Page 51 of Bones and Ashes

Cash stands there in the foyer, Stetson in his hand, lookin' at us with his jaw tight and his eyes tired.

"Don't mind me," he says, but his voice says somethin' else entirely. "Just headin' out to check on the cows."

There's a warning in those words. A reminder. Property lines and fences. Who belongs where.

Cash shoves the Stetson on his head and yanks the front door open, lettin' in a blast of cold air before he steps through and slams it behind him.

Savannah starts laughin' the second the door closes, pressin' her face into my chest to muffle the sound. I can feel it shakin' through her ribs. Her fingers curl into my cut.

"I'm sorry," she says, but she's not. Not even a little.

I lift her chin, press my mouth to hers one more time. She tastes like dinner wine and trouble.

"I'll be back," I tell her. "Promise."

I slip out into the early evening sun.

Cash is standin' next to my bike. "I need to talk to you," he says.

I pull my helmet off the handlebars of the bike, slip it over my head. Don't bother lookin' at him.

My phone buzzes again. Diesel. Whatever's goin' down, it's not good. "It'll have to wait. I've got shit to take care of."

"Well, that's kinda what I need to talk to you about."

"What?" I'm truly at a loss because the thoughts in my head about the club are clashin' with the words comin' from his mouth.

"Just… find me when you get back. I don't care what time it is. We need to talk."

Then he's walkin' off towards the barn.

Leavin' me to wonder what the hell he's gonna spring on me now.

My phone won't stop buzzin' in my pocket. Every few minutes that violent little hum against my leg reminds me somethin's wrong. Diesel doesn't call like this unless it's bad. Real bad.

Can't answer while I'm pushin' ninety on the highway.

Can't text, can't call. All I can do is ride.

The sun's droppin' fast now. Red-gold light burnin' across the horizon, turnin' everything it touches to fire. Reminds me of this mornin'—that perfect sunrise I rode through. Sky all stretched out like God cracked open a vein and bled across Montana.

My phone buzzes again. Sixth time. Seventh? Lost count.

I hit the dirt road leadin' to Badlands. Dust kicks up around my tires.

The compound comes into view as I round the rocky hillside, and there's somethin' wrong. The gate's standin' wide open. No guard. No security.

Every brother we got is standin' in the dirt parkin' lot. Tight circle. Nobody movin'. That's never good.

I pull in hard, cuttin' between bodies, kickin' up gravel. The circle opens up for me like I'm Moses and these fuckers are the Red Sea. And there, in the center of it all⁠—

Crow.

Barrel of a .45 pressed against his temple so hard it's leavin' a mark. His hand shakin' but his eyes—his eyes are calm. Dead calm. Like he already pulled the trigger in his mind.

I cut the engine. Let the silence settle. Nobody breathes.

"The fuck is this?" I ask, but I keep my voice steady. No sudden movements around a man with a gun to his head.