Chapter 28 Silver
SILVER
“Okay... now I know you’ve got it bad.”
I look up to find Sydney smirking at me as she climbs down the ladder where she’s just finished hanging up a banner that says “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” in bright pink letters.
The streamers I’ve been untangling are still a mess in my hands even after five minutes; I’ve been so distracted by the thoughts in my head.
Heat creeps up my neck at Sydney’s observation. “I want to make sure her birthday is special. She’s said she didn’t want to celebrate, but she’s been through a lot lately. It’s my job to show her a good time.”
Sydney puts her hands on her waist, one eyebrow arched. “Uh huh. As if I haven’t heard that excuse a million times before. You almost sound like Mace did when he was denying his feelings for me.”
As if he’s sensed he’s a topic of discussion, Mace strolls into the barroom only a second later. He juts his chin at his wife. “You talking mess about me again, Syd?”
She merely laughs brightly. “Are you surprised? I’m telling our friend Silver all about how he’s got it bad for Solana. Sorta like how you had it bad for me.”
Mace’s gaze gleams with humor as he slides an arm around his wife’s waist. “Yeah, but you were actually the enemy. At the time.”
“More like the enemy in your head,” she answers with a roll of her eyes.
“C’mere.” Mace pulls her into a kiss that makes me shake my head and look away.
There’s no denying the newlyweds are good together. Really good.
The future of this club, if I have anything to say about it. Mace will inevitably—and officially—take over once Tom finally accepts his time is over. And Sydney? She’s Head Old Lady material in spades.
Smart, fierce, loyal to the bone.
Seeing these two together makes me think about Solana and how much I care about her. She’s basically my old lady now, even if not everybody in the club approves of it.
Moses has been shooting me dirty looks for days, his jaw tight with restrained fury every time we’re in the same room. Then there’s Big Eddie, who’s conveniently been absent any time I’ve been around.
If I had to guess why, he’s aware he’ll fight me if we’re ever around each other again. He also probably knows I won’t hold back this time. Not after Solana told me all the horrible shit he said to her.
He called her easy. A club girl. A plaything.
Anger courses through me just thinking about it.
But today’s her birthday, so I’m focused on celebrating her and hopefully keeping tensions in the club to a minimum.
Mick comes in from the stockroom, wiping his hands on a rag and stepping behind the counter. “The birthday girl showing up anytime soon? I’m gonna whip her up a special birthday cocktail. Like a Mai Tai, but extra special. My own recipe.”
I crack a small smile. “Appreciate that, Mick.”
“I’m just grateful we’re not ostracizing her after what’s happened.”
“You kidding?” Sydney says with a dismissive laugh. “Why would we? We know you, Silver. We know what kind of man you are. If you and Solana are together, then we know you must really care about her.”
“Just like he cared about Rachel.”
We’ve been joined by another party.
This time that person entering through the front doors of the saloon. We turn our heads toward the raspy voice, unsurprised to discover Tom standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the afternoon light.
He’s flanked by his new little entourage—Bush with his grizzly, unkempt beard, Johnny Flanagan with his greasy sheets of shoulder-length hair, and Moses, whose glare could cut glass.
They’ve become Tom’s shadows since he returned from prison and took back the gavel. His loyal dogs.
Tom strides into the barroom, his boots producing heavy thunks on the wooden floorboards. He holds my gaze the entire time, a mocking smile playing on his roughhewn face.
“Isn’t that right, Jack?” he asks, stopping a few feet away, thumbs hooked in his belt. “You used to say Rachel was the only girl for you.”
“That was twenty years ago, Tom,” I answer, tension hardening my jaw. “Things change.”
He cackles in answer, then adds, “Things certainly do change. But some others stay the same. I just hope you’re not gonna break this one’s heart too.”
He brushes past me, heading for the office, and slams the door shut behind him.
Bush, Johnny, and Moses take seats at a table on the far side of the room. They don’t acknowledge us or even look our way. It’s as if we’re enemies by association. As if we’re already on opposite sides of a war that hasn’t been declared yet.
I ball my hands into fists.
“Silver...” Sydney mutters in warning.
