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My heart pounds between my temples.
I almost forgot how this feels—running into chaos and tempting death to reap my soul. It’s fucking addictive.
Things have been quiet in Texas in comparison. Maybe this trip is exactly what I needed. A little taste of what I used to deal with on a daily basis. Something to remind me that I’m still living. At least here, I’m not worried about anything but my club.
That I can handle.
Harloe being in danger, on the other hand… I can’t even think about that right now.
The Road Rebels try to run the moment they spot me, but Grim, East, and three others are already on my heels. They start shooting, and the scene descends into anarchy quickly. A bullet grazes my arm as I unload on them. It might be reckless, but I don’t take cover or stop shooting until every last one of them is on the ground.
A pile of bodies.
Blood.
Flesh burns as the fire wraps around us.
What would Harloe think of this—of me? A man who killed at least ten men tonight without blinking. And I’m not done. The second I get my hands on the person who lit her bar on fire, I’ll do worse.
She thinks I’m the good guy, that I’m safe. The truth is I’m only safe for her.
The club is already partying when we return to the clubhouse. The few remaining Road Rebels scattered after we destroyed their outpost, leaving them nowhere to protect themselves in this area. At some point, there might be fallout from their parent chapter, but for now, we take the win.
“I thought the rumors were bullshit.” East knocks my arm, sending a splinter of pain shooting through where the bullet grazed me. “You’re unkillable. There were three guys shooting at you, and you walked away with barely a scratch.”
“I got lucky.” I shrug, but he shakes his head.
Honestly, sometimes I wonder how much luck I have left.
“Now this is what I call a party.” East grins as he takes in the scene.
A few guys are doing tricks on their motorcycles out front of the clubhouse. Booze flows freely while the stench of pot hangs heavy in the air.
When we walk inside, half-dressed patch bunnies weave through the crowd and dance on couches. Some of the guys are playing pool. Some are talking. Some are fucking. The rest are standing around, drinking the night away.
East and I head to a couple of empty stools at the bar, and we’re handed drinks before we have to ask for anything. I take a sip, spinning around to watch the chaos unfold around us.
East winks at a patch bunny walking by. These past few days, he’s been in his element and enjoying every second. At one point, he was enjoying himself so thoroughly, I started wondering if he still plans on returning to Texas with me.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask him.
“Do what?”
“Move to Texas?” I take another sip. “This shit is more your scene. Loud. Chaotic. Aren’t you bored out at the ranch?”
Especially considering East comes from a chapter right outside of Minneapolis, and I’ve heard rumors that group is a bit wild.
“Texas is really fucking quiet,” he agrees, resting against the bar beside me. “But I guess that’s why I’m there. I needed a break after a couple runs went sideways. Our president was hit. Barely survived. It was one bad thing after another, and I needed to get away.”
“That’s rough.” I remember hearing that something went down with his club, but I didn’t know the details.
“He’s recovering now, so it’s fine. But I needed a change of scenery,” East says, taking a sip of his beer.
The prospect behind the bar knocks my shoulder, and I look back to see him offering us shots. East downs his without a second thought, but I stick to my beer. One thing I learned from Steel is to always keep my head straight when traveling for the club. You never know when shit might go sideways.
East swirls his beer, toying with his lip ring as he thinks. “After all that shit happened back home, I wasn’t sure I could trust myself anymore. I was in charge of the operation that almost killed our president. I thought the area was clear, but they had a basement we didn’t know about. I fucked up.”
“That kind of shit happens. You can’t account for everything.”
