The Kings settled in for an afternoon of obnoxious metal music and beer. They ate charcoaled food from the outdoor barbecue and spent aeons of time examining each other’s bikes, though Cam was absent for most of it, caught up in an intense conversation with his officers in a dark room at the back of the Cornish clubhouse.
Interesting.
It was late afternoon when Saint emerged into the rainy gloom, his phone in his hand. He frowned at the screen, and I wondered if he was tracking my unmoving car and contemplating why I hadn’t left my flat for thirty-six hours. Then apingsounded on my own phone—an alert that the Crow bikes I’d fitted trackers to were on the move—and it dawned on me that perhaps he was watching the same battle run unfold as I was.
I like him more and more.
I turned my attention to my phone screen. The Crows had left their compound and were heading south. It would take them a few hours to reach the Cornish coast, but that was on the assumption that they’d come that far.They won’t. It’s safer to hit the Kings when they’re on the move than mob-handed at a clubhouse.
I glanced up as Saint found Cam in the crowd and murmured in his ear, his hand falling naturally to Cam’s hip. Listening hard, Cam’s expression darkened and he nodded to his sergeant-at-arms.
The club officers closed in, surrounding their leader. After a brief conversation, a flurry of activity saw younger riders instructed to remain at the clubhouse while the older men ditched their club colours and rode out.
Good. They’re expecting the attack.But without their cuts, they were anonymous bikers. When the Crows hit, it would be hard for me to tell enemy from friend.
So?Stay sharp. Protect Cam. Anything else is collateral damage.As the thought completed, though, it wouldn’t hold. Cam’s brothers meant nothing to me, but to him they meant everything. The hurt in his heart if he lost one would be too much to bear.
Protect him.To that I was committed, but I was coming to learn that meant many things.
The Cornish chapter closed their gates. I climbed onto my Yamaha and gave Cam and his men a healthy head start, then I set off behind, tracking the Crows instead of the Kings, darting out to take a side route that allowed me to flank them all.
Losing sight of Cam made my chest hurt, and anxiety thrummed in my long dead veins, adding fuel to the fire he’d lit in me since day one. But it had to be this way. To help Cam, I had to stay in the shadows where I belonged.You need to ghost him, not make space for yourself in his bed and his arms.And maybe one day soon I would, but not yet.
Not yet.
I sped along the wet road, rain pelting my visor as I hugged the bends in the road, my knee to the floor. At this time of year, the roads were quiet come evening, but I still had a thousand caravans and motorhomes to weave around.
Despite my best efforts, it put me behind where I needed to be. The Crows came to a standstill, and I was three miles out.
Fuck.I gritted my teeth and pushed my bike harder, taking corners at breakneck speed, no longer concerned with being seen. The route the Crows had taken brought me to an unfinished road. I followed it, hugging the cliffs until a derelict holiday park came into view, and I realised the fight had started without me.
Skidding to a stop, I tugged off my helmet. Shouts and roars greeted me, and I scanned the scene unfolding, thirty men at full throttle with pipes and bats, kicking the shit out of each other. It wasn’t a fight to the death, but it didn’t need to be for blood to coat the hands of every man on the ground.
I forced myself not to search for Cam. Right now, he was as safe as he could be, surrounded by his men and moving too fast to be caught.
He’s good at this, remember? Or he wouldn’t be worth killing.
I wrapped the thought around me like a security blanket as I tucked my bike behind gorse bushes and retrieved a modified crossbow from a hidden compartment in my bike. I slung it over my back and took off, ducking into the undergrowth to conceal my presence, keeping a sharp eye out for any soldier doing the same.
My boots crunched fallen twigs and branches, the noise unavoidable, but covered by the sound of the fighting ahead. A deer crossed my path, wide-eyed and afraid. I stopped, letting it skitter into the nearby woodland, and the split-second hesitation took me out of the moment long enough for the brawling to die down.
I ducked behind a thick-trunked sweet chestnut tree. Took a breath, then crept around it to survey the scene before me. The Kings were bloodied and bruised, but victorious. Around them, Crows lay on the ground, already beginning to crawl back to their bikes as Cam’s enforcer threw hunting knives at them, whooping his dark delight.
Fool. This one needs training.
Cam was unamused too. He barked an order and the knife throwing stopped, the enforcer turning his attention to the brother at his feet instead.
It was the road captain, his handsome face twisted in a grimace, blood dripping from a head wound.
Cam moved fast, hauling his friend upright, examining the injury, focused entirely on his brother’s wellbeing.
This is it. If I was going to shoot him, I’d do it now.
My gaze drifted to the overgrown orchard behind Cam, a broken rope swing swaying eerily in the breeze as the sun disappeared behind it. With every King’s attention trained on their hurt brother, it was the prime location for a shooter.
The other was the exact spot where I stood. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, using my other senses to detect another human creeping closer.
I felt nothing. I opened my eyes again. Swung my crossbow forward and focused on the abandoned orchard. My heart thudded a torturous beat—three, two, one—and a lone figure emerged from the overgrown trees, gun raised and pointed at Cam’s head.
