Dylan
This was a mistake.
I shouldn’t have come back.
When the Guardian approached me right after my wife’s death, I didn’t know what to think but what he told me was compelling enough to garner my attention. It wasn’t until later that I learned of his deception and true allegiance. I thought long and hard about what I should do. I had every right to walk away and let the chips fall where they lay. I hated Reaper and very much wanted to see him burn in hell for killing my wife, but I couldn’t do that to the rest of the club. They were victims in this grand stupid scheme between Reaper and the Society. If I did nothing, good men would die, and I couldn’t have that on my conscious.
I owned many deaths. Knew I was destined for hell, but I refused to be the catalyst that killed innocent men and women. Now, I was back where it all began. Sitting in church with men, I once considered my brothers, all looking at me, waiting to hear what I had to tell them.
I hated being put on the spot.
“Well,” Reaper said, wiping blood off his hands from his time in the shed with the wedding planner. I didn’t condone killing women, but the bitch deserved it. She picked the wrong side and paid for it. However, seeing his swollen nose did make me feel a little better. Bastard deserved that and more. If he thought for one second, that I was done with him. He had another thing coming. I may be able to put my own feelings aside for the greater good, but my memory was long and my reach was wide.
Time was on my side.
“Well, what?” I smirked.
“Don’t fuck with me right now, Dylan. What did you learn?”
“Wait a fucking minute,” Phantom piped up. “What do you mean by that? He walked away from the club. Didn’t he? Has he been a member all this time?”
Reaper said nothing and I refused to. Let everyone think what they want. It was better than explaining this fucking tangled web of deceit that Max created. There were times since he came up with this shit that even I was confused. Reaper loved his games. That much I knew for sure. He was the master at them. At the center of this game was Reaper, the man who pulled all the strings.
“You were right. Xavier Goldman’s son is still alive. He is the head of the Society.”
“What else?”
“You sure you want this dirty laundry aired? Once it’s out, it can’t be put back in the bottle.”
“It’s time,” Reaper nodded, settling himself in for a long conversation.
“Have it your way,” I shrugged and began.
Three months after Kitty’s death…
The music was pounding through the speakers, drowning out all conversations around me. Not that I gave a shit. I could care less. I was just here for the booze. Nothing dulled the pain I felt and I tried everything. Even tried putting a bullet in my head, but I was too chicken shit to pull the trigger.
So, drinking my days away, it was.
For a little bit, the alcohol allowed me to forget and I drank a lot. I didn’t care where I got it, as long as it flowed. Downing, another shot, a man in an expensive suit sat next to me and said, “Drinking her away won’t solve your problem, Marine.”
“Fuck off.”
God, these fuckers were a dime a dozen. Didn’t they know the shit they wore gave them away? Fucking spooks. All of them. They wouldn’t know shit if it was handed to them. And this mother fucker was about to be a dead man walking if he didn’t shut his fucking trap.
“Corporal Dylan Franks. Husband to Katherine Franks, recently deceased and father to seven-month-old Hailey. Former Marine sharpshooter and Golden Skull member. Must say, Corporal, your jacket is quite interesting.”
Definitely a Dead. Man. Walking.
“Fucking leave before I kill you.”
“Can’t do that. I need your help.”
“Not interested.”
“Yes, you are,” the stranger said, placing a red folder in front of me on the bar. Tapping his finger on it, he added, “Read that. I will be outside waiting. And Corporal, I don’t like waiting.”
The stranger said nothing more as he got up and left, leaving the red folder in front of me. Downing another shot, I stared at the red folder. I didn’t care what was in it. I didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t stop myself from opening it.