Page 45 of Damascus & The Wildfire
“You feel like talking yet?” Hatchet asked. “Want to tell us what you told the feds?”
“Nothing that would put anyone away, I swear! Just little things. Routines, names, that kind of thing. They wanted dirt on Reaper. They think he’s using his construction business to launder money.”
I clenched my fists. The urge to end him was strong. But I knew what killing a fed’s informant would mean. The FBI would come down on us like a sledgehammer, and the club would pay.
I turned back to Tyler, my voice low. “You risked all of us for a badge? Your brothers? Their fucking families?”
He looked at me, desperation in his eyes. “I wanted out. I wanted more than this fucking club. When my dad died, it was all he had. He left everything to the club. The FBI offered me a chance to get a real job, a life.”
Reaper laughed. The dark, humorless sound echoed across the bare walls. “Your dad is rolling in his grave. The man was a loyal Maverick, through and through. He’d be ashamed of what you’ve become.”
Fury twisted Tyler’s face. “You all talk of loyalty. But where was that when my dad was passed over for president after Maxwell died? He was the VP. He co-founded the club. He should have been next. Instead, you fuckers voted in Thane.”
I stepped closer. “You were a fucking child. You don’t know what it was like back then. The club was living in the past. We needed Thane’s leadership to change our direction, or the club would have crumbled. Your dad knew that. He respected the vote.”
Tyler’s jaw worked. “You’re going to kill me.” Resignation sounded through his voice.
“Right now, we’re going to let you sit,” Reaper said. “No food, nowater. The officers will meet and decide what happens next. Hatchet, get a prospect here to keep an eye on him. I’ll call Church.”
Hatchet nodded, shoving the table of tools aside. “You’re lucky, Tyler. If it were my call, you’d already be in pieces.”
I locked eyes with Tyler, letting him see the promise in my gaze. “You better hope the club is feeling merciful. Because if it were up to me, you wouldn’t see another sunrise.”
I turned away, leaving Tyler chained in the darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Brisket pressed his warm weight against me on the sofa as if he could sense my racing thoughts. My throat still ached where Tyler’s fingers had dug in.
Eva handed me a steaming-hot porcelain mug. I sipped the coffee and let the hot bitterness anchor me.
“What did Tyler do?” I rasped, brushing my hand across the spot on my neck that still pulsed with pain. “What would make him crazy enough to hold a gun to my head?”
Eva sank into the armchair across from me. “I don’t know much, other than Tyler was caught meeting with an FBI agent.”
“What kind of information could he have that is worth my life?”
She shrugged. “Listen, there’s a lot even I don’t know. For good reason. Women are kept separate from club business to protect us.”
I scoffed. “To protect? Or to control?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Eva rolled her eyes. I’d promised a long time ago to stop bickering with her over the motorcycle club’s patriarchal culture—a vow I frequently failed to keep, especially with how raw and confused I felt about their vigilante style of justice.
“What do you think they’ll do to Tyler?”
Eva glanced away, her jaw flexing. “I don’t think you want to know that.”
“I do.” My voice rose, startling Brisket. He nosed my hand, and I scratched his ears absently. “After the first time I visited the clubhouse, I spent all night reading articles about what motorcycle clubs like this do. What men like Reaper do for those clubs. Merrick told me a little bit about what happened with the Rangers. And he explained why Fuse went to prison. But doesn’t that bother you? I think Merrick would’ve beaten Tyler to death if Hatchet hadn’t told him to stop.”
Eva nodded. “I think Tyler might deserve that.”
My eyes widened in shock. “You—what?”
Eva leaned forward. “Tyler held a gun to your head. Your neck is bruised. You had to practically break his ribs to get away. He betrayed the club—men who’d take a bullet for him. You think he deserves sympathy? You think he deserves mercy?”
I huffed in response, my chest tight with conflicting emotions. Anger and guilt tangled in my gut. “But do we get to decide who lives and who dies?”
“He’s willing to give away information that could land the guys in prison. I won’t lose any sleep if they bury his body tonight.”
