“At the entrance. Chained to a lamppost. Y’know, in the light.”
She frowned at me, her brows pulling together, the grey in her eyes darkening with a hint of irritation. I remembered that face, too. Like it was yesterday. Sophie turned away from me then, just like she had done those years before. Thirteen years ago, I’d reached out, pulled her back to me and kissed her like I’d never see her again. Ironic. In that moment, I’d never thought that was the last time I’d see her. Tonight, I didn’t move. I stood watching as she climbed into the driver’s seat, nodded respectfully and closed the door. And then I stood back and watched her drive away.
Thirteen years. I exhaled, long and ragged, breath forming a cloud in front of me.
*****
The Dog was crowded tonight. Leather cuts everywhere. Faces I barely recognised. They were all ours. A whole fucking army of them. Prospects and hangarounds. There were now more of those than actual fully patched members. Suzy and some of the women were huddled in a booth near the bar. Magnet and the twins had their backs to me.
“Nice of you to fucking join us,” Indie grumbled into the last dregs of the pint he held just at his lips.
“Detoured. Reconnaissance.” I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and Indie nodded back in acknowledgment.
Gulping down the remainder of his pint, he whirled his finger above his head. No one needed to hear him speak; bar stools scraping off the four feet of wooden floor that surrounded the bar.
Leather moved together. Everyone with the three laughing skulls on their backs got up from where they sat, drank, or leaned and followed Indie through the door at the left-hand side of the bar, disappearing. For a second I watched them go, my eyes lingering over the three-piece patch sewn onto leather cuts. The Northern Kings MC. My club. The only family I had. The ones mingling in the pub behind me hadn’t earned that yet. None of them. They had a long way to go. But those who’d just left through that door commanded a respect far greater than anyone could put into words. Even fucking Demon.
I glanced once more at the bar. That pint would have to wait. And then I pushed the door open that had swung shut behind them and followed them into church.
“Looks like we’ve lost our weapons supplier,” Indie started without so much as a “hello” or “how are ya”.
“How?” Barry the Blade asked from the seat next to Fury.
“The Hand got to him.”
“Dead?”
Indie shook his head. “Just turned. And a bit sore from Reap’s negotiations.”
“Guess they failed,” Demon grumbled, and I could almost feel the roll of his eyes as he spoke.
“We got to him too late,” Indie answered, short and sharp.
“We’ve got plenty gear amongst us anyway, Indie. We don’t need him,” Beanz added.
“Aye, we’ve got weapons. But now we’ve no fucking control over who else gets them. We take the weapons out of circulationand we’re better armed. The Hand know that. They’ve done exactly what we should have done.”
The room descended into silence, and I watched the reactions to our president’s words. Fury and Magnet glanced across at each other, and Demon reached across his side, the wound still healing. I felt that same twinge too, the stitches pulling in my flesh, not quite ready to take out.
“So now what?” Barry the Blade asked, men around the table nodding, the same question on their tongues too.
“We need every alliance tightened. MC, biker, whatever we’ve got. Everyone in the region needs to be more scared of us than the Hand.”
“And how are we going to fucking achieve that? This is the Hand. International. Huge.” Beanz’s voice was almost a whine.
“We’ve fought them before and won,” Fury growled across the table.
“Aye. When we had numbers. And fucking Demon.”
I watched the bald-headed man at the end of the table. He’d healed. He’d taken a beating. From us. From the Hand. And now he’d found his confidence again, like an abused dog too starved to slink into the shadows. Too desperate to seen. If it was up to me, I would have kicked him out long ago. But Indie knew we needed numbers, and in the middle of a war, we didn’t need an ex-club member going rogue on us. He was safer closer. Even if I didn’t like it.
“We’ve still got Demon,” Indie’s voice deepened, the first signs of his temper flaring. I glanced to where Magnet sat opposite me. “He’s not fucking dead. And we’ve got Reap. Therewas no Reap the last war. The clubs don’t know what he’s capable of. And neither do the Hand.”
Indie turned, cutting the conversation off there. “Reap. Demon. Fury. Go talk to the Masons. They’re in our pockets now. Time they earned their keep. I want them on board. I want them too fucking scared to say no. Find a sacrifice. Make an example of them. Everyone else hit the MCCs. I want them all knowing which way their bread is buttered. Loyalty only goes so far. I want fucking fear.” Indie paused, letting the words settle in the room. “What do we know about Jazz?” Indie changed the subject, glancing at those who sat closest to him.
“Not found trace of her yet.” Magnet shrugged. “She’s gone south for sure. If she’d passed through Northumberland, one of the Vandals would know. Fucking Tomahawk’s too paranoid to miss a single rider. And no news from Scotland. South is where we lose the trail and our contacts aren’t as strong.”
Fury shifted in his seat.
