“To get you the fuck out of Bend, ASAP.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, “What?”
“I told you; Pardon is pissed. He said he’s sick and tired of you running your mouth at him over the job you did. He wants you gone, Nero. Permanently. I talked to some of the guys I knew I could trust and we’ll get you safely out of here, brother,” he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees.
I stared at Dallas and felt the corners of my lips twitching. Pardon wants me dead? Then it happened; I threw my head back and I laughed until tears streamed out of my eyes. That was the funniest fucking thing I had ever heard in my life. For the club president to put a hit on someone who should be president, because he didn’t like the way he had been spoken to.
“It’s not funny!” Dallas snapped. “Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Since Pardon took the chair, the two of you have been disagreeing on almost everything.” Dallas took a deep breath and ran his hands back through his hair. “Look, I get it. This isn’t what Harold wanted, but it’s what Leon turned it into and almost everything is done by vote. If you don’t agree with the shit that happened, that was when you should’ve spoken up. The bickering between the two of you is starting to wear on the club.”
“Wanna know what Pardon asked me that night that we were taking a vote on the chair?” I asked, thoughtfully. I was done with the secrets. Done with playing games, and done with playing the part of the servant to Pardon’s whims.
Dallas looked up at me curiously and nodded.
“Alright,” I said, walking over to the couch and sitting down. “He said that if he was voted out, that you weren’t ready for the chair. He wanted me to have it and if the vote was to toss him, then he wanted a havoc vote and he wanted me to take care of it.”
Dallas sat back and looked at me completely dumbfounded. I guess it wasn’t what he was expecting to hear; that his own father didn’t think he was man enough to lead Tidals & Anchors. That if he couldn’t keep the chair, he’d choose death, and have me carry it out. But it was the truth and I hated keeping things from my best friend. No matter how much it might hurt him.
We were both quiet. Dallas was most likely taking in everything I had just told him and I was wondering where exactly they wanted to take me. I hadn’t left Bend since I was born with the occasional protection run, and I sure as hell wasn’t afraid of Pardon, so why should I leave?
Eight
Dallas left without saying much else. He told me to be ready by nine o’clock that night and that he and some of the boys would come get me. He also told me to do my best to stay inside and not answer any phone calls from anyone in the club other than him. He would tell Pardon that he couldn’t find me and that my house was empty, making sure that no one would come looking for me.
Whatever. Like I gave a fuck. Not one person in the MC would come after me because they knew what I was capable of.
I was lying on my back on my bed, staring at the ceiling above me and thinking of the mark before Alaska.
The old man with the narrow blue eyes that watched my every move. He was stubborn as fuck and even when I slid my favorite hunting knife underneath his fingernails, he still didn’t seem to care. He had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to die. That it was going to be slow and painful, and that it was because he tried to make a direct deal with prison guards to steal business from the MC.
“Come on, Warner. You should’ve known better,” I had said to him when I first tied him to the chair. “You knew that Pardon would find out and you did it anyway.”
“Fuck Pardon,” he spat back at me. “Fuck Tidals & Anchors, and fuck you too!”
I laughed and drew my knife from it’s sheath, leaning against the old work table that belonged to Leon and looked at him.
“What made you do it?” I asked, tapping the metal against the table.
“Fuck you, Nero.”
I smiled at that. Even with as helpless as he was, he still wasn’t afraid of me and that was a rare thing indeed.
“I’m asking to satisfy my own curiosity, Warner. Tell me and I’ll make it faster than I usually would. Don’t tell me and I’ll make this the most hellacious last moments of your life.”
Warner spit blood on the floor before he looked up into my eyes. If they alone could tell me the story of why he went behind Pardon’s back, they would. But what I wanted was words. I wanted confirmation of what happened and I wanted
to be damn sure that I would be doing the right thing.
“Harold,” he finally said, looking away. “He told me to help him get the MC out of the shit your father got them into. I obliged.”
“Harold’s been dead for years. Try again,” I said quietly, moving away from the table. I crouched down in front of him and used the edge of the blade to lift his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth. My father was friends with Leon in the Navy. Harold had given my grandfather a letter that my father gave to me. He said he was worried that when Leon took control of Tidals & Anchors, that he would do some stupid shit like this. He said to do whatever it took to get the club back on track and earning straight.”
My legs gave out beneath me and I ended up on my ass, mouth slightly open. I didn’t know if what he was saying was true, but it sounded a lot like Harold. When Leon was thrown out of the club and Pardon took over, he ran the club further into crazier shit than Leon had and now I was faced with a man who claimed that my grandfather had given his father a letter telling him to save the club.
“Let me see it,” I said, regaining my composure.
“You think I fucking carry it around like some sacred relic? I’m not apart of your club Nero. I read the letter and put it someplace safe,” Warner said angrily.