Not that I cared too much. It would last me until this fight was over, which was all it needed to do. And then when Brianna and I got to where we’re going, she can fix it there. Part of my resistance to the surgery had been because Brianna wasn’t here to operate on me. And there was no way I was going to let anyone else have the power of life over me.
The Black Reapers all stood around the room. There were so many of them, each wearing their cut. Satan was in a large leather recliner but still exuded power. Sonny and Spawn stood on either side of them, and they were the only two with their weapons out. I noticed some other faces around the room, too, a few from the New Mexico chapter that happened to be in town. Lane and Cole, the original founders of the Black Reapers, stood behind Satan.
Needless to say, it was intimidating as fuck.
“Man, I thought King neutered you all,” Satan chuckled, looking at me with his steely gaze. “Turns out you have some major balls still, Crush. Asher here tells me that you’ve got quite the story to spin.”
“Indeed I do,” I said. He waved his hand for me to continue. And I knew if I was to have any hope in hell at getting the Black Reapers on my side, I had to make the situation real for them. And that started with Satan himself. I looked at the man, holding his gaze. “King wants you dead. Gave me two weeks to see it out after that hit you pulled on the east warehouse.”
“You honestly expect us to believe that—” Sonny started.
I interrupted, “King doesn’t have any regard for LEOs or the Feds. He’s completely lost his fucking mind. He thinks he owns every police department this side of the desert, and he’s willing to play boldly. He doesn’t care about the cost of men, either.”
“And you want out anyway,” Spawn finished. “So why do we need to help you achieve your wet dream here?”
“Not all of the men are loyal,” I shrugged. “Hell, even Prince wants out.”
I noticed Lane and Cole perk up a bit at the mention of Prince’s name. And I kept talking, giving the Black Reapers a barebones, extremely abridged version of everything that had led to this point. King’s demented ways, the target on Satan’s head, and his complete disregard for anybody’s life and reason entirely.
“The men, they need someone to turn to,” I said. “Taking out King will leave them restless, and some may fuck off, but others like this life. And Prince can be that person. If we go to Vegas and get men to turn, some will, some won’t.”
“That’s a risky gambit,” Satan added. “Not sure if I like my odds.”
“If you can turn the Chinatown warehouse, you’d have it made,” I said.
“We already crushed the east side,” Satan replied.
“They can reorganize and rebuild,” Cole defended. “To turn men, though. That would be one hell of a win.”
“King’s Men is just like any other club,” I added. “It’s not buildings and supply crates. It’s the men that keep it afloat. Without the men, King would be left with nothing.”
There was a general unease and voices rose from all sides. The debate had begun. I did my best to answer the questions, but the Black Reapers didn’t care if I was bullshitting them. I had passed that test already. But now, they were debating the merits and the payout of riding to Vegas. It was a good shot at King, but it could result in an all-out turf war.
Lane and Cole talked with Satan. Sonny stood by and listened. The rest of the club kept arguing amongst themselves. In the end, it came down to the opinion of Lane, Cole, and, most importantly, Satan. It felt like forever, standing there in that room that was large if you took out at least ninety percent of the burly bikers that were currently occupying it. With everyone there, it felt cramped, almost suffocating.
“All right,” Satan’s voice broke through the cacophony of noise, and the chatter died down around us. He looked at me, his eyes hard and serious. “You lead the charge, boy. We’ll cover your ass, but you gotta put some skin in the game here.”
“As long as you back me up, I’ll lead you forward,” I nodded.
Satan stood up and walked over to me. It was almost as if the coma had never happened based on how easy it was for him. He extended a hand out; I grasped it firmly. We shook hands, and it felt like the whole room breathed a sigh of relief. The weight on my shoulders eased. I finally felt like I had solid ground beneath my feet.
“You get some shut-eye at the clubhouse. Anyone makes a move on you, you report directly to me,” Satan said.Protection, I thought. It was worth more than any handshake. I nodded my appreciation. “We’ll all meet there when the sun goes down, and you better have a fucking good plan ready, Crush.”
“Will do,” I said.
I left the meeting feeling hopeful and rode with Brock and Cole back to the clubhouse. The Black Reaper’s Phoenix HQ was something out of MC dreams. It started as a huge two-story hotel, complete with a kitchen and bar. Satan bought it recently after it was foreclosed, and after a major overhaul of the ground floor and the basement, it was ready to be used as an MC place of business. The women of the club gave it a major facelift. New paint, redone plumbing, everything. If they ever wanted to turn it back into a hotel, it was a fucking resort at this point. I was in a little bit of a stupor, looking around as Cole led me to a room on the second floor.
He silently handed me a keycard and walked back down the hallway. I slid the key in and went inside. A large bed stood at the center, with a TV and dresser across from it. I looked up, seeing a ceiling fan and light. There was a small nightstand with a lamp on either side of the bed. I set my extra clothes, gun, phone, and wallet on the bed. I pushed a hand down on the mattress, feeling its soft, cushiony give.
I’d kill for a nap, I thought. But as much as I wanted to sleep, I needed a shower. I padded into the bathroom. It was spacious, complete with a sink and bath/shower combo and toilet. The towels were white and fluffy. I started the water and stripped down. Somehow Satan managed to get the little soaps and shampoos that were stocked in hotels, and the sentiment made me chuckle.
I wrapped the cast in a plastic bag I found. After bringing the water to the optimal temperature, I stepped in. The heat soaked into my bruised-and-battered body, the muscles in my shoulders and thighs relaxing after having ridden so hard. The water was black as it washed down the drain, and I scrubbed the King’s Men from my skin as best as I could. The heat reduced the swelling of my right eye, and I could now open it fully.
After spending a good amount of time in the shower, I walked out feeling like a new man. I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked out to the room. I was about to change into a set of clean clothes when I saw the notification light blinking on my phone. I picked it up, and the screen turned on. A text message from an unknown number.
Henderson Park. Tomorrow. Midnight.
Brianna
