Page 74 of The Lies We Tell
“Come sit with me and tell me as much as you can.” I take his hand and lead him to the stool. And he lets me.
I sit facing him; he faces the counter and holds his coffee. “You ever wish you’d lived an utterly different life?” he asks.
“The whole thing? No. Pieces of it? Yes. You?”
He places the mug down without taking a sip, then puts his head in his hands. “I wish I could go back to when I was leaving home and make different choices. I was so concerned with helping mom and Rae, my sister. Trying to get them out of Dad’s house. My only thought was where could I make decent money. The military was it. But I never gave a thought to what I needed. There were other places I could find brotherhood, and money, and friendships. Where I could have defined my own life by my own rules.”
I place my hand on his back and rub wide circles. “What you did for your family was good.”
Saint shrugs. “Hardly. I was too far away to protect them every day. Mom didn’t even leave.”
“Yes. But that was her choice to make. You gave her the option, and she doubled down. But I hear you, Saint. That you want to live a different way. What made tonight the night you realized that?”
I listen as Saint tells me about what happened. About the raid. He keeps nothing from me. And I have a sense of pride in that. Our relationship is steeped in trust.
“I was about to kill those men. And it’s not that I don’t care. It’s that I felt justified. If there were no rules of engagement, no societal rules and laws, I’d simply take out those fuckers. Save the police a job.”
I reach for my coffee and take a sip. It’s cooling down and no longer burns. “Morality is such a strange concept. No person’s compass is the same as anyone else’s. Same with justice. It’s wild that a group of people, judges not even elected by the people, decide what is right and wrong. What constitutes a prison sentence or not. We all know those rules get applied differently based on factors like race, and people don’t believe women when they are raped or assaulted. The whole system for justice is broken.”
We sit quietly for a moment, sipping the coffee as the sky turns shades of deep purple and fiery orange.
“King offered to organize a ride out to take down my dad. Said if I needed help to make that shit right, the club would stand with me. It’s going to crush him when he finds out I’m not who I say I am. It’s going to crush me.”
There are times when platitudes work. It would be so easy to say King will be fine once he knows the whole story. But we both know he won’t. Instead, I place my hand on Saint’s back, rubbing circles. Maybe comfort is not what he’s looking for, but it’s definitely what he needs. “So, what’s your plan?” I ask.
“Plan?”
“Leaving the club is the bomb. You’re on the edge of the perimeter. What’s your plan?”
He looks at me for a moment as if he doesn’t believe I’m real. I swear I see his love for me in his eyes as the corners of his mouth turn up in a soft smile. “One in a fucking million.”
I wrinkle my brow in confusion. “What?”
He shakes his head, sniffs, and looks back out of the window. “You really want to hear my options?”
“Yes. You helped me with my stuff. Let me help you with yours, Saint. I know what you do is unsafe. I know what you want to do is probably illegal. I’m not stupid. But I’m here and in this with you.”
Saint turns on the stool, and after a little maneuvering, we’re facing each other, my knees inside his. The house is quiet as he cups my face and kisses me gently. It’s tender. When he’s done, his thumbs stroke my cheeks. “I’m used to doing everything alone, Bri. But you’re like a lighthouse in this storm, and I’m really fucking grateful you’re here.”
A swallow the lump of emotion in my throat. “I’m glad I’m here with you too. So, your plan?”
“I could tell the ATF that I’m done, but they’d still expect me to testify and be a witness to everything I’ve already collected. I’m pretty sure they’d legally try to force me to. I’d have to find out what that constitutes. There’re ways to hide who I am. You can don a disguise, use a pseudonym, testify in a closed courtroom or behind a screen. But at the end of the day, the club isn’t stupid. It would take them all of five minutes to figure out who was present at all those events and realize I’m no longer there. Plus, I don’t want to testify against the club at all.”
“Okay, so that’s option one with few pros and a lot of cons. Next idea?”
“I could tell the ATF that the club found me out and that I’m scared for my life and disappear. Again, I don’t know how that works. If the ATF will try to track and find me. Or if they’ll let me go. But then I’d never be able to come back to the club. Plus, I’d be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, which is not what I want.”
“Won’t that happen regardless of how things go? You’re relying on finding an option where the club doesn’t want to kill you. And I’m not sure that exists.”
Saint sighs. “Exactly.”
This conversation is going to need a lot of coffee. I head to the pot and top off my mug before doing the same for Saint. “So same as the first option. What about being a double agent or whatever?” I put the pot back and lean on the other side of the breakfast bar.
Saint shakes his head. “Nice thought, but if I tell the club I’m an ATF agent, I’m pretty sure I’m dead. The ATF won’t let me remain with the club indefinitely. They’re already getting impatient. I’ll get pulled, and I won’t have any future intel to share with them. But I did think I could clean up some of the evidence I’ve already submitted. Maybe the club knowing I did that will buy me some currency.”
“Tampering with evidence is illegal though.”
Saint looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. “Like all the rest of this is above the law?”
