Chapter 17 #3
Tyson must have felt it too because his hand found mine, squeezing tight enough to hurt. A reminder that I wasn't alone, that he'd burn the whole city before letting them use me.
The meeting finally broke up with plans for increased patrols and intelligence gathering. Brothers filed out, some nodding at me, others avoiding eye contact.
"You okay?" Tyson asked once we were alone with the memorial chairs.
"Yeah," I lied, staring at those empty seats. "Just thinking."
"About?"
About how Eddie wasn't wrong, even if his solution was unacceptable. About how more chairs might be empty before this ended. About whether love was worth other people's lives.
"Nothing important," I said instead, letting him pull me close.
But I caught Eddie watching from the doorway, and the look in his eyes said this conversation wasn't over.
A little later, while Tyson talked tactics with his brothers, I found myself standing alone in front of Rico's and Johnnie's memorial, unable to look away from the patches that would never be upgraded to full member.
My fingers traced the prospect rocker, feeling the raised embroidery, the quality leather that would outlast the men who'd worn it.
Rico's cut still smelled faintly of cologne, something woody and young, probably bought to impress girls at the party. There was a small stain near the pocket—barbecue sauce maybe, from some rushed meal between duties. These little details made him real, made the loss sharp enough to cut.
Johnnie's was worse somehow. Newer, stiffer, like he'd been conditioning the leather to make it perfect.
"Guilt's a heavy burden."
I jumped, spinning to find Eddie in the doorway. He moved quiet for a big man, or maybe I'd been too lost in my own head to hear him approach.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." He came in slowly, hands visible, everything about his body language saying 'non-threatening.' "Just wanted to pay my respects."
"I was just . . ." I gestured helplessly at the cuts. What was I doing? Apologizing to dead men who couldn't hear me?
"You were honoring them," Eddie said simply. "Nothing wrong with that. Shows you understand the weight of their sacrifice."
He moved to stand beside me, not too close, respecting personal space. Up close, I could see the grief in his eyes was real. Whatever else Eddie was, he genuinely mourned these losses.
"Did you know them well?" I asked, needing to hear something, anything that made them more than just casualties in my drama.
"Sponsored Johnnie myself." His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Good kid. Smart, dedicated. Would've made a solid brother."
Each word was a knife between my ribs. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," Eddie said, but his tone suggested otherwise. The words were right, but the delivery made them feel hollow, let the guilt sink deeper. "Just unfortunate timing. If we could've ended this before the party . . ."
"But Tyson said—"
"Tyson's thinking with his heart, not his head." Eddie pulled out his phone, swiping to photos. "Can't blame him. Man's in love, wants to protect you. But sometimes protection means making hard choices."
He showed me a picture—a young woman, pretty despite exhaustion, obviously pregnant, standing next to Johnnie at what looked like a barbecue. They were both laughing at something off-camera, his hand protective over her belly. Young love with their whole future ahead of them.
"Maria," Eddie said quietly. "Twenty years old. Works at the grocery store, been saving every penny for the baby. What's she going to do now?"
"The club will—"
"The club will help, sure. But money doesn't replace a father. Doesn't give that kid someone to teach them to ride a bike or throw a ball." He swiped to another photo. "And Rico's mom . . ."
This one was worse. An older woman, frail in a hospital bed, Rico beside her holding her hand. The resemblance was clear—same eyes, same stubborn chin. Rico looked tired but determined, the good son doing his duty.
"Stage three cancer," Eddie said softly. "Rico was her only family, worked three jobs to pay for treatment. Who covers that now? Who holds her hand during chemo?"
"Stop." The word came out choked. "Please."
"I'm not trying to hurt you," Eddie said, pocketing his phone. "Just want you to understand the cost. Every day this war continues, more families get destroyed. More mothers lose sons, more children grow up without fathers."
"Like using me as bait would change that."
"Like ending this before more die would change that," he corrected gently. "One day, few hours maybe. Draw Cruz out, let the brothers handle him. Clean, surgical, done."
"Tyson would never—"
"Tyson would never agree," Eddie finished. "Which is why he wouldn't know until it was over. Until you were safe and Cruz was handled and no more brothers had to die."
I stared at the cuts, mind racing. It sounded so reasonable when he put it like that. A few hours of risk to save lives. To keep more women from becoming widows, more children from growing up fatherless.
"If I said yes—hypothetically—how would it work?"
Eddie moved closer, voice dropping to confidential levels.
"Simple. You go shopping tomorrow afternoon.
Main Street, lots of civilians, multiple exits.
