Page 36

They pull into the parking lot in a V-formation, engines rumbling like thunder, and kill their bikes in perfect unison.

The sudden silence is deafening.

Phoenix swings off his bike first. He takes in the scene in one sweep: me on the ground, my bike destroyed, five guys scattered around the parking lot looking various degrees of fucked up and terrified.

"Get up, prospect," he says, his voice calm.

I push myself to my feet. My ribs scream in protest, and I'm pretty sure my forearm is going to bruise like hell, but nothing feels broken.

Ranger and Brick move past me without a word, heading straight for the two guys who were kicking me. Wraith goes for Dusty, who's still on the ground. Saint walks over to my bike and crouches beside it, assessing the damage.

"Which one of you thought it was a good idea to jump an Iron Phoenix prospect?" Phoenix asks, his voice still deadly calm.

Nobody answers.

Brick grabs the shaved-head guy by the collar and lifts him onto his toes. "He asked you a question."

"It was Dusty's idea," the guy stammers. "We were just… We were just backing him up!"

"Backing him up," Phoenix repeats. He walks over to Dusty, who's trying to push himself into a sitting position. Phoenix plants his boot on Dusty's chest and shoves him back down. "That’s what you call destroying club property and beating on a prospect? Backing someone up?"

"He started it," Dusty wheezes. "Last night, he—"

"He what? Protected a woman from a drunk asshole who couldn't take no for an answer?" Phoenix presses down harder with his boot. "That's what started this?"

Dusty doesn't answer.

Phoenix looks at Ranger. "Get footage from the motel cameras. I want every second of this on record."

"Already on it," Ranger says.

Phoenix turns to Saint. "How bad's the bike?"

"Fucked," Saint says bluntly. "Fuel tank's dented to hell, headlight's gone, handlebars are bent, mirrors are toast, scratches all over. Diesel's going to lose his shit."

"Good," Phoenix says. He looks back down at Dusty. "Because you five are going to pay for every single repair. And if I ever see any of you near this motel again, near her again, or near any member of this club, prospect or patched, we're going to have a very different kind of conversation. The kind that doesn't end with you walking away. Understood?"

"Yeah," Dusty manages. "Understood."

"I don't think I heard you."

"Understood!" Dusty yells.

Phoenix removes his boot and steps back. "Brick, Wraith, make sure they understand the message."

Brick grins. It's not a nice grin. The five guys scramble to their feet and run. Limping, stumbling, falling over each other in their desperation to get away.

Phoenix watches them go, then turns to me. "You hurt?"

"No sir."

"You sure? Because I saw you on the ground."

"I'm fine, sir."

Phoenix glances past me toward the motel entrance. "Your girl's about to have a heart attack. You should probably—"

I don't hear the rest. I'm already turning. Bree is standing in the doorway, hands pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her face.