Page 30 of Blackout-

Riggs is the last to congratulate Pipe, telling him his kid can sit with his cubs before he springs his news on us.

“Kiss the garage goodbye, Parrish, the Tiger has found us a new place to hang our hats.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jack barks.

“Now, hold on Prezzy, I can see the crazy creeping in,” Riggs tells him. “Hear me out before you pop a vein in your forehead.”

Knowing he’s right, that Jack’s about to blow his top, I order Riggs to explain himself.

“The garage has served its purpose as an acting clubhouse but let’s be honest, we all know it’s taking away from business. Wolf can show you the ledger—”

“Wolf ain’t here to show shit,” Jack interrupts, running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. “He turned in his patch.”

More fucking revelations.

My eyes snap to Jack but before I can encourage him to explain, Pipe loses his shit.

“What do you mean Wolf turned in his patch?” Pipe roars, setting his elbows on top of the table as he leans forward.

“Of all people, I have to explain that to you?” Jack fires back, throwing the past in his face. “Apparently, having his son shot and getting doused in gasoline by a man he considered his brother was too much for him,” he reveals. “He wants out and I can’t say I blame him.”

There are vital organs to the human body. When one doesn’t work, the rest begin to shut down, and it’s only a matter of time before someone is signing off on a death certificate. Wolf isn’t just a vital organ, he’s the fucking heart. Without him, well, we’re as good as dead.

“Whoa,” I say, dropping the phone on the table.

“Hey,” Riggs calls.

I ignore him and keep my eyes pinned to Jack. There are two ways I can play this. One, I pacify him and keep the crazy at bay, buying myself time to make sense of everything and possibly pay Wolf a visit in which I then get on my knees and beg the bastard to take back his patch. Or, two, I throw Wolf under the bus. With any luck, Jack will be pissed and instead of walking with his tail between his legs, thinking he wronged his brother, he goes and orders Wolf to get over it, telling him this club sinks without him.

Taking a gamble, I go with option two.

“Nico getting shot was not the clubs fault. As for the gasoline thing, he knows how you operate. He knows your head and still, he kept shit from you…from all of us.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Jack argues.

“The fuck it is,” I hiss, turning to Linc. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight,” Linc replies.

“He’s known Cain had a son for twenty-eight years, Parrish,” I holler. “Never once did he give any of us any inclination of that.”

“What would that have changed?” Jack counters.

“Who knows, maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything but, maybe, we could’ve put together Yankovich’s motive sooner had we known.”

“Wolf didn’t know about Cain and Yankovich until a couple of days before it all imploded,” Jack argues.

“You know that for a fact?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“What the fuck is this Blackie?” Jack shouts.

This is me, the struggling addict, trying to keep my fucking head above water. Me, the man who has a wife he’s tired of failing. A man who knows this doesn’t end well for any of us.

“As the man who is first to put himself in front of a bullet for you and the man who leads in your absence, I’m asking you how you know that?”

---