“Wish I had a better reason, but that’s it.”
“You joined a drug-dealing biker gang out ofboredom? There are a lot of other hobbies you could have tried first. Like tennis. Or playingCandy Crushon your phone.”
“I got laid off from my other job,” he went on, fingers caressing up and down my spine. “I was a welder at a factory outside of town. When it shut down, I didn’t have much else to do. Friends from work moved out of town. I was lonely, restless. So I joined up with some bikers to pass the time.”
“Was that before they were moving drugs?”
“Naw,” he said sadly. “They were doing it then, too. They were quiet about it since I was a newcomer, but lookin’ back on it, I think I chose not to see. Willful ignorance.”
A lot of men might’ve insisted they were totally innocent. Covered themselves with excuses and justifications. My respect for Jayce notched up another degree at his willingness to admit it.
“Why’d you quit?”
He shrugged awkwardly. “Sid was smart about things, at first. He was quiet and didn’t ruffle too many feathers. But over time, as he became more addicted to the shit he moves, he got more violent. Started carrying around that crowbar of his. Using it, whether he needed to or not.” He shivered. “Eventually it got to the point where I couldn’t stop pretending like I didn’t know what was going on. I couldn’t work for someone who was high twenty-four seven.”
“You said they move meth?”
I felt him nod. “It gets cooked inland, close to Atlanta, then transported to the coast. From there it goes up to the military bases in the Carolinas, and down to Florida. Sid’s crew is only responsible for moving it from Atlanta to Savannah. It’s easy work. Riding a motorcycle through the night and back.”
“Why doesn’t anyone stop them?”
Jayce’s laugh was bitter. “Who would? The sheriff and his deputy? Sid’s got fifty men in Eastland, but he controls closer to three hundred between here and the coast. If state police tried to take them out, it’d be a bloodbath. There’s not a police captain in the country who wants that on their hands, not without federal help. Better to ignore them and hope nobody gets hurt.”
The way he said the last part implied that peopledidget hurt. I could feel the ghost of his sister in every word he spoke. My heart ached for Jayce.
“You said they won’t do it without federal help,” I said carefully. “Why don’t they get that help, then? From the FBI or DEA or whoever?”
Jayce ran his fingers through my hair, which was nearly dry. “That’s the thing, Peaches. The Copperheads are too small. Three hundred bikers may seem like a lot, but it’s just small enough to avoid attracting the big agencies in Washington. They’re too busy worrying about cocaine and heroin flowing across the border with Mexico. They don’t have time for a few million worth of methamphetamines moving up and down I-95. Too much risk for too little reward.”
“That sucks,” I said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Life sucks sometimes.”
The words hung in the air between us.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” I said, tackling the subject head-on. “About Theresa. I can’t imagine what you’ve dealt with.”
He was quiet, fingers gently massaging my scalp. I didn’t think he would respond, and I began to wonder if I should have brought it up at all.
“It’s revenge,” Jayce suddenly said.
“What?”
“A few days ago you asked why I don’t just ride out of town, get as far away from Eastland and Sid as I can. It’s because I want revenge.” He sighed with his whole body, like a muscular balloon deflating. “Sid’s careful. He keeps men around him at all times, and he doesn’t take risks. But deep down, part of me still hopes I can get revenge. A moment where he’s alone and he lets his guard down, when I can strike. When I can get even with him for what happened to Theresa. That’s why I’m still here, Peaches. Because as soon as I leave, that opportunity goes out the window. And I’m more afraid of missing that opportunity than I am of Sid killing me.”
I rolled over and rested my chin on his belly, looking up at his bearded face. “Have you had chances? Where you thought about… doing it?”
“I have,” he admitted, but said no more.
The look in his eyes, like a storm rolling in from the coast, told me everything I needed to know. Jayce would do whatever he could to make Sid pay. He was telling the truth: he cared about that more than his own life.
How can I be with someone who isn’t afraid to die?
I opened my mouth to tell him no, that he couldn’t do it, that he had to live forsomething. But the words died on my tongue. Any argument I thought up sounded too weak. Too petty compared to the death of his sister.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“Me too, Peaches.” He leaned down and kissed my hair, then rolled out of bed. “And now it’s time to get to work.”