feeling of dread kept me up at night. I was really fucking sorry. I was sorry that I invited him on the run when I should have known it could be dangerous. I was sorry that I hadn’t been able to protect him better that day. More than anything, I was sorry I ever mentioned anything to him about the Raiders. It wasn’t just that Marley would have been a whole lot fucking better off if he had never met me—he would have been alive.
Besides searching for Marley, that first week after the funeral was spent in mourning for the fallen Raiders. Funerals were spread out so all the chapters could attend. East Tennessee had lost two guys; North Carolina had lost a guy and another member’s old lady. The funeral that haunted me the most and sent me into a drunken stupor was Alabama’s, where we attended one for a member’s twelve-year-old son.
Among the grief and guilt, the need for revenge plagued us. While Rev wanted to put together the pieces for a legitimate case to send the murdering fuckers to rot in prison, the other chapters wouldn’t hear of it. They set out to take care of it with the old vigilante justice that we had once taken part in as well. Part of me wanted to get involved, thinking that if I could have the killers’ blood on my hands, then I could somehow atone for what had happened with Marley.
Oh yeah, I felt nothing but guilt twenty-four/seven, and it was fucking eating me alive. To make matters worse, the usual methods of coping weren’t helping. I’d banged two new girls who had been hanging around the clubhouse, but it still didn’t get Marley off my mind. Even after I knocked out my opponent in the third round, the usual Friday-night fight did nothing for me, either. Finally, I’d turned my attention to working nonstop. As if by keeping my mind on transmissions and carburetors, I would somehow not go crazy.
I was lying on a creeper underneath a classic Impala when I felt someone nudge my leg. I slid out to see my boss standing over me with a concerned frown. “Something wrong, Rick?”
He scratched the back of his neck and shifted the wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. “I think you need to shove off for today.”
“I was gonna finish this one up.”
Rick shook his head. “I usually don’t complain when one of my workers is busting his ass, but in this case, I think you need to head home. Have a beer and get some tail.”
After fighting the urge to throw my wrench at Rick in frustration, I hopped to my feet. “I just wanted to help. We’re short now because of . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say Marley’s name.
“That may be true, but if you keep overworking yourself, my ass will really be in a bind when you’re laid in up in bed with a torn muscle or the flu.”
I knew when I was beat, so I dropped my wrench in the toolbox. “Fine. But I’m still coming in at seven in the morning.”
Rick grinned. “Stubborn ass.”
I gave him a pat on the back before starting down the hallway to the bathroom. From my fingers to my elbows, my arms looked like a typical grease monkey’s. Taking the already-blackened bar of soap, I began scrubbing my hands and arms. The more I thought of Marley, the more furious my movements became, to where I was practically clawing marks on my skin.
I whirled around at the sound of a voice behind me. My heart stopped and restarted at the sight of Sam standing in the bathroom doorway. Seeing her sent my mind on a trippy flashback of the night Marley was killed. I remembered her tears, the way she had cradled Marley’s body, the way his blood stained her clothes. But the image that stayed with me the most was the look of undiluted hate she had given me when cradling Marley’s body. I had to blink to clear my mind of the image.
There was so much to say, but instead, I could only stare at her.
Part of me expected her to vanish into thin air just as Marley had. It had been only a week since I saw her last, but everything was different about her. Her dark eyes, which were usually so expressive, were dull and hollow and ringed with circles. The jeans she usually filled out were visibly