“Fine.” He glanced at me first. Then Baz. “The three of us.”
And suddenly every instinct in my body screamed this was about to go very fucking bad.
There was a wind in the air. It rushed us as we stepped through the doors, out into the car park in front of theDog on the Tyne. Three of us. The President, the Road Captain and me.
“I don’t suppose you’re here to say goodbye?” Indie started, his thumbs looped into the armpits of his cut.
Around us, the Hand and the Notorious laughed. I scanned each of them. Faces I knew. Others, I didn’t. A couple of them stood back, uncertain but there. I’d pick them off first, if they didn’t run when shit started.
“I’ll give you one last chance to walk away, Indie,” Grim drawled.
“No, you won’t.” Indie didn’t miss a beat. “I’d have to convince everyone in the club to patch over. You know it isn’t my decision.”
“But youcouldconvince them.”
“Probably could. Not gonna.” Indie shrugged. “It’s a unanimous vote, or it doesn’t happen.”
Grim pulled his fingers through his beard. “Guess I could get all your lot to agree with one phone call. You know we’ve got men on your women. Not a great plan to put them all in one place. One call from me and I’ll shoot them all.”
I swallowed slowly, a tiny trickle of rage escaping into my blood. My heart thundered in my chest, so loud I could swear everyone else could hear it.
“Indie,” Baz spoke softly. “It’s time to let this club go. You’ve done a great job. But the Northern Kings are done and gone.”
Those words hit strangely. Not because of what he said. Because of how fucking tired he sounded saying it. I looked sideways at him properly then. Really looked.
Baz stood with his shoulders lower than I’d ever seen them. Not tense. Not ready for a fight. Just heavy, like the weight of the cut finally sat too hard on him. The wind pulled through his greying hair while his eyes stayed fixed somewhere beyond Grim and the line of bikes. It wasn’t fear. It was resignation.
And suddenly little things from the last few months started clicking together in the back of my skull. Baz skipping runs he’d once lived for. Sitting quieter in church. Complaining about the pressure from the coalition. The way he’d lingered longer and longer after closing time at theDog, staring into his pint like he was trying to remember why any of this mattered anymore.
He hadn’t betrayed us because he hated the club. The fucking idiot had done it because he couldn’t see a way out of it.
“You brokered this?” I asked quietly.
Baz’s eyes flicked to mine, then away again. Shame burned there for just a second before pride smothered it.
“I was trying to save what was left,” he muttered. “You boys don’t see it. This life’s done. Cameras everywhere. Coppers everywhere. Americans flooding in. There’s no room left for clubs like ours.”
“There’s always room,” Indie answered calmly.
Baz laughed then, but there was no humour in it.
“That’s because you still believe in this shit.” His hand gestured weakly between us. “Brotherhood. Respect. Rules.” He shook his head slowly. “I’m sixty-four years old, Indie. I’m tired.”
The admission hit harder than any shout could’ve. Around us, even the Hand quietened slightly, watching.
“I gave this club forty years,” Baz continued, voice rough now. “Forty fucking years. Buried brothers. Lost marriages. Prison. Violence. For what? So, I die in a pub car park because some Americans want territory?”
Grim watched him carefully, saying nothing. Letting him unravel. And I realised then that this had always been the deal. An exit. Not glory. Not power. Just an old man and a way out.
Indie stared at him for a long moment, disappointment sitting heavier on his face than anger ever could.
“You killed Brie,” Indie’s voice lowered. It wasn’t a question.
“He knew. His boys. Minty and them, they’d seen me. When the call came in, I knew I had one chance. So, I silenced him.”
“You should’ve just stepped down, brother.”
Baz swallowed hard. “Couldn’t.”
