The Reaper enforcer spits on the ground between us.“Free country, last I checked.We go where we want.”
I feel the collective tension behind me, brothers shifting, hands tightening on weapons.My own pulse remains steady, my breathing controlled.I’ve been in this situation too many times to let adrenaline cloud my judgment.
“Not anymore,” Greyson replies, steel threading through his voice.“You’ve got one hour to pack your shit and clear out.After that, we stop being polite.”
A harsh laugh erupts from the enforcer.“Polite?That what you call this?”He gestures at our assembled force.“Looks like intimidation to me.”
“Call it whatever helps you sleep,” Greyson says with a shrug.“One hour.Then we come back, and we won’t be talking.”
The enforcer’s eyes slide from Greyson to me, a calculating look I recognize all too well.He’s assessing threats, looking for weaknesses.His gaze lingers on me a moment too long.
“You Butcher’s kid?”he asks, nodding toward my father.“Heard stories about your old man.And you.”
I don’t respond.Don’t need to.My reputation speaks for itself.
“One hour,” Greyson repeats, already turning away.It’s a power move showing his back, as if they’re not worth his concern.But I don’t turn.I stay facing them, eyes locked on the enforcer, watching for the twitch of muscles that would signal an attack.
The enforcer smiles, slow and ugly.“Your hour started five minutes ago.”
We back away methodically, mounting our bikes in formation.As I kick my engine to life, I catch the enforcer watching me specifically.Something in his eyes makes my skin crawl, not in fear, but recognition of a kindred spirit.Someone else who understands the cold math of violence.
We roar out of the parking lot, a thunderous statement of power and unity.Once we’re safely out of sight, Greyson signals for us to pull over at a gas station a mile down the highway.
“They won’t leave,” I say as we gather in a tight circle.It’s not a question.
Greyson nods.“I know.But now they can’t say we didn’t give them a chance.”
“Public relations?”my father asks with a harsh laugh.
“Something like that,” Greyson agrees.“When this goes sideways, I want the locals to know who the aggressors were.These Reapers came looking for trouble in our town, terrorized civilians.We gave them a chance to leave peacefully.”
I check my watch, calculating.“We should position ourselves before the hour’s up.Have eyes on all exit points.”
“Already on it,” Demon says, holding up his phone.“Prospects are in place, watching from the tree line.They’ve got orders to stay hidden, just observe.”
Greyson nods approvingly.“We roll back in forty minutes.Full force, no hesitation.I want them to understand exactly what happens when you threaten what belongs to the Devil Souls.”
As the others discuss logistics, I step away to check my phone.Two missed calls from Xavier, followed by a text.
Hope everything’s okay.Let me know when you’re free.We’ve had a few traumas today and they called me into work thirty minutes ago.Still come over tonight?
My thumb hovers over the screen.What do I tell him?That I’m about to ride into what could become a bloodbath?That the man who held him this morning might have blood on his hands by night?
I type quickly.Still handling club business.Will call when I can.Stay safe and I will come over tonight.
It’s not enough, not nearly what I want to say, but it’s all I can offer right now.I slip the phone back into my pocket, pushing thoughts of Xavier into that locked compartment of my mind.I need to focus, need to be Slaughter right now, not the man who woke up with Xavier in his arms.
“You good?”My father appears at my shoulder, eyes sharp with concern.
“Fine,” I reply automatically.
He studies me for a moment, seeing more than I want him to.“Your head’s somewhere else today.”
I straighten my shoulders.“My head’s where it needs to be.”
“Bullshit,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.“I know that look.You’ve got someone.”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
