I release her, scribble my phone number on a scrap of paper, and pass it to her.“You call me, you hear?You need me, call, I’m not that far away.”
She nods, though there is fear in her eyes.
After kissing her brow, I grab my helmet and keys.“Lock the door after me.Don’t let anyone in.”
I rev my bike and grip the handlebars so tight my knuckles pale.Driving away from Scarlet might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.I stop at the truck and wave Tank and Ghost over.
“We have to go to the clubhouse,” I snap.
Maybe I should stay, I think.
“What?Why?”Tank says.Blood has seeped through the bandage on his arm.He doesn’t appear to have noticed.
“Fucking Hyenas have sent us a message.”My jaw tenses.
Ghost frowns then spits tobacco onto the ground.“Oh, yeah?”
“Belly’s dead.”
“What?”Ghost’s head jerks up.
Tank steps back as though physically punched.“You’re shitting me?”
“’Fraid not.They threw a Molotov, apparently, and it hit him.”
“This is goddamn war.”Ghost grimaces.“I won’t stop until they’re all six feet under.Belly’s death means vengeance and retribution.”
“I agree.”
The two men shove their weapons into their belts and climb onto their bikes.As the roar of engines fills my ears, I know I have no choice but to go with my club brothers.
The safe house is safe.That is why it’s called a fucking safe house.
Ten minutes later we are pulling into the clubhouse lot.There are scorch marks on the ground and up the fence.An old van took the heat too, its windows blown and one tire melted.
Poor fucking Belly.Not a good way to go.
Faces are serious and dour as I make my way to the meeting room, my shoulders swinging and my limbs aching with the tension of revenge.
Jock is at the head of the table with his fingers spread on the surface.I scrape out the chair next to him, sit with a bang, slap my phone and keys down, then check out my fellow bikers one by one, making eye contact.“We are one,” I say.“We live and breathe as one.We live and die as one.We will find whoever is responsible for Belly’s death and slit him throat to cock so he can watch his guts spill onto the floor.”
“Too damn right,” Tank says.
Felon, our Enforcer, slams his fist into his palm.“An eye for an eye.That’s what I say.”
“That’s what we all say.”Jock leans forward.“They’ve pushed too far.Dealing on our turf, using innocents as mules, ambushing us, and now targeting our clubhouse.There’s no going back.All in favor of war?Show of hands.”
All eight hands at the table shoot up.It was a no-brainer.Our mortal enemies had to be brought down.If we let them take an inch they’d take a mile.
“Years ago,” Jock says, “two of our founding brothers made a decision never to be owned by the cartels because it equals chains around our necks.We will not bend the knee to their Columbian empire.Not today.Not ever.No matter what they throw at us, literally.”He smacks his cut, over his heart.“Sons of Sin answer to no one and we’re not going to start now.”
A guttural round of agreements fills the room.
“Belly will have his goodbyes, and we’ll mourn a loyal brother, but first...”
“We kill these sons of bitches,” I say.
A gruff cheer.
