The rest of the clubs had stood back respectfully as we all approached the grave. I glanced around. The original members were nearly all gone now. Barry the Blade the last man standing. In another twenty years, would there even be a Northern Kings MC?
Father Leverett shut his book, signing the cross over his chest before nodding at Indie. We all moved, sludging over the sodden grass.
“How’d you get a space right next to Ste?” Barry the Blade asked.
“Leverett is in our pocket now, lads. He juggled the plots around to fit Big Red in. At least he’s still with his club, huh?”
Baz thumped Indie on the back enthusiastically and I watched our president slide sideways in the mud.
“You get that sorted?” Indie asked me as the rest of the club walked back towards the bikes that filled the church car park.
I nodded, trying to ignore the pain in my left-hand side, but my foot slid suddenly on the wet ground.
“Fuck,” I hissed, grabbing at my side.
Indie’s eyes tracked my movement, then he tipped his head at the rest of the men, signalling for them to leave us.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“I can see the blood soaking into your jeans, Reap. And soon everyone else will be able to see it too.”
“Just needs another gauze.”
“Needs stitching.”
“Got some glue at home.”
Indie shook his head. “Hey, Security Sam,” he growled across the graveyard.
The prospect hurried over, and for a moment looked like he was going arse-over-tits in the mud but righted himself at the last minute.
“Take Reap to the hospital…”
“I don’t need the hospital.”
“Take him to the hospital and stay with him. If he goes awol without fucking stitches, you’re for it not him.”
Sam nodded, a hint of fear in his eyes.
“I can ride…”
Indie held his hand up.
“Sam will take you. You stay until you get stitched. That’s an order. Understand?”
I nodded, silently, knowing I had no other choice.
“Come on, Reap. We’ll jump on my bike.”
Fucking great. Not only did I have a prospect babysitting me, I was now riding bitch. I watched the rest of the club climb onto their bikes, listening to the collective roar as the Harleys choked to life, the ground under our feet vibrating as the motorbikes of other clubs joined in. Then we watched them peel off, heading back to the clubhouse, silence settling around us.
Out on the main road, a car started, headlights beaming through the rain, even though it wasn’t quite dark yet. It didn’t follow the procession, just loitered in the empty street. There were no houses to visit, only the dead, yet it sat waiting for something.
I tucked my bike as far into the church yard as I could, rolling it behind the priest’s car and securing the lock through the wheel of Father Leverett’s car. If they were taking my Rocket,they’d be taking that wheel too. I just hoped the fuckers were God-fearing.
Out on the road, the car lingered a few seconds longer before revving its engine, tyres squealing on wet tarmac as it rushed away.
