Chapter 33 Tex
TEX
Peter didn’t answer JD’s question. Instead he sat there, jaw tight, eyes darting around the table like he was looking for a way out that didn’t exist.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. I turned in my chair and looked straight at him—really looked at him.
A man I’d ridden beside for years.
A man I’d trusted.
A man who had gotten his brothers killed and who’d nearly gotten Rowan killed.
“I think what JD really wants to ask is, was it worth it?”
Confessor didn’t flinch. Not a muscle twitched. Instead he stared right back at me with a quietly burning anger. “What are you talking about?”
I breathed in through my nose, barely holding in my rage. “When you betrayed your club, Confessor. When you betrayed your brothers, your family, and your fuckin’ code, was it worth it?” I leaned forward slightly. “Was the money worth it?”
Peter ground his back teeth, the sound audible in the deafening silence of the room. He shook his head slowly, the weight of what he’d done finally settling across his shoulders. I wondered if he would deny it, but his shoulders loosened, like he was glad it was finally out there.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered.
I didn’t blink. “Try me.”
He looked up at me then, and something tired and bitter moved across his face.
“You’re still young,” he said. “Still got too much life ahead of you. When you get to my age, when you’ve lost the woman you love for the club, and when your bones hurt just to get outta bed.
When you’re half deaf and goin’ blind…” His voice cracked before he continued. “Then you get to judge me.”
Silence followed.
Not a single man in the room understood how he could do this to us.
Because that’s what we signed up for. When we joined the Kings, we knew it was for life. We knew we would live and breathe and die in this club, with these men by our sides.
We gave everything, because it meant something. And to some men it meant more than everything, because it was the only thing they had.
“I’m retiring with sixty grand in the bank,” Confessor continued, bitterness creeping in. “That ain’t enough to set me up for the rest of my life. Ain’t enough for anything. I can’t ride much longer. Can’t earn.”
His eyes moved around the room. His hands were clasped on the table in front of him, his jaw set hard against our judgment.
“This club’s been my life, but it’s taken everything from me.”
JD shook his head slowly. “It’s a shame you think that.”
Peter frowned and JD leaned forward.
“Every man in this club’s got money set aside. Club funds. Enough to set ‘em up for life.”
Peter’s face went still and he glanced around, trying to catch anyone's eye.
Moose looked away, and Swampy spat on the floor beside him.
When Confessor looked my way I held his gaze, pouring everything I felt into my stare.
And I hoped he felt the hate and the pity that I felt for him.
This man I had once considered a brother.
“The club always has your back,” JD continued calmly. “Always. Because we’re family, and family looks after its own.”
The door opened and Ink came in. He walked around the table and handed the paperwork over to JD. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the Confessor and he gave him a look filled with so much hate. And then he shuffled back out of the room.
JD held out a piece of paper for Confessor to see. “Got a million in the bank and a house built ready for you, for when you were ready to quit the life. Every man does.”
Peter swallowed hard. “I…I didn’t know. How could I know?”
“You should’ve asked,” I said quietly.
The words hit him harder than anything else.
Around the table, glasses lifted.
Moose, Bear, Swampy, Gods, Ridge, JD, even Rowan.
Her hand was shaking, but she lifted her glass anyway. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table in front of her, unable to look at Peter.
Peter looked around, confusion creeping in. “What’s going on? What is this? You gonna kill me, then get on with it. I won’t beg for my life. I’ve given too much to this club to start begging now.”
“No begging necessary,” JD said. He stood up and poured another glass of whisky out before sliding it over to Confessor.
Gods’ voice was calm behind Confessor. “This is your retirement drink.”
“Retirement? You sending me out to pasture? Fine, fuck all of you then.” He picked up his glass and threw the whiskey to the back of his throat without hesitation. “I’ll be glad of it. Be glad to be rid of you all.”
His glass didn’t shake from fear, but from age. From the wear and tear that this life brought us. The wear and tear that this life would have on us all eventually.
I looked across the table at my brothers and we drank together, one final toast.
The whiskey burned down my throat and then glasses hit the table almost in unison. Even Rowan’s glass was empty, and when I glanced her way, she had finally looked up. She was staring at Confessor, her eyes glassy and her jaw set tightly in pity.
JD leaned forward again, eyes locked on Peter. “It shouldn’t take long.”
Confessor blinked and let out a shaky laugh, but there was no humor in it. “What?”
“The poison,” Gods said from behind him.
“You’re bluffing,” Confessor replied, though his voice had already begun to thin, the confidence bleeding out of it. “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t do that to one of your own.”
No one answered. Why would we?
He wasn’t one of ours. Not anymore.
The silence in the Chapel felt heavier than anything I’d experienced before. Even the air seemed to thicken, pressing down on us all.
Confessor shifted in his chair. Then again.
His fingers curled against the edge of the table, knuckles whitening as he flexed them slowly, like he was testing whether they still worked.
“What, what the hell did you give me?” he asked, the edge creeping into his voice now.
JD leaned back in his chair, lifting his empty whiskey glass calmly. “Something that’s going to make the rest of your life real quiet,” he said.
