“Gentlemen,” I said. “We are now a chapter of the Black Reapers MC.”
“Yeah!”
“Fuck yeah!”
“Let’s fucking go!”
The women to the side hollered and cheered. All the guys exchanged hugs and high fives. Even Steele and I shook hands and briefly hugged. We weren’t all the way back, but we were on the way there.
And then my phone vibratedagain.I applauded some more, excused myself, and pulled open my phone. Two texts and a missed call from Tara?
I unlocked the phone with some nervousness. I only read the last message. It was all I needed to see.
“Bandits are coming to my office. They’re going to rape me. Brock, please. Save me.”
No. No, this shit is not fucking happening again. I will not let you get hurt.
I whirled around. Garrett and Zack were drunk as fuck; I couldn’t trust them to drive home, let alone drive to a relatively distant office.
“What’s wrong?” Cole said.
“I need you to come with me,” I said. “And gather the sober ones. We need to kick some ass and save my woman.”
My woman. Damn right, she fucking is.
“How many are there?”
“No idea.”
“Fuck,” Cole said. “All right. Let’s go. But leave one sober person behind here in case it’s a trap. Need to defend this building at all costs.”
I fucking hated it. But Cole had been in spots like this where violence was more strategic. I fucking hated it so much, but I deferred to him.
“Mason! Connor!”
The two of them looked to me. They heard the urgency in my voice and ran over.
“Mason, stay here and guard this place with Zack and Garrett,” I said. “Connor, you’re coming with me. Tara’s under attack at her office about a mile south of here.”
“You fucking got it,” he snarled. “Let’s kill some fucking Bandits.”
“Steele—”
“Let’s go, we’ll talk about it later,” he said, having eavesdropped on what I said.
Cole ordered me to the back. He pulled out some knives and some guns and gave them all to us. These were not the weapons promised to us, merely smuggled weapons we owned, but they would suffice. I didn’t bother to conceal my gun; if Sheriff Davis wanted to pull over four bikers carrying guns, it was his prerogative to get shot at.
We all hurried to our bikes. I ignored Garrett yelling at us for being pussies for not staying at the party; he didn’t know any better right now. But he’d learn soon enough that partying was not a right or a given for an MC, but something to be had once the dirty, bloody work was done.
I got on my bike first. I didn’t wait for Cole, Steele, or Connor to get theirs going. If I had to fucking go one on five again, I’d fucking do it. I’d sooner die than have to watch a repeat of what happened eight years ago.
On the drive over, under a full moon, I thought of nothing. I didn’t have some deep reflection about what this all meant or how I could redeem myself. I was too fucking scared about Tara getting hurt, about being too fucking late, about not doing enough to protect her.
I would not let history repeat itself. This wasn’t a goal. This was a fact.
No one was laying a fucking finger on Tara Rogers except me.
I must have sped into the parking lot at nearly sixty miles per hour. I had to skid to a halt as I lurched off my bike and took stock of what I saw.