But I’m already moving, striding across the barroom and straight toward the back office. I shove open the door, not bothering to knock. Tom’s behind the desk, settling into the chair like he’s a king who’s returned to his throne.
His head snaps up when I enter, irritation flashing across his face. “You don’t knock before entering now?”
“I’ll be damned if I knock before entering our club office,” I growl, stalking toward the desk. “You’re not a king, Tom. I don’t have to ask your fucking permission. It’s time we set things straight.”
A grin cracks onto his face as he leans back in the chair.
“Set what straight? You mean like how you’ve been gunning for my position for years?
From the moment I took the lead over you?
You never did like it that I was the one who rose up higher than you, did you, Jack? You always resented me for it.”
“No, Tom,” I say, stepping forward. “Actually, I was proud of you.”
My admission catches him off guard for only a second. The surprise flickers in his cold blue eyes before it vanishes again, replaced by his contemptuous humor. But I go on anyway, saying what needs to be said.
“That’s right,” I continue. “I was proud to call you my best friend. You were like a brother to me. I cherished that bond. But it seems like I was the only one who felt that way. Considering you’ve gone off your damn rocker for years now.
It started back before you were locked up, and it’s gotten even worse since you came back.
You look at me and you see an enemy when you should see a brother-in-arms. I’m starting to get that that’s never gonna change, is it? ”
“Good question, Jack. Let’s see…”
He rises from behind his desk, coming around so he can step toward me like I’ve stepped toward him. He comes up ’til we’re only a few inches apart, and I catch a note of the whiskey on his breath. This close up, the broken blood vessels in the whites of his eyes are in full view.
Just more indicators he’s long past his prime. He drinks like a fish and smokes like a chimney and hasn’t taken care of himself in a long time.
But most of all, I see the coldness mirrored back to me. The cruel twist of his features and snarl of his lip as he glares at me as if I’m truly his enemy.
“I can’t consider you a brother,” Tom says finally, “when you’ve betrayed me.”
My brow furrows. “What the hell are you—”
“I know it was you, Jack,” he interrupts. “No matter what you say. It was always you. You ratted me out to the Feds all those years ago.”
“You’re fucking nuts. I never—”
“Then you thought you’d steal my club while I rotted in a cell,” he rants on, tilting his head to the side. His mocking grin returns, lighting up his face in the worst way. “So pardon me if now I’m returning the favor.”
I stare at him for a second longer, the truth of the matter finally clicking into place.
All of it. Everything that’s been happening. Details fall in line like pieces of some complicated puzzle, making up the whole picture I’ve missed.
I scrub a hand across my jaw, slowly shaking my head. “You exacerbated that conflict with the Penas on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted us warring with them. To deflect from all the other grimy shit you were doing.”
Tom’s grin doesn’t waver. “And what would that be?”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on me and Solana,” I answer, eyes narrowing. “Following us. Interfering with what’s going on between us—the parked cars outside the house, the severed head on my doorstep, the mystery texts to Rachel, even the prospect who shot at us. You’ve had a hand in all of it.”
“Is that what you think, Jack?”
“I don’t think anymore—I know. You haven’t been doing it alone either. You’ve been working with Nate. Isn’t that right? You and Wheels—prison pals—teaming up to destroy this club.”
His silence at the latest accusation tells me I’ve cracked the code; I’ve landed on the right conclusion as he offers no rebuttal. He simply stares at me like he’s impressed I’ve finally put it all together.
“You’ve both got reasons to be angry at the Kings these days, don’t you?
” I press on. “Wheels and the Road Rebels have been beefing with us for decades. And you—locked up in the same federal prison as him for years—I’m guessing you two ran into each other a lot.
Must’ve traded stories about how much you both hated me. Hated the Kings.”
The standoff stretches between us, filled by patches of tense silence and sheer loathing thickening the air. We’re glaring at each other, neither willing to back down. Tom maintains that mocking grin while I stare him down like everything he stands for disgusts me.
Then he breaks the tension by laughing. His usual raspy, crackling laugh that sounds like sandpaper.
“One thing about you, Jack, that I must admit,” he says, giving a nod, “you’re a damn astute son of a bitch. The question now is, what are you gonna do about it? This is still my club. I’ll destroy it if I want to.”