Confessor pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor as he tried to stand. His legs buckled and Gods’ hand came out automatically, gripping his shoulder to stop him from crashing face-first into the table. For a second it almost looked like kindness.
Then Gods pushed him back down into the chair.
JD leaned back calmly. “You should be glad we’re not executin’ you the way you got Rowan’s parents executed.”
“And the way you got your brothers executed,” Bear added quietly.
“I didn’t. I…”
“Bullshit,” Moose muttered.
Peter’s face drained of color.
“I, I can’t feel,” Confessor muttered, his brow furrowing as panic began to take hold. He lifted one hand, staring at it as his fingers trembled uncontrollably.
I leaned back in my chair, watching him unravel.
“Executing you with a bullet to the brain was my first choice,” I admitted quietly. “But this…” I shrugged slightly. “This felt more fitting for a rat.”
I watched as the tremors worsened until his hand shook violently. He tried to pick up the glass but it slipped from his fingers and smashed against the floor. JD grabbed the bottle from the shelf and poured himself another glass, and Confessor looked up, watching his every movement.
JD smiled. “That wasn’t the whiskey you had, old friend. I gave you something real special, courtesy of our friends in the cartel.”
Confessor put his hands to his throat. “What did you give me?”
JD’s smile was cold when he replied. “Same thing Rafael Vargas’ son Mateo gave to his own father so he could take over the family business. Luckily there’s a stepson that’s willing to do a deal with us. He’s not quite as psychotic as his brother was.”
Peter’s breathing became ragged and he gagged, his skin going blotchy. “What’s happening to me?”
“You’re gonna be paralyzed,” JD continued calmly. “Bedbound. You won’t be able to move or speak.”
Peter’s eyes widened in horror. “No…”
JD leaned forward slightly and he smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a special retirement home waiting just for you. Someone’ll wipe your ass for the rest of your days. Now you don’t need to worry about how you’ll manage.”
“No, no, no, no…” Confessor whispered.
He tried to stand again, but his legs didn’t respond, and none of us moved to help him.
Confessor’s breathing quickened, turning ragged as sweat beaded along his forehead. His chest rose and fell too fast, panic taking hold completely now.
“You can’t do this,” he said, louder now, his eyes wide with panic. “You can’t. I rode with you. I bled for this club!”
“You sold us out,” I snarled, and my words landed like a hammer.
I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, straining to keep my rage under control.
I knew this was the best form of punishment for him, but the urge to rip him apart with my bare hands for what he’d done was difficult to contain.
Confessor looked at me, desperation flooding his eyes. “You don’t understand,” he rasped. “I was scared. I didn’t have anything left. I thought…”
His voice faltered.
His jaw twitched.
There was a slight pull at the corner of his mouth, like his face was no longer obeying him. He stared at me, his breathing coming quicker as he panted.
“Please, brother.”
“Ain’t no brother of mine,” I said. I looked over at Bear. “What about you? Is he your brother?”
Bear shook his head. “Ain’t my brother. What about you, Moose?”
“Not my brother,” Moose replied, and looked across to Swampy. “He your brother?”
“Nothin’ to do with me,” Swampy replied, his deep, gravelly voice filled with hatred.
JD looked at Gods, who had now sat down next to Confessor. He was leaning back in his chair, a cigarette held between his lips.
“What about you?” JD asked.
Gods pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, taking a long, deep inhale of it before blowing out the smoke. “Not my brother. My brothers are fuckin’ loyal.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” JD agreed, banging his fist on the table, and we all joined in.
“So you see, Peter,” I said, “you ain’t nothing to do with us no more. You ain’t our Chaplain and we’re stripping you of your road name. You’re nothing. A no one.”
“My, my face…” he tried to say, but the words came out slurred, thick on his tongue.
JD watched him calmly. “I told you it wouldn’t take long.”
Peter tried to lift his hand to touch his face, but his arm only lifted halfway before dropping heavily back onto the table. His breathing grew louder now, harsh and uneven. Fear filled his eyes completely.
“You, you said retirement…” he slurred, struggling to form the words.
JD nodded. “Yeah, you’re retiring. Permanently.”
Peter’s head began to tilt forward slightly, his neck no longer holding steady. His eyes darted around the room. At Moose, at Bear, at Swampy, at Tex. No man looked away.
Peter tried to speak again but this time only a broken sound came out. His chest rose sharply, panic flooding his features as he realized he was losing control of his own body.
“No…” he whispered, his voice barely audible now.
JD poured another round, sliding the glasses across the table. “Drink up, boys,” he said calmly. “It’s going to be a long night.”
They picked up their glasses one by one.
Peter tried to move again, but nothing happened. His fingers twitched weakly against the table, then stilled. Terror filled his eyes.
Gods leaned forward, placing a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder as his body slumped further into the chair.
“Easy,” Gods murmured quietly. “It’s done now.”
Peter’s breathing slowed, shallow and uneven. His eyes still moved, darting from face to face, begging us to do something, but no one spoke, and no one moved to help him.
One by one, we raised our glasses. Rowan lifted hers too, her hand trembling, and together we all drank.
And across the table, Peter sat frozen in his chair. His eyes wide, body failing, still conscious enough to understand exactly what the rest of his life was going to look like.