Just what he said.
“And it was you, Pacino, pushed we fuck her up, which got us all arrested, that bein’ after we all got our asses kicked by Chaos and Throttle got his face carved up,” Muzzle, standing next to Beck, noted. “She was informing to fucking Chaos. We all knew, we touched her, they’d move in. It was insanity we beat her down.”
“You voted for that,” Pacino snapped.
“Yeah, because I was tweaked and thinkin’ with my balls, that bein’ folks deciding I didn’t have any if we didn’t make a statement,” Muzzle returned. “Havin’ some time to ponder this shit, that brother Hound actually got started with his knife, and didn’t limit his good time with Throttle’s face, I wouldn’t have any balls at all, so maybe it’s time to think with somethin’ else.”
“I’m not Throttle,” Beck declared.
“What?” Eightball asked on his other side.
Beck turned to him. “I’m not fuckin’ Throttle. I’m Beck.”
He put his hand to his belt, undid the snap on his own knife, yanked it out and everyone went alert.
But he just took it to the edge of the patch that had the name Throttle on it, which was stitched over his heart, and shoved it through enough he could toss his knife on the table in front of him and tear off the second patch he’d torn off his cut in the last two months.
He threw it on the table.
“I’m Beck,” he stated. “Throttle is dead. This club is dead.” He looked to Web. “This becomes about brotherhood and loyalty and respect and goddamned fucking honesty, I’m still in. We’re Resurrection. And to be brought back from the dead, we gotta carve out the weak links, and I want those two fucks gone.” He pointed across the table at Digger and Pacino. “We don’t get saved, it’s me that’s gone.”
“Resurrection,” Griller muttered, “Kickass.”
“True that,” Rainman agreed in his own mutter.
Jesus.
Web held Beck’s gaze before he looked to Digger.
“Digger, answer. Valenzuela call us because Lannigan came to you to offer us up?”
“I wasn’t called in by the cops to talk about Chew,” Digger returned.
Total lie.
It was written all over him.
They wanted a murderer.
But they got up in his shit about Chew.
“Then what’d the cops call you about, brother? ’Cause we ain’t done dick in months, Valenzuela forgot we existed, so there’s nothin’ to haul you in about,” Web pushed.
“You called your president,” Spartan added when Digger didn’t chime in, “tellin’ him we gotta deal with Thro . . .” he glanced at Beck then back at Digger, “Beck ’cause he was runnin’ his mouth to the cops. Seems to me, he was just askin’ questions to your drunk-ass, waste-of-space bud, Pickle. You and Pacino still got pulled in. What’d the cops talk to you about?”
Beck wondered why they didn’t ask that question before they called an emergency meeting and got their knives out.
But at least they were asking it now.
Digger looked to Beck, the table, and his attention stayed there.
Pacino’s eyes were pinging around the room.
“Pacino, what the cops haul you in about?” Spartan pressed. “You’re all in for us to crawl up Beck’s ass, he’s a rat. What’d we do the cops were so interested in? What’d Beck run to them and share? Having an argument about how long a term is for president?”
“It’s a year, everyone knows it’s a fuckin’ year,” Pacino muttered.
A loud boom sounded when Eightball’s huge fist landed on the table and he thundered, “Answer, goddammit!”
“Digger’s up for whackin’ some porn junkie,” Pacino said fast. “He needed an alibi, I gave him one. I took my brother’s back. That’s why they hauled us in.”
There was a very long moment of very heavy silence.
Then Muzzle pulled out his chair, sat in it and leveled his eyes on Pacino, saying quietly, “Not takin’ his back now, are you, brother? Just laid him out. Eightball makes some noise, you spill. Nice.”
“It’s about brotherhood, loyalty,” Pacino pointed at Beck, “honesty.”
“You got one down,” Eightball said, pulling out his own chair and sitting in it. “Though, sayin’ that, you knew this and convinced us to lay the hurt on Beck, he ratted us out. So honesty seems sketchy too.”
“You kill this junkie?” Web asked Digger.
“What?” Digger asked back, looking so damned shifty, considering his normal level of shifty, it was nauseating. “No way. Just was home alone. Cops don’t believe dick, a man’s home alone, mindin’ his own business.”
Web gave up on Digger and looked to Pacino. “He kill this girl?”
“How do I know?” Pacino spat.
“Brotherhood, loyalty,” Griller muttered, taking his own seat. “Warms the heart.”
“I’m on record with the pigs sayin’ he was with me,” Pacino snapped. “That’s both.”
“Either a’ you geniuses think to bring this to the club?” Spartan asked. “You know, seein’ as we’re so solid right now, can withstand a hit, like one of us a suspect for murder without the other ones knowin’ about it. My old lady woulda lost her mind, I was hauled in by the cops again. I woulda lost mine, I was hauled in and I had no clue what it was about. Already nearly lost my job over goin’ down, what we did to Rosalie. My boss’d can my ass, cops showed and pulled me in again. And I kinda like my kids. So I’d kinda like to make sure they keep getting fed.”
“We thought we had it covered,” Pacino muttered.
“Well, you didn’t,” Web clipped.
Pacino focused on Beck. “Anyone think to ask Beck why he knew all this shit, he didn’t bring it to the table?”
Because he was waiting for it to implode.
He could not say that.
“Because I had a woman I didn’t pay enough attention to, and that fuckup led to fuckin’ my club up. I got somethin’ happenin’ with my woman now that needs attention, I made that call. The damage was already done. It couldn’t get any worse, I took a coupla nights and looked after my woman. I was gonna make another call to have a meet when I got the call to come to this meeting. I knew what it was about. What I didn’t know was that two of my brothers were gonna lay me out.”
“Convenient, you were gonna call,” Pacino said snidely.
“No. Just truth,” Beck lied.
“Enough,” Web sighed, taking his own seat.
Anyone left standing did the same.
Except Beck.
But Digger and Pacino went to take their seats.
“Feet, brothers, do not sit,” Web growled.
Both their eyes shot to Web, but he was looking at Beck.
“Beck, you sit,” he ordered.
“But—” Pacino began.
“First meeting of Resurrection has just begun,” Web announced, cutting Pacino off. “Beck sits, we can discuss our first order of business, revoking the patches of brothers Digger and Pacino.”
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!” Pacino yelled.
“Second,” Spartan said loudly.
“Aye,” Hardcore said.
“Aye,” Griller said.
“Aye,” Rainman said.
“Aye,” Eightball said.
“Aye,” Muzzle said.
“Beck?” Web prompted.
Beck took his seat, focus on Pacino, and said, “Aye.”
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, motherfucker,” Pacino threatened, attention glued to Beck.
“You look at him funny, I’ll set you on fire,” Hardcore growled.
Pacino glanced nervously at Hardcore, because Hardcore was called Hardcore for a reason, before he turned back to Beck.
“Better keep close watch over that pretty porn snatch you’re bangin’—”
That’s all he got out.
Because he started retreating when Beck’s chair hit the wall behind him and he prowled swiftly around the table.