Storm answered his bold question, in a mild tone. Storm had worlds more maturity, experience, and discipline than his riding partner for this event.
“There ain’t no need to get yourself all riled up. This is a one-time pass-through. Don’t make more of it than what it is.”
“Does that mean me and my crew can come riding through Griffinsford anytime we please?”
Something in Storm’s eyes hardened. “We need to think carefully about what we’re doing because I don’t think any of us want to get into a retaliation frenzy over a one off pass through.”
Vulture didn’t really understand what Storm was trying to communicate. All he understood was this was a violation of his territory. Regardless of Storm’s intentions, the optics on this one didn’t look good.
Vulture jerked his chin at Storm. “Get the hell out of my territory before we all do something we’ll regret.”
Storm wasted no time rolling past him and leading us the hell out of this dangerous situation. We all followed, keeping in tight formation. No one looked back, spoke or revved their engines again. We hit the far side of town and finally the tense situation was all behind us. Storm didn’t even say goodbye to Viper, he just hit the gas and put him in his rear view. We all followed suit. This had been a messy situation, and I was glad to finally leave it behind us once and for all.
***
I’d fallen asleep in a chair in the hallway outside of Winter’s room. Renegade woke me at the fuckin’ crack of dawn with a rough boot to the side of my chair. It sure enough jolted me awake. I came to my feet and stretched.
“What’s up, brother?”
“We’ve all been called to church,” he said glancing over his shoulder to the stairs. “It’s an emergency meeting about something that happened overnight. We need to get there right away.”
We both hustled downstairs and into the chapel. Storm and the other club officers were playing a news report.
I grabbed a coffee while the room filled and settled down at a table. There was a newscast playing on the big screen of a reporter with a microphone talking about a fire. I sipped my coffee as I was trying to get my head around what was going on. When they panned the camera to the left, I saw the Vulture’s Pride clubhouse was a smoldering ruin.
The room continued to fill up with brothers as we watched. I watched the firefighters winding up their hoses and putting them away. The reporter talked about how the building caught fire in the middle of the night and burned unabated for a while before a passerby called it in to the fire department.
Storm flipped to another channel. There was footage of a reporter asking, “Fire Marshal Dennison, do you suspect arson?”
A thin lipped man replied, “No comment,” before moving briskly past her.
She called after him, “What about the strong smell of gasoline? Do you have an explanation for that?”
He replied, “An active investigation is underway. We’ll give a statement when we know something conclusive.”
Thunder told Storm, “Try channel six news. They’re good at getting to the heart of the matter.”
We landed right in the middle of a story stating, “Casualties confirmed.”
Storm cursed under his breath. That and the expression on his face told me we were now involved in something none of us had expected.
The reporter continued, “The fire department responded just after two in the morning. The fire was already raging out of control by the time they arrived and had spread to nearby trees.”
Grit added, “This might have gone differently if their building hadn’t been a fuckin’ log cabin. There was a lot of wood to burn and excessive smoke. That’s probably what got the people inside. I heard earlier on one broadcast that the building didn’t have sprinklers or a smoke detector.”
“Goddamn it!” I gasped. “That’s a crazy level of negligence for an experienced club like Vulture’s Pride.”
Thunder nodded, “Yeah, Vulture’s older and never thought something like this could happen to his clubhouse.”
Storm dropped the remote control down on the table with a thunk. He ran both hands over his face in exasperation. A few seconds later his phone beeped. He grabbed it and he started scrolling.
I sat my now cold coffee aside and asked, “Do we know how many casualties there were?”
Thunder looked up from scrolling, “TheGriffinsford Observeris reporting there was one dead and one in critical condition. They’re saying one prospect who suffered smoke inhalation while trying to rescue a club girl who didn’t make it. It was just the two of them in the clubhouse because the rest of their crew were camping out up on Deadman’s Ridge.”
This was some crazy shit. Viper’s petty little effort to humiliate Vulture seemed a lot like jockeying between clubs now that someone was dead. I looked back at the television. I replayed the situation from yesterday in my head, trying to figure out where this put us. Vulture and his men had stood there watching us pass, told us to get out of the territory we weren’t supposed to be in to start with.
“Where the hell does that leave us, considering that we were invading their territory six hours before someone set fire to their clubhouse?”
