With that, I exit the garage and head to my office.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I sit at the desk. “Fucking hell.”
“You look like shit,” Ransom says, entering the office and closing the door after him. “What the fuck’s going on?”
I jab my finger in the direction of the garage. “If he fucks anything up again, he’s fucking out. I’m done giving him second fucking chances. I had to make a threat I wish to fuck I’d never had to make this morning because of him.”
“What kind of threat?”
“The kind that will start a war if I have to make good on it. Let’s just say we’re on high fucking alert at the moment. If you see a Silver Hell member, watch your back. We need to organise church for this morning; everyone needs to be aware of this.”
“I’ll make it happen.”
After he leaves, I pull my phone out and call Max. We had plans to hang out this morning that I now need to cancel on.
“Hey,” he answers.
“I have to cancel on you this morning, brother. Shit’s come up that I can’t put off.”
“No worries. I’ll find stuff to do. You okay?”
I blow out a long, frustrated breath. “How was Birdie last night?”
“Not good, Matt. She locked herself away in the bedroom and didn’t come out.” He pauses. “I don’t want to step where I shouldn’t step, but she did tell me she doesn’t feel like you listen to her anymore.”
“What?”
“She thinks you switch off when she’s trying to talk to you about stuff that’s important to her.”
King appears in the office doorway as I try to process what Max is saying. I wasn’t expecting King and am thrown by his appearance. Ending this conversation with my brother isn’t something I want to do because I feel he has useful insights and a perspective I could benefit from hearing, but I’m going to have to. “You wanna come meet me at the clubhouse in a few hours? I think I need your help with this.” I don’t fucking think it; I know it. My marriage is fraying and I need my brother’s help fixing it.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.”
We end the call and I stand to meet King. “King.” It would seem he and I are about to butt heads again if the ferocious look on his face is anything to go by.
“I’ve got a meeting scheduled with Torres this afternoon. I want you there for it.”
“Fuck. That was fast.”
He ignores that and demands, “I take it that’s a yes?”
“I take it you’re planning on pushing this negotiation through?”
His eyes glitter with the hard glint I know so well. “The ball is rolling, Winter. Are you with me or not?”
“I’m against you pushing Torres. Let me do it. He’ll play ball with me.”
“I’m not fucking arguing with you over this again,” he snaps.
“Christ, you’re fucking infuriating sometimes, King. Would it fucking kill you to listen every now and then? I’ve worked with Torres for seven years; I know him far better than you, and I’m telling you he’s going to walk. We’re going to lose his coke and all the money that goes along with it. Are you willing to risk that?”
His nostrils flare as he takes that in. He was already worked up when he got here; I’ve pissed him off even more. Not something King’s used to from me. He and I have a good working relationship and a lot of respect between us, but this is worth fighting for. I just hope he fucking sees that before it’s too late.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” he finally says before stalking out of the office.
Fuck, this day is going to shit very fucking fast.
I get through church, during which I advise everyone of the Silver Hell development and the need for them to keep a close eye on themselves and everyone else at all times. After church, I let Striker know I’ve organised for him to head to Adelaide tomorrow. I then tell him to pack his shit up and leave the clubhouse. I want him gone now. It surprises the hell out of me how angry I am with him; I don’t tend to hold onto anger in this way, but he’s drawn it out of me.
King hasn’t come back to me about our meeting with Torres, and after trying unsuccessfully to call him, I head out to the bar area to see if anyone knows where he went. I’m halfway down the hallway when the sound of gunshots comes from out the front of the clubhouse.
Fucking hell.
I pick up my pace and bolt outside to see what’s happening.
The first thing I see is Striker crouched down at the front gate.
The second thing I see is the body on the ground in front of him.
The third thing I see shoots fear like I’ve never known through my body.
Max.
I race to where my brother lies, riddled with bullets.
“Max!” His name tears from me, ripping my heart out with it.
I shake him.
“Max, open your fucking eyes!”
Why the fuck isn’t he opening his eyes?
“Winter.” It’s Ransom’s voice, but it filters out of my consciousness as fast as it filters in.
Club members surround me.
Their anger blazes in the air.
The noise and the chatter and the goddam fucking buzz crash into me until I can’t fucking hear myself think. Yanking my brother’s body to me, I roar, “Stop! Stop fucking talking!”
Max has no pulse.
The life in his eyes has bled out.
His blood oozes from him.
My brother is dead.
Dead.
The oxygen I need refuses to enter my body.
He can’t be dead.
I just spoke to him on the phone.
He was alive.
Coming to see me.
“Max. Open your fucking eyes.”
Ransom crouches next to me. “Winter. He’s gone, brother.” I hear every drop of regret in his voice. I want to take that regret and smash it into pieces. I do not want to hear it. My brother can’t be fucking gone.
Ransom touches my arm. “Winter—”
I push him away.
I push away everything he’s saying.
His words slash and gouge and hack.
I can’t listen to them.
I just fucking spoke to him.
And then reality shatters through me like a fucking wrecking ball.
I told him to come here.
I did this to him.
I killed my brother.
24
Winter
* * *
Striker comes through for me one fucking time in his life; he tells me who shot Max. It was the brother of the girl he got pregnant. He took aim at Striker, but Max got in the way when he tried to push Striker to safety.
King comes through for me when he cancels the meeting with Torres and backs me on whatever I want to do to avenge Max’s death.
We take fifteen men with us when we go looking for the shooter. I won’t need fifteen men, but Ransom insists. “I know you plan to kill him with your bare hands, brother, but I want back-up to ensure you get that chance.”
I don’t just plan to kill this motherfucker; I intend to torture him and fucking gut him. I intend to look my brother’s killer in the eyes while I fucking dismember him. I intend to drag his pain out until he’s begging me to take his life.