Chapter Seventeen Dixie

I sit in Church and stare at the Demon Dawg logo etched into the table as Hex lays out my sins to my brothers. While I want to sneak a peek to gauge their reactions, I'm scared to see their disappointment or disgust. Chiding myself for being a coward, I glance around the table and see nothing but emotionless faces. Not sure why I thought I'd see anything different. These men know how to keep their thoughts to themselves. Hex ends his speech with a description of the current mess I'm in. How I've taken the job to kill Hex's father and twin brother.

"Well, shit, what are we going to do? Can we fake the assassinations?" Zip asks.

I stare at the man, because that wasn't the first question I was expecting. ‘Should he hand in his kutte?' Or, ‘should we take his kutte off his cold, dead body?' Those were the questions I was expecting.

"I've asked Vladimir to come back to the clubhouse so we can discuss this," Hex says. "Before he gets here, we need to decide Dixie's fate."

"What's to decide?" Lake asks.

"He put all of us in danger," Abra says.

"How?"

"If the cops or one of his targets discovered who he was and where he was, they'd have come looking for revenge," Abra explains. "We would have been blind-sided."

"Why did you keep it a secret?" Zip asks. The question is more curious than accusatory.

"Plausible deniability," I tell him. "I'm good, one of the best, but that doesn't mean I'll never make a mistake and get caught. Every job has a certain level of risk and the more jobs I do, the more likely someone will spot a pattern or a trail that I didn't know I was leaving behind. One that leads the authorities to my door. I hoped that by keeping you unaware of my work, that if the worst happened, you wouldn't get caught in the fallout."

"With all due respect to my VP, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Pirate says. "Do you really think the cops wouldn't believe we were involved? We all wear the 1% patch. We may not be hard-core criminals, but we aren't Boy Scouts."

I open my mouth to argue, but then close it again. "You're right. I thought I was protecting you when I kept silent. When I first joined the club, I was already an assassin and used to keeping it a secret."

"Too bad, we could have helped you," Pirate muses.

We all turn to look at him. "How so?" Hex asks.

"Well, think about it. Being part of a motorcycle club is the best cover. We have clubhouses across the United States, in all the big cities. You wouldn't have to rent a hotel room, so that's one less paper trail for the authorities to follow. They couldn't track your travel either if we rode as a group and paid for expenses via the club credit card. We could serve as your alibi if they got that far, which I doubt they would. Plus, the other clubs could help with surveillance of the mark. They all have plenty of experience disposing of bodies."

I open my mouth to comment, but close it again. Pirate's right. Many of the challenges I face as an assassin would disappear once I make use of the resources and the anonymity the club offers.

"You realize you fucked up, right?" Abra asks with a smirk.

I grimace and nod. "Yeah, I did."

"Since you fucked up, but also admitted it, we need to discuss the punishment as a club and take a vote. You're excused for now. We'll bring you back in when we're done. Do you have anything to say before you step out?" Hex demands.

"I want to apologize for not trusting you with my secret but also not respecting you to know you'd have my back. I thought I was protecting you, but I used that as my excuse. As I think back on my decision, I realize I decided before I knew what real brotherhood meant. In my mind, my greatest mistake was not revisiting my decision later. For that, I apologize to each of you. I acted like an idiot because I feared losing my family."

I leave the room and close the door behind me. Leaning against the wall, I try to calm my nerves as I consider the discussion going on inside. There is a possibility that I'll lose my kutte, but the reactions from my brothers make me feel that this isn't likely. I betrayed my President, and if my brothers feel they can't trust me, I could lose my VP patch. Shit, that will hurt, but not as much as losing my kutte. I was proud when Hex asked me to be his VP. But, I'd understand if Hex relieved me of my role. He needs to trust his second-in-command and I'm not sure he does any longer. I bow my head in shame when I realize how much I've screwed up.

My second phone vibrates in my pocket, letting me know my handler is calling me back.

"Yeah," I answer.

"There isn't a hit on Cleo Golubrev, so she's safe. Or as safe as possible considering she runs Golubrev Shipping and is the Old Lady to your President. But while I was checking into it, I found out more about the client who hired the hit on Zoloth. He also paid for two additional hits. All three are in the US. One is Ivan Orloff, and the other is Dimitri Shevchenko."

"Same time frame?" I ask.

"Yes. We don't have the identity of the client. We think he's working through a third-party."

"Okay, thanks for the information. I'll send you that case of Sazerac."

Soon after ending the call, Abra opens the door and gestures for me to enter. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before following him inside and shutting the door behind me. Rather than take my seat next to Hex, I stand with my back to the door awaiting their judgement. I quickly scan everyone's face before focusing my attention on Hex. As I expect, I can't read anyone's expression, so I have no clue how this will go.

"We took three votes," Hex starts. "The first was to decide if we should take your kutte. That suggestion didn't pass, so you're still a brother. We then took a vote to remove you as VP, but that didn't pass either. None of us are happy that you kept this big of a secret or that you put the club in danger. However, none of us feels as if you were being malicious, that you were trying to protect us."

He waits for a beat and just when I think he's expecting me to respond, he continues.

"You helped me create this club. I trusted you with my dream. If someone had told me you would keep this big of a secret from me, I'd have made them regret their words. After discussing this with the rest of the club, I realize that I'm the one who has the most issue with your keeping this secret. So, I recommended the one punishment that I think will ensure this never happens again. You're getting the brand."

I nod at his suggestion. As much as I'm not looking forward to it, I know this will clear the air between Hex and me. The man who started the Demon Dawgs, Jeff Westbrook, started the tradition of using a branding iron for club punishments as a permanent reminder for patched members to not fuck up again. When Hex started this Chapter, Dante, the current President of our Main Chapter and the grandson of the founder, sent Hex a replica.

"I accept," I say.

"Let's get it over with," Hex says, giving me a nod of approval. He moves past me to the fireplace that's off to my left. I didn't notice that it had been lit or the brand sitting amongst the coals. I feel a little queasy knowing how much this is going to hurt, but I shove the anxiety down as I remove my kutte and shirt, placing them on the table. Zip slaps a bottle of whiskey into my palm. I give him a nod of thanks before chugging a quarter of the bottle. He takes the bottle back and hands me a piece of leather to bite down on.

He and Abra each take an arm and hold me in position. Not because they think I'll fight them off, but because they want to keep me still. If I thrash around or jerk, I'll make things worse. I stiffen as the excruciating pain rushes through me. The scent of my burning flesh has the bile rising in my throat. I close my eyes and breathe through the pain. Hex doesn't let the brand linger, for which I'm grateful. Once he removes it, I sag against Abra.

"Let's go patch you up," Lake says, taking me from Abra and leading me out the door to the infirmary.