Suddenly, Storm looked up from his phone. “Here’s where this shit gets a shade darker.” He flipped his phone around for us to see and increased the sound up.
It was a goddamn video of the Vulture’s Pride clubhouse fully engulfed in flames. Fire was covering the top of the structure, lighting up the night sky. The intensity of the dancing flames was set to some hard rock song about country pride. I squinted to see the caption at the bottom.
A chill crept up my spine when I realized it was a message from Viper that said, “Respect isn’t given. It’s earned through blood, sweat, and tears.”
“Fucking hell,” I gasped. “Viper’s a fuckin’ lunatic. He’s not even trying to hide his involvement.”
Storm didn’t answer right away. He just looked disgusted. Finally, he explained, “This might look like him publicly claiming responsibility without coming right out and saying it, but I don’t think that’s what he’s getting at with this video.”
When none of us spoke up, Storm explained, “We rode through Vultures Pride territory, without an invitation last night. There’s no disputing that fact because Viper and his crew revved their engines, making sure the whole damn town came out to see what was going on.”
Stopping to take a drink of his coffee, he continued, “Like Fuse said earlier, six hours later someone burns their clubhouse to the ground. Here’s the shitty part. Ours is the more prominent club. It’s going to make everyone think we were the ones that led the charge into Vultures Pride territory. I can imagine people thinking that we might not have liked how Vulture talked to us and circled back around to burn his place to the ground, thinking no one was there. You have to admit that it all makes perfect sense.”
“Yeah, it does. Except that we didn’t do it,” I told him.
“Are you sure about that?” Storm asked. “Read the e-mail again.”
This time Storm put it on the big screen so we all could see it.
It read:Respect isn’t given. It’s earned through blood, sweat, and tears.
“Oh fuck, this might not be him claiming responsibility. Like you said, we’re the more respected club. What if he’s implying that we did it because we don’t tolerate disrespect?”
“Exactly,” Storm said. “He’ll deny it, of course. But other clubs are going to interpret it how they see fit.”
Thunder spoke up, “Every club in the damn region has seen his post by now,” he said grimly. “Viper made sure of that. And Storm’s right, they’ll all see it differently. And some might believe we torched Vulture’s place.”
Nobody responded. Mostly because there was nothing to say that would change the reality of our situation.
I looked back up at the image of the burned remains of Vulture’s clubhouse. Three days ago, Winter had been standing on an auction block, terrified and alone. I’d stepped up without thinking about what it would cost me and my club. All I’d seen was someone who needed help and leaped into action. I hadn’t thought about how someone like Viper could use the situation to his advantage once the opportunity presented itself. And that had been a huge miscalculation on my part.
Chapter 7
Winter
I’d been at the clubhouse for coming up on a week. It had been a couple of days since all hell broke loose in the room the brothers called the chapel. I know it was related to the first favor they did for Viper. I was there when the Dark Slayers agreed to do three favors in exchange for me. The brothers were pretty tight lipped but one of the club girls overheard them say someone died as a result of that favor, a club girl from Vulture’s club.
That was the moment when shit got real for me. I always knew these one-percent clubs were a hotbed of danger and deceit. I shouldn’t have been surprised when I heard someone died. A small dark voice in the back of my mind was grateful it wasn’t me. Vulture was the one that had bid the highest for me before Fuse stepped in and saved me. That’s what Rosie says happened. I don’t know if I believe that. I suppose the jury was still out on that in my mind.
Despite my precarious situation, Fuse and I had settled into a little routine. We had breakfast together in the early morning. He went out to work in the community if he had a job, and hung around the clubhouse if he didn’t. I worked all day in the bar. We had lunch together if he was here and then dinner at the end of the day. Other than that, he steered clear of me. And so far, he hadn’t tried to horn his way into my room, which I was grateful for.
As far as MC cages went, this one was not the worst one I could imagine. There was no denying that I was trapped in his world, living off his generosity. I lived at his clubhouse, ate at histable, and the unspoken rule was that I followed his directions. So far, he hadn’t approved me leaving the clubhouse, so I didn’t. Everybody here knew I belonged to Fuse.
This morning was no different. I was seated across from him, our food and morning coffee spread out on the table between us. Today, Fuse seemed restless, shoving food around on his plate when he normally wolfed it down at the speed of light. I did my best to ignore him, praying he wasn’t about to bring up some conversation about the future. I already knew he wanted to keep me, and I wasn’t eager to see what life with him would look like.
He cleared his throat and slid his laptop across the table towards me. I wasn’t expecting him to be in a sharing mood and wasn’t particularly interested in whatever it was he wanted me to see. I shoved it aside with the back of my hand.
“I don’t have time for whatever this is. I need to finish my coffee and get to work. We got a liquor delivery last night and I need to restock the bar before all your little club bunnies wake up wanting their first drink of the day.”
Fuse snorted a laugh. “I noticed that you have the lot of them eatin’ out of your fuckin’ hand these days.”
I shrugged with one shoulder. “You called it. After cutting a couple of them off from drinks, they got friendly. I mean it’s fake friendly, but I’ll take what I can get at this point.”
“Free booze will do that, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about today.”
“Like I said,” I told him slowly, hoping he’d get it this time, “I don’t have time to talk. I’m here to work.”
He gestured to my body, “Look, you can’t keep running around the clubhouse in borrowed clothing. You’ve cycled down to shit that doesn’t half fit you.”