We leak the information to someone we know talks to the Serpents.
Cruz shows up thinking you're vulnerable, finds himself surrounded by brothers instead. "
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. I've run ops like this before, back in my military days. Controlled environment, overwhelming force, minimal risk." He paused. "The only risk would be if Tyson found out and tried to stop it. His emotional investment makes him unpredictable."
"So I'd have to lie to him." The words tasted like ash.
"You'd have to save him," Eddie corrected. "From himself, from starting a war he can't win. You've seen him since the attack—he's ready to burn the whole city down. How many die in that scenario?"
Too many. I'd seen the rage in Tyson's eyes, the barely leashed violence. He would tear through anyone and everyone to get to Cruz, consequences be damned. The body count would be catastrophic.
"I don't want to be a hero," I said quietly. "I just want people to stop dying because of me."
"Then help me end this." Eddie's voice was urgent but not pushy, the perfect balance of concern and logic. "Tomorrow morning. Nine am. Public space. Brothers in position before Cruz even knows you're there. He tries to approach, we take him down, it's over."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing will go wrong. I've got twenty years of experience planning operations. I know every member's strengths, every tactical advantage. And I’ve read the file on Cruz. He’s arrogant, emotional—he'll come running the moment he hears you're exposed."
I swallowed hard.
"How do you know Cruz will even hear about it?"
"Because I'll make sure he does." Eddie's smile turned sharp.
"We've got a prospect who's been feeding information to the Serpents—thinks we don't know.
Kid's too stupid to be a real threat, but useful for disinformation.
He'll overhear about you being out 'unprotected' and run straight to his handlers. "
"Unprotected?" My voice rose slightly. "But you said—"
"You'll be surrounded by brothers," Eddie assured quickly. "But Cruz won't know that. He'll think you slipped your security, took advantage of Tyson being in church to get some air. His ego won't let him pass up the opportunity."
It sounded plausible. Cruz's arrogance was his weakness—I'd learned that during our relationship. He'd never pass up a chance to prove his control, especially if he thought I was vulnerable.
"And when he shows up?"
"We take him down. Quick, clean, no civilian casualties.
Brothers move in, secure the scene, eliminate the target.
You're extracted before anything escalates.
" Eddie leaned against the wall, everything about him radiating competence.
"I've run dozens of ops like this. Urban environment actually makes it easier—more cover, more constraints on enemy movement. "
Every answer was reasonable, logical. He'd thought through the angles, addressed the concerns. But something still felt wrong, some instinct screaming that this was a mistake.
"Tyson will never forgive me," I said quietly, the real fear finally voiced.
Eddie's expression softened. "Tyson will be alive to be angry. That's what matters. Would you rather have him hate you and breathing, or love you while you stand over his grave?"
Maybe it was my turn to save him.
"Tomorrow at nine," I heard myself say. "Main Street boutiques."
"Good girl." Eddie's approval felt oily, but I pushed the feeling down. "I’ll pick you up at eight, two blocks south of yours. I’ll be in a sedan. You won’t need to do anything. Just show up and trust the plan."
Footsteps in the hallway made us both freeze. Eddie stepped back casually, creating appropriate distance just as Tyson appeared in the doorway. His eyes narrowed immediately, taking in our positions, the tension in the air.
"Everything okay?" The question was directed at me, but his glare was all for Eddie.
"Eddie was just telling me more about Johnnie," I said, surprised at how easily the half-truth came. "Sponsored him, right?"
"Yeah." Eddie nodded, playing along perfectly. "Good kid. Waste of potential."
He left without another word, but his eyes met mine for a fraction of a second. The message was clear—think about it, but not too long. Every hour mattered.
Tyson pulled me close the moment Eddie was gone, chin resting on top of my head. "You okay? Know this is a lot—"
"I just want it to be over," I admitted, the truest thing I'd said all day. "I want us to be safe. Want to stop seeing those empty chairs everywhere I look."
"We will be," he promised, arms tightening around me. "I'll fix this, baby. Trust me."
I did trust him. Trusted him to die for me, to kill for me, to burn the whole world down if that's what it took. Which was exactly the problem.
"Take me home?" I asked, needing to be away from the memorial, from the weight of those empty cuts and Eddie's reasonable words.
"Yeah. Let's get out of here."
As he led me out, his hand warm and solid in mine, I felt awful. Tomorrow I'd go shopping on Main Street. I'd be visible, vulnerable, the perfect bait for a predator like Cruz.
And if that meant lying to the man I loved to save his life, then that's a price I'd pay.
After all, Rico and Johnnie had paid much more.