I’m done holding back. I’ve given him more than enough leeway and time to explain himself. Now that he’s made it clear who and what he is, it’s my turn to show him who he’s messing with.
I swing on him, my fist connecting with his jaw. He goes flying backward, crashing into the desk before hitting the floor.
He doesn’t stay down for long, not that I’d expect otherwise from Tom. Even with blood dripping from his freshly split lip, he’s up and launching himself at me in a tackle.
My back slams against the wall, some breath knocked out of me, but like him, I don’t let that stop me. Years of resentment and betrayal boil over, and I let it all out.
Former best friend—brother-in-arms—or not.
I drive my elbow into his ribs. He grunts and staggers back, then comes at me again, fists swinging. One connects with my cheekbone, pain exploding across my face. I stay on my feet, only staggering half a step, then answer with an uppercut that snaps his head back.
We’re trading blows like wild animals, grunting and snarling, neither willing to give an inch.
Tom lands a vicious combination to my ribs, knocking the rest of the breath out of me. I’ve already grabbed him by the collar and drove him forward, slamming his head into the wall and leaving it stained with his blood.
Plaster cracks, and he roars in fury and shoves me back. His hand scrabbles across the nearby desk ’til it closes around a beer bottle.
He smashes it against the desk edge, glass exploding everywhere, and comes at me with the jagged broken bottle.
The office door bangs open.
“What the fuck is going on?!” Mace thunders. Sydney’s right behind him, her features wide with horror.
He rushes forward, trying to get between us, but Tom slashes the broken bottle at his own son. “Get the fuck back!”
Mace jerks away just in time, the jagged glass missing his face by inches. I use the distraction to grab Tom from behind, locking my arms around him and forcing the bottle from his grip. It clatters to the floor as we both go down, crashing onto the hardwood in a tangle of limbs.
We’re tussling on the ground, each trying to get the upper hand. Tom’s fingers claw at my face and throat. I answer with a head butt that makes his nose crunch.
Then the cavalry arrives… but not the kind I want.
Bush, Johnny, and Moses come rushing in, and without knowing the context—or maybe not giving a shit—they immediately take Tom’s side. Moses grabs me by the collar and hauls me off Tom, then lands a punch to the side of my head that blurs my vision.
“Get the fuck off him!” Mace roars, and then he’s on Moses and Johnny, pulling them away from me with brute force. He takes a hit to the ribs but gives back twice as good, trading punches like the rough fighter he is.
Two against one and he’s holding his own.
More bodies pile into the room. Cash from the Chop Shop, his face twisted with confusion, then fury. Tate and Tito, fists already swinging.
The office quickly becomes a war zone—men grappling and punching and crashing into furniture. Lines are being drawn in blood and bruises.
I’m back on my feet, squaring off against Bush who’s come for me first, when Tom finally stumbles to the front of the room.
He’s a mess. Blood dripping from his nose and lip and a gash above his eye. His face is already swelling from the punches he’s taken. He spits a tooth onto the floor, then raises his voice above the chaos.
“Everybody sticking with me—the real president—come now!” he hollers. “This club ain’t no longer a club! It’s clear we gotta take out the fucking trash! Follow me!”
The fighting gradually stutters to a halt.
Bush, Johnny, and Moses trail behind Tom as he turns and strides from the room. A couple other men follow suit too, only after sparing us angry glares.
But I’m not letting them out of my sight so long as they’re on Kings property. I stalk after them, flanked by Mace and Tito.
Sydney scurries to the bathroom, muttering something about being nauseous.
Tom has made it across the barroom as he starts for the door. It opens before he can reach it, Solana walking in accompanied by Korine and Zoe. The three women stop in place with the instant kind of horror and shock that Sydney had witnessing everything go down.
Their gazes rake over us, probably taking in the blood and sweat and wondering what could’ve possibly happened.
Tom merely grins and steps forward as if their arrival changes nothing.
“Happy birthday, girl,” he says, zeroing in on Solana. “But hope you know—your man’s going down.”
Then he storms out, his men in tow, leaving destruction in his wake.
Solana’s eyes find mine across the saloon floor, blinking as if she can’t bring herself to speak right now.
I can’t really either. All I can think is… this battle between me and Tom and the others is far from over.