death sentence.
“I want out.” I met Tanner’s furious eyes. “Want the fuck out of this life.”
“The war’s coming,” he said slowly, like I was a dumbfuck. “The race war is fucking coming.”
I laughed. Fucking laughed. “There ain’t no race war, Tann. It’s all bullshit.” I’d read some of Carlos’s books. In prison, I wasn’t the trailer-park kid that owed the Klan my fealty, blindly following them into shootouts and murders. I finally used my fucking brain for the first time in five years, and I realized it was all a crock of shit. Tanner’s cheek twitched in annoyance. “You’re the fucking smartest person I’ve ever known. You know it’s all bullshit; you have to. Wake the fuck up!”
Tanner shook his head, like he was going to argue. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he knew I was right. We’d been fed racist shit until our veins ran with the white and red of the Klan. Mexicans and blacks and Jews and gays were nothing, rats to be taken down. A pollution to the world and the white race that reigned supreme. I lived it, breathed it, drank the fucking Kool-Aid, and killed and beat and spat on anyone that wasn’t like us.
I’d fought in the street beside Landry, our leader, until a black guy was dead. My sentence for my part—five years. Out in three for “good behavior.” In truth, it was because we had an influential Wizard on our side—the most influential in Texas, fuck, in the USA. Landry wouldn’t be far behind me. He would never have been locked up in the first place, but a black cop arrested us, the case was made into news, and we’d had to play the game. No one was allowed to know who Landry’s big brother was.
Whose Tanner’s old man really was.
“We’re going to a ranch rally.” Tanner pulled back out onto the road. The radio came on. The music pounded, seeming like it was getting louder with every mile we got closer to the Spicewood ranch.
It would go down there.
End where it all began.
“Just know I fucking love you like a brother,” I said over the music. I wasn’t even sure Tanner had heard me. “Still do. Nothing will change that. Klan or no Klan. You’re my fucking brother.”
From the day I’d arrived at the ranch, Tanner had been there. From that day on, he’d stuck with me. We were young compared to a lot of the others. It made sense that we’d become close. Didn’t know I was aligning myself with the White Prince. Didn’t know that friendship would take me into the inner circle of the Austin KKK. A true brother, one who was valuable.
One whose only ticket out was death.
Tanner didn’t respond to what I’d said. He never said shit as we crossed the city limits of Austin, nor as we rolled down the track of the Spicewood KKK ranch, where I could hear music and see fire licking at wooden crosses.
The minute the truck pulled to a stop, all eyes were on us. Tanner’s hands were iron grips on the wheel. Then, “I’m gonna fucking miss you, asshole.” Tanner got out of the truck, and I knew I had minutes left.
It was a strange feeling, knowing you were about to die by the hands of the people who’d once saved your life. But what surprised me most was the calm in my veins. I supposed I’d always thought I’d end up dying for this Klan. Just never thought it’d be as a deserter.
Tanner opened the passenger-side door, took my arm, and wrenched me from the truck. My brothers stormed forward, some still in their hoods from the rally. Tanner’s hand gripped the back of my neck. “Fucking knew he wasn’t a turncoat,” Tanner said. What the . . . ? He didn’t give me time to show my shock, as he continued, “Brant, the asshole, wanted up Landry’s ass. He never passed on the message to our boy Tank here and lied to my uncle. Only to die killing a weak-as-piss spic. That’s why Tank was late. He got the message too lat
e.” He spat on the floor, then his hand went to my scar. “Tank got shanked because of the cunt, but he still managed to fight Aaron, who did it, off, staying alive to fight the upcoming war!” Brothers nodded their heads, and I saw the pride in their eyes. “I’ll get word to Landry that one of our best white soldiers is free and more dedicated to the cause than ever!”
Cheers went up around the Klansmen, and I was bombarded with drinks and hugs and “welcome homes.” I stepped back to see Tanner grab a bottle of whiskey and walk to the side of the property.
A hard hand landed on my back. “Knew it.” I looked up to see Beau Ayers, Tanner’s younger brother. I would recognize his graveled voice anywhere. “You’re no traitor.” Beau looked back at his big brother. They looked nothing alike. Beau had longish brown hair and brown eyes. And Beau Ayers was a damn fortress. Kept to himself. Had no one around him except his brother. And me on occasion.
Right now was the most I’d ever heard the brother speak since we’d met. “He wasn’t the same without you. He’s only on leave from the army for a few more weeks. The minute he heard what happened, he told everyone he could that it was bullshit. That he’d bet his life there was some mistake.” Beau rocked awkwardly on his feet, crossing his bulking arms over his chest. “My brother’s always right.”
Guilt cut through me, thick and fast. Tanner had trusted me. Defended me.
Beau walked away, disappearing into the ranch house, keeping the fuck away from everyone else. I scanned around for Tanner, but there was no sign of him. The liquor flowed; the “welcome homes” flowed too.
An arm hooked around my neck. “Tank!” Calvin Roberts’s drunken voice hit my ears. I looked up to see a crowd of my brothers gathering around me. Calvin held up his bottle of liquor to get everyone’s attention. “Tell us what went down that day. When you fucking ended Keon Walters and his crew. We’ve all heard the stories. Jerked off to the description of the fucking kills. But we wanna hear it from your mouth. One of the real fucking heroes.”
Keon Walters. That name pierced through my skull. Keon . . . Keon . . . Keon . . . His face flashed before my eyes. His battered face. The feel of his shoulders under my hand, and the smell of his blood as it pooled on the floor . . .