Reaper's Fall

“Well, we appreciated it.”

“He’s a good brother.”

I glanced over to see BB lumbering toward us. The big prospect should’ve been a full member by now, but he’d dropped out for a while when his mom was dying. Cancer.

“Prez says it’s time to go in,” he told us. “They’re ready to start. Up in the game room.”

We all shuffled inside, passing through the main room, which served as a lounge, bar, and general hangout space. It filled the front half of the bottom floor, with a kitchen in the rear on the left, offices in the center, and a workshop that mirrored the main room on the backside.

The place wasn’t in half-bad shape, considering how big the party had been. There were empties tucked here and there, and a bra that’d gotten caught on the light hanging over the pool table. I saw a few girls wandering around, cleaning shit up. Didn’t recognize any of them, which wasn’t a huge surprise. I still wasn’t fully integrated back into the life of the club, and none of them gave off old-lady vibes. Then I spotted the one who’d blown me last night. She offered a little wave. I gave her a nod but didn’t make eye contact—no reason to encourage her.

The game room was upstairs on the second level, off to the right. By the time we got upstairs, most of the brothers were already waiting. Puck and I found a spot toward the back, leaning against the wall to watch. He’d only had his full patch for three weeks now, and I knew he planned to keep a low profile. So did I.

Picnic surveyed the room, flanked by other chapter presidents who’d come for the weekend, including Deke, Hunter, and Boonie.

“Thanks to everyone who came. Over the past couple years we’ve had a lot of conflict. Shit’s gone down, brothers have served time”—he nodded respectfully toward me and Puck—“and we’ve lost some along the way. It’s good to have some time just for socializing. But we can’t waste this chance to talk business, either. Deke and Hunter are gonna update us on the cartel situation, and then we’ve got some new business. Deke?”

The president of the Portland Reapers’ chapter stepped forward, crossing his arms as he looked across the room.

“The Jacks have been holding strong in the south,” he said. “We’ve caught a few cartel runners in the Portland area, but so far as I know they aren’t making it up into Washington anymore. La Grande’s stood firm, covering the central corridor. Much as I hate to admit it, the Jacks have been solid. Not a hell of a lot to report. Hunter, you got anything to add?”

Em’s old man stepped forward. I studied him thoughtfully, trying to decide if I hated him any less these days. I’d gotten over Em a while ago—hadn’t thought about her much at all on the inside. You’d think that would smooth the way with me and Hunter, but it didn’t—I’d still happily cut his throat, just on general principle. Arrogant asshole.

He stared right at me, eyes hard.

“Gotta thank those who served time for us all,” he said, offering me a small, mocking salute. Cocksucker. “We all know the cartel will recover and come after us again at some point, but for now they’re mostly staying south of the Oregon state line. Northern Cali’s a little harder—we’re not in control, but they aren’t, either. At some point we’ll probably have to make a tough decision about whether we want to keep fighting for the territory. That’s for the club to decide, and right now we’re holding off making any solid plans. Our allies down south are being infiltrated. Not sure we can trust them long-term.”

Puck and I shared a look—we’d seen plenty of that in prison. Our “allies” were useless.

“Painter, you want to share what you told me about your time inside?” Pic asked, apparently reading my mind. I nodded, pausing to consider before I spoke.

“Well, you all know we had allied club brothers with us,” I said. “A few Longnecks, Bay Brotherhood, and one guy with the Nighthawk Raiders. Longnecks are shit, sorry to say. Couldn’t trust ’em inside, and now that I’ve visited one of their chapters I’d say that runs true for the whole fuckin’ club. The Brotherhood seemed solid but they’re having a rough time holding their own. The Nighthawks guy was interesting . . .”

Puck and I shared a quick glance as I paused, trying to think of the best way to explain Pipes, our jailhouse contact.

“Puck, you want to jump in here?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “Pipes was on his own and we bonded up pretty fast, given the history between our clubs. He was in for a weapons charge, too. But here’s the interesting part—we all know they’ve been bringing in product through the Canadian border for a while, right? Well get this . . . According to Pipes, their pipeline’s choking out on the Canada side.”

Picnic and Boonie weren’t surprised by this, but Hunter obviously was. Interesting—Pic hadn’t briefed him ahead of time. Guess the Hayes family wasn’t one big happy. Not a huge surprise—I had all kinds of reasons for disliking the guy, but they were nothing compared to Pic’s. So far as I could tell, Christ himself wouldn’t be good enough for Reese Hayes’s daughters, at least not in his eyes.

Rance, the president of the Reapers’ chapter in Bellingham, stepped up. He already knew what Puck and I had to say, of course. We’d told Pic and Boonie all about it, and I knew Reese had been in touch with Rance afterward, seeing as his chapter was the closest to Hallies Falls, where the Nighthawks were located. Now I was curious to hear his take on the situation.