The sound of multiple motorcycles.Bandits.
I tensed, reaching for my gun. But Zack didn’t even flinch, let alone look for his weapon.
“It’s all right,” he said. “They’re expected.”
“Who is ‘they?’”
He told me to wait. I fucking hated waiting. Waiting was how people got hurt, Bandits got away, and Sheriff Davis came into raise hell for no fucking reason, let alone a legitimate legal one. I still kept my finger on the gun, but I didn’t rise.
And then, finally, a couple minutes later, about a dozen bikes pulled up, with one leading the charge and five right behind him. Butch was among the five in the rear.
I knew what the answer was before Zack even spoke.
“They are the calvary,” Zack said. “They have come to help us win this war.”
The Black Reapers from Springsville. The original Reapers.
“Zack,” a tall, lean guy with black hair and looked a tad like Cole said. “Where are the rest of the Reapers?”
“Probably home with their women,” Zack said. “I can get them out—”
“We drove all the fucking way down here and no one’s home? I’m going to murder Cole.”
I cleared my throat.
“Talk to us,” I said.
The man looked at me, scoffed, and snickered.
“And you are?”
“Mason, sergeant-at-arms of the club,” I said. “Zack here’s an officer. I’m a fucking killer. You want to help us fight our war? I’m the guy you talk to.”
The snickering stopped.
“I’m Lane, president of the Black Reapers MC,” he said.
I was acutely aware that he did not distinguish that they were from California. He didn’t need to.
“This guy right here,” he said, nodding to Zack, “and Steele came up to us recently, asking for our help. We said no. But Cole has gotten us here to help you fight your battles.”
He sighed.
“We don’t want to be here. We didn’t fight only so that, a couple of years later, we’d get dragged back down into this shit. A lot of us have families.”
I never wavered in my stare with him.
“But that’s the very reason we’re here.”
He may well have been referring to Cole. But even if he wasn’t, I would have used that same argument against him.
I fought for Hannah and my nephew. I fought to make sure that they didn’t grow up in the violence, shame, and anguish that I did—well, it was too late for Hannah, but I could prevent more of that shit from coming to her. I fought to ensure that as the rest of the Reapers started relationships and families, they could live their lives in peace.
Because the devil himself fucking knew that there was no hope for me finding any of that. My place in this world was sealed shut. I was a fighter and a killer, and so long as I drew breath, I would not know peace. Not when I hadn’t had the ability to control my darkest side for…well, my entire life.
“Cole said something about King,” he said. “I want you to gather everyone here so we can go over the details, and I want it done now. The sooner we take care of this shit—”
He cut himself off as the sound of another motorcycle approached. This one, neither of us had anticipated. But when I saw Lane’s lips curl up ever so slightly, as if he recognized the sound of the motorcycle itself, I relaxed.
