Page 44 of Last Mile

Peterson rose out of his chair and offered me his hand. “On this one occasion, I would tell them to fuck off.”

I couldn’t help being surprised when a laugh escaped my lips.“I never imagined you to be a rebel.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

After momentarily weighing his words, I slipped my hand into his. “Yes. I do believe they do.”

CHAPTER NINE: BISHOP

Hours turned into days and then the days into a week. It was as if all record of Marley vanished the night he was killed. All the contact numbers the garage had on file were disconnected. The apartment complex where he was supposed to live had no idea who I was talking about when I went by there. There was no obituary in the paper, nor was he listed at any of the local funeral homes. I didn’t know Samantha’s number, or I would have tried her. It was the strangest fucking thing I had ever seen or heard of.

It was hell not being able to be a part of his funeral. Of course, as a hang- around, he wouldn’t have been afforded any Raiders’ burial rites. But at the same time, I wanted my chance to say goodbye. More than anything, I wanted to be able to tell him that I was sorry.

That was the God’s honest truth— the 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 knocking 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 looser— another sign of how her emotional pain was wrecking her physically.

Finally, she broke the tense silence. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” I grunted. Although part of me was glad as hell to see her, I couldn’t hide the animosity that was boiling within me.

She took a step back. “Sorry to interrupt. Rick said I would find you back here.”

“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded.

Her dark eyes widened in surprise at both my tone and my question. “Yeah, about that. Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t call. It’s been⁠—”