“Brynn said it was a guy pretending to be my doctor. Razor didn’t realize he wasn’t who he said he was.”
“Shit,” Dani hissed. “Who’s covering you now?”
“Um, Flash is here, I think. I’ve seen him twice. Jamie’s here too, lurking in the hallway.Maverick and Harm are covering their women, and Cricket is myconstantcompanion, refusing to tell me anything. And Iknowshe knows more than she’s telling me. Katie and Brynn are my caretakers and also refusing to let me do anything except pee and eat. Rooster left without telling Katie anything, so she’s not happy. I even tried to ring Minus myself. Shocker, he didn’t answer.”
“If I knew anything, I’d tell you, honey, I swear. But I just checked Booker’s tracker and it’s at the club. Cash and Archer’s are also at the club.”
I frowned. “Hatch’s is too, but I think something’s up.”
“Okay, I’ll run down there and check. Will that make you feel better?”
“Yes. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Thanks, love.”
“You bet,” she said. “Give me an hour.”
“Okay.” We rang off and pressed the button to let Bryn know I was ready to head back to my bed. She helped me back into the room to find Cricket and Katie eating quietly.
“Want some?” Katie asked.
“Yes, I’m starving,” I admitted.
“Come on, back to bed,” Cricket said, and helped me get settled.
Despite the fact I was worried and amped up, I managed to eat a little bit, then fell back to sleep relatively quickly.
Hatch
ABOUT TWENTY MILES south of Portland, near the town of West Linn, lay the decaying remains of what used to be the second largest paper mill in the state of Oregon. A complex of buildings that once signified prosperity but now served as a haunted house of industry. A place where timber was turned into pulp. A fitting location for two men looking to beat each other to a pulp. On the far west side of the property was a large clearing where not much grew due to the heavy clay content in the soil. It was atthat clearing where the Gresham Spiders and the Dogs of Fire faced off.
The moon was hidden behind heavy grey clouds. Motorcycle headlights illuminated the makeshift gladiator arena where disputes between clubs had been settled before. Blood had been spilled plenty of times, but this was different and both sides knew it.
I stood shirtless and bootless. My toes sinking into the damp ground. It was drizzling rain, and the night air was frigid, but I wasn’t cold.
At all.
The unadulterated rage burning inside of me was keeping me plenty warm. I planned to make Warlock pay for coming after my Maisie. Behind me was nearly every single member of the Dogs of Fire Portland chapter, and they wanted blood just as bad as I wanted it. Maisie was the matriarch of our club. There wasn’t a single member who didn’t see her as a mother figure. To some of them, she was the only mother they’d ever had. So, I wasn’t just fighting for myself tonight. I was fighting for all of them as well. Needless to say, if anything popped off or went pear shaped, the Dogs were ready to bite.
“He’s gonna fight dirty,” Mack said.
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, maybe we find another way?” Mack suggested.
“I’m not sure thereisany other way to dothis,” I replied.
“He won’t show you mercy. He’ll kill you the second he has the chance,” Mack pointed out.
“You know? When I asked you to stand as my lieutenant I kinda thought you’d be better at the whole pep talk thing.”
“Sorry, man,” Mack said, waving himself off. “What I mean to say is kill that motherfucker and kill him as quickly as possible so we can go home and drink beers around a bonfire of Spiders’ cuts.”
Standing across from me, also stripped down to only his jeans, was my opponent, Warlock. Behind him, the Gresham Spiders. I couldn’t tell exactly how many, but it looked like only a handful of their crew had showed up. They’d better have, because going against the biker’s code wasn’t just chicken shit, it meant your ass had a target on it in every one of the fifty united states. It meant you’d better not put two wheels down in the vicinity of any club, because if you’re spotted, you’re dead as Dillinger. It also meant you’d better cover up or remove any and all club related tattoos in case you ever get locked up, because even on the inside, code breakers got their throats cut. Most people are surprised to learn that the vast majority of chartered MCs share a common, basic, but strict code of conduct which forbids certain acts, such as harming children, acts of terrorism, really sick shit like that.
When it came to assassinating club members’ loved ones, the code was a little grey as many MCs included club members who were actual blood family members, and some went deeper than blood. What the code was clear about was a member’s right to contest a hit or assassination attempt, which was what I was doing.
