The small hideout reeked of smoke and stale whiskey. The wooden table was littered with empty bottles, ashtrays, and bloodied bandages that had long since stopped clinging to Jax’s shoulder. He sat slouched in a chair, glass dangling from his hand, his face shadowed by the dim light of a single flickering bulb.
Priest stood by the window, chain-smoking, his eyes hollow but watchful. Doug busied himself with cleaning a rifle he had already cleaned twice—anything to escape the silence, anything to avoid looking at their leader, who seemed like a shell of the man they once followed.
Jax finally spoke, voice hoarse and heavy:
“She looked me dead in the eye, Priest. Dead in the fuckin’ eye… and pulled that trigger. Like I was nobody.”
Priest exhaled smoke, slow and deliberate. He mentally e
