Behind him, Gunnar appeared too, looking even unhappier. Even from a distance, I could see the fat lump on his forehead, close to his temple, where I’d hit him. “What ya doing here, Maddox? You aren’t welcome here.”
“I come in peace. We need to talk.”
Gray shook his head. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t believe that I came in peace or if he didn’t want to talk to me.
“Word is you’re one of Vitiello’s henchmen now, Mad. Killing bikers is your new job. Not sure I want you anywhere near me and my friends,” Gray shouted, crossing his arms over his chest.
“If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it in the clubhouse. I don’t want either of you dead, and I’m not one of Vitiello’s henchmen, all right?”
They didn’t need to know that my future job description entailed hunting down Earl supporters.
Gray shook his head again, muttering something to Gunnar. It was driving me crazy that he was too far away to hear what he was going on about.
“Can I come up to talk?”
Gunnar pointed a warning finger at me. “Drop your weapons, and don’t try to fuck us up, Mad. I used to like you but I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
“I’m dropping my guns now.” I removed the gun and the knife from my boot and my belt and put them down on the ground in a very obvious way. Despite what had happened, I still felt a certain amount of trust in these two. Maybe it was foolish nostalgia. “Done.”
“Our friends inside the hut have a very nervous trigger finger—”
“I get it,” I interrupted Gunnar. “I mess up and you kill me. I’ll behave, I swear.”
“What’s your swear even worth?” Gray shouted. “You’re a liar and a cheat.”
“You can pick the left track,” Gunnar said. “The middle’s a bad idea.”
I glanced to Gray who had warned me about the left track, then back to Gunnar.
“The kid’s a bit pissed at you for killing his old man,” Gunnar explained.
Gray turned around and stalked away, leaving me with the choice of whom to trust. Gunnar and I had been on many runs. I liked him, more than all the others. But Gray was my brother, and a hotheaded teenager who’d lost his dad and club.
“Fuck,” I muttered. Taking another deep breath, I picked the left track and started my bike. My heart galloped like a wild horse when my tire touched the track and I practically held my breath all the way up to the driveway where Gunnar waited for me with a gun in hand.
I let out a laugh when I came to a stop, overwhelmed with relief that I hadn’t been torn into tiny pieces.
“Turn off the engine,” Gunnar ordered, still the gun pointed at my head.
I did as he said and raised my hands over my head with a wry smile. “Come on, Gunnar. We aren’t enemies. I have nothing against you. I didn’t kill you. And you didn’t kill me. I call that even.”
“You destroyed the club,” Gunnar muttered, jabbing a finger at the Tartarus emblem over his chest. “Or have you forgotten?”
“I didn’t destroy anything. Earl did when he started torturing Marcella. That was messed up. He got off track. You know it, and many of the Nomads know it too. It’s why they left in the first place.”
Gunnar eyed me. “I won’t say you should have talked to Earl because we both know how that would have ended. But you could have put yourself up for vote as the new prez.”
“Most of the men who remained in the club were loyal to Earl. It’s why they stayed and didn’t become Nomads. I wouldn’t have won and Earl would have definitely killed me then. He wanted me dead in the end. He tried killing me first, so I’m not sad I killed him.”
Gunnar shrugged. “The chapter’s dead too.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You and the other Nomads could build it up again, with the ideals it used to have. Brotherhood, and freedom. Not money, revenge, and drugs.”
A part of the original Tartarus chapter was still in Texas and a few smaller chapters were scattered all over the East Coast. But the heart of Tartarus had always been Earl’s main chapter, which had followed him from Texas to Jersey.
“And who should become prez? Gray?” He scoffed. “He’s a boy.”
“He’s too young,” I agreed. “You could do the job until Gray’s ready to take over.”
Gunnar smiled. “I’m not a leader. I don’t want to tell these guys what to do. I just want to ride my bike, drink a beer, and have a good time with my brothers. That’s it.”
“Then pick someone else. What about Roland? He’s well-connected and everyone likes him.”
Roland had been one of the last to become a Nomad. He and I had gotten along well.