Page 22 of Revenant's Fire

“Steady on, big boy, don’t wanna see ya go through the floor. My granddaddy built her over the summer of ‘49. Took him weeks, stripping the wood out of the church in town when no one was lookin’.” He winks at me.

“Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways to provide.”

Old Man Mullins gives me a gap toothed smile, then pushes harder off the porch, his worn rocker creaking.

“Anyway, I was telling this one,” he gestures to Coyote, “that ‘bout three weeks ago we had some city man asking questions.”

My brow raises. “City?”

He nods, “Yep. Thought it real weird. ain't no city come round these parts ‘less they wanna buy up the land, put in a holiday home. They doing it all over the mountain. Like the views and whatnot.” He waves his hand around. He’s not wrong. The little towns around Winlaw have definitely been changing.

“This city man got a name?”

“Maybe.” He grins at me, brow raised in challenge.

“You know, Revenant ain't afraid to shoot you, old man.” Coyote grins.

“Yeah, but then you gotta explain that to your Meemaw.” Mullins grins back.

“Ah, shit you got me.” Coyote leans to the side, pulling a wad of $50’s out of his back pocket. “That’s for the shine, that’s for the hospitality, and that-” he pulls a fifty away before Old Man Mullins can snatch it away, “is for a name.” He gently lays the bill in Mullins’ hand and the old man grins.

***

“You call Gallows?”

Coyote grunts in answer, brows furrowed as he throws his leg over his Harley, sitting heavily. “Prez has called Church. Better get back.”

Looking back over my shoulder, my gaze finds Old Man Mullins, his arm thrown over his wife. The grin that was on his face when we handed over the cash, gone. Replaced with something that matches my mood.

Fucking Amos Crowe. It’s a name we’ve heard enough times to know it ain’t attached to anything good. Sinister Wolves on their own aren’t a match for us. But with Amos Crowe’s backing? They’re even more dangerous than we thought.

“You gotta keep an eye on your woman,” Coyote yells suddenly, over the sounds of our pipes.

He glances at me and I know he’s right. I can argue til I’m blue in the face that she’s not my woman, but that’s beside the point. When she stepped in to save my ass she put a bigger target on her back than the Sinister Wolves. She put herself in the crosshairs of the Devil himself. I may not be good for her, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna let Amos Crowe touch a hair on her head.

If my life has to end to protect Sunny, then so be it.

Chapter Thirteen

Sunny

“Ah, is he OK?” I ask Sleet.

He turns slowly from where he’s been silently watching Gallows. He’s one of the quieter brothers. Keeps to himself, hand always in his pocket, which I guess is probably to hide the slight tremor I noticed earlier. Gazing around the room I take in the brothers. Each and every one of them has served, and none of them came back whole.

“He’s not OK. Either the Sinister Wolves have talked, or Rev and Coyote have news.”

I nod at his words, my gaze returning to Gallows’ across the room. He shares a look with Mercy who is just as tense as he is. They move with purpose, talking in hushed tones. Something big is going down and I imagine it has something to do with the men in the barn that I’m not supposed to know about.

“Sunny?” Cobb, the prospect calls. “There’s someone at the gate for you.”

“Which gate?” The club has two. One that only the club uses, and one for everyone else.

“Main gate.”

My brows pull low. “Who is it?”

“Dunno. Some guy.” He shrugs.