“Funeral done. War mostly done. Men start getting feelings.”
“Dangerous business.” I took a swig, the cold liquid coating my tongue.
“Aye.”
For a while, we stood in silence. A bike rumbled low in the distance, catching Indie’s attention, wounds still raw. The sky darkened slowly overhead, clouds bruised purple now dusk was beginning to settle.
“You think they’ll come back?” Indie asked eventually.
I knew who he meant. The Hand. America. The next wave.
“Aye,” I answered honestly. “Might take years. Might take ten. But men like that don’t forget humiliation.”
Indie nodded once like he expected nothing else.
“Then we’ll deal with them when they do.”
No bravado. No arrogance. Just fact. I respected that. Movement across the car park caught Indie’s attention, and my eyes followed. Reap.
The man stood near the far fence, speaking quietly with Sophie Mercer while the rest of the world moved around them. No touching. Nothing obvious. But the pull between them sat heavy in the air, anyway.
I watched Sophie say something quietly, Reap’s expression softening before he dipped his head closer to hear her properly. Interesting. Few people could soften a man like Reap. Fewer survived it.
“You trust her?” I asked casually. “An ex-coppers daughter?”
Indie followed my gaze.
“Aye.” Indie took a slow drink before continuing. “With my life? Not just yet. With Reap’s. One hundred percent.”
Across the yard, Sophie glanced up suddenly, catching Reap watching her like he’d forgotten anyone else existed. Something passed between them then. Quiet. Intimate. Dangerous. I’d seen enough men destroyed by women to recognise the signs. But this felt different.
Inside the clubhouse, shouts and laughs again. Louder now. Ash Calder had apparently climbed onto a table, judging by the cheers and groans rolling out the open door.
“Christ,” Indie muttered. “That’ll end badly.”
I smirked faintly.
“Ash always did have leadership qualities.” I took another pull from the bottle.
“He also once super-glued his own hand to a pool table.”
“Character building.”
Indie barked a proper laugh at that, dying quickly as another bike rolled into the car park then. Unfamiliar. Not coalition. Every instinct sharpened instantly. Men straightened subtly around the compound. Fury appeared near the clubhouse entrance like he’d materialised from thin air. Reap turned too, body language changing immediately. Ready. Always fucking ready now.
The rider removed his helmet slowly. A young lad. Prospect age. Nervous as fuck, but trying to look like he didn’t care. Iron Devils. The yard fell silent as the lad dismounted carefully, hands visible.
“Message,” he called out uncertainly. “From Manchester chapter.”
Nobody moved. The prospect swallowed hard beneath dozens of hard stares.
“They’re pulling support from the Hand,” he continued. “Word’s spread about what happened up here.”
A long silence followed. Everyone staring.
Then Fury grinned slowly. “Smart lads.”
Tension cracked slightly around the yard. The prospect looked relieved enough to nearly collapse.
