“No,” he breathed.
“Who, then?” she asked.
“The Black Veil Syndicate,” he said.
She frowned immediately. “Never heard of them.”
“That’s because they’re not bikers.” His jaw tightened. “They move weapons, women, and enough drugs to keep half the southeast high for a year.”
Ice slid through her veins. “And they want Savage Hell?”
“They want what your father built.” His eyes met hers directly. “And they think his death makes this place vulnerable.”
Chloe laughed bitterly despite the panic trying to crawl up her throat. “Well, they’re about to be disappointed because Bowie will burn this whole city down before he lets anyone touch Savage’s club.”
“I know who Bowie is,” Vengeance said calmly. “That’s exactly why they’ll come after him first. He’s your father, too, Chloe. He’s grieving Savage’s loss the hardest, and they’ll come for him and your mom.”
Her breath caught. “No, you can’t be right.” His silence was answer enough—she was right.
“They’ll come for you too, Chloe,” he said.
“Me?” she whispered.
“You’re Savage’s daughter. Everybody in Alabama knows it.” He leaned toward her. “And from what I hear, your fathers would destroy themselves trying to save you. They have in the past, haven’t they?” She gasped when she realized that Vengeance knew about the Dragons taking her. Her fathers both moved heaven and earth to get her back safely. Fear wrapped icy fingers around her spine because she hated that he was right. Savage and Bowie had nearly started a war over her. Half the reason they were so overprotective of her now was because they’d never forgiven themselves for letting it happen.
“They won’t touch me,” she said, though the words sounded weak even to her own ears.
“Maybe not today,” Vengeance replied. “But they’ll wait for their chance, and I’m betting that they won’t have to wait long.”
The front door suddenly opened, and both of them turned instantly. Bowie walked into the bar first, still dressed in the black suit he’d worn to the funeral. His eyes landed on Vengeance, and every ounce of grief on his face vanished beneath pure fury.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bowie growled.
Chloe shot off the stool. “Dad—” he was already walking toward her with about half a dozen Royal Bastards behind him. They flooded into Savage Hell, all of them armed, grieving, and looking for someone to bleed on the worst day of their lives. Unfortunately for Vengeance, he was standing in the middle of their bar and apparently had a target on his back.
VENGEANCE
Vengeance had been shot at less than an hour ago, but somehow, standing in the middle of Savage Hell with a dozen pissed-off Royal Bastards staring him down felt infinitely more dangerous—especially the man in front. Bowie looked half feral as grief sat in his eyes like gasoline waiting on a match, and Vengeance knew immediately that if Chloe hadn’t spoken first, he’d already have a knife in his throat.
“Bowie, stop,” Chloe snapped, stepping between them.
“The fuck I will,” Bowie growled. “Why is this motherfucker in my bar?”
Vengeance stayed seated on the stool, mostly because sudden movements around territorial bikers tended to end badly. “I’ve come to warn Chloe,” he said, going with the truth.
“That tells me absolutely nothing,” Bowie growled.
“Yeah, well, that’s all you’re getting,” Vengeance insisted.
One of the older bikers behind Bowie stepped forward. He was broad as a damn truck with gray in his beard and enough scars to suggest life had tried killing him repeatedly. “Want us to drag him outside?” he asked calmly.
Chloe whipped around to face the biker, answering for her father. “Absolutely not.”
Bowie ignored her completely, his eyes never leaving Vengeance. “You got ten seconds to explain why you’re in my club talking to my daughter while we buried Savage.”
Vengeance leaned back slightly, measuring the room. Every man there looked exhausted in their funeral clothes, with their red eyes and barely controlled rage. The smell of whiskey and grief clung to them stronger than cigarette smoke. This was bad timing, but the Black Veil Syndicate wasn’t going to give a fuck about timing.
“They’re coming,” he said simply. That seemed to get their attention.
