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He turns fully and leans against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “I dunno, Rider. Figured you’d have seen her around town or something.”
I cross my arms over my chest, not even realizing I’ve mirrored his exact stance until it’s too late. I’ll have to stay like this now. “I see her around. Don’t mean I stop to talk to her.”
Grind nods, rolling his lips between his teeth. “Well, it’s good to see you. I always knew you’d end up with the DRMC.”
“Yeah? How’d you know that? You didn’t hang around long enough to know anything about me.” I turn away, not wanting to look at Deacon any longer.
I shouldn't be butt hurt that he left. It was years ago. I’m a grown man now. I have a family. Friends. People who have my back. I'm not that lonely beaten down kid that I once was. As far as I’m concerned I’m the lucky one.
“Rider, shit. I earned that.”
“Yeah, you did, asshole.”
He huffs, settling into position, crossing one foot over the other. “You seen or heard from Walker?”
“Not since he sold my truck out from under me and stole my couch.”
“So, he’s still an asshole then?”
I can’t help the small smile on my face. “Grade A.” I stare at my brother for a beat. Taking in the changes in him. He’s bigger now. Hairier. Probably stronger. With a 1% MC up in Canada. “I’m missing a nipple.” I blurt out. Unsure why the hell I’d say that.
“No shit? A girl bite it off?”
“Nah. Got shot off. I also have a hole in my ass.”
Deacon. Grind. Whatever. Chuckles a little. “We all do, Rider.”
“Not this one. Got shot in the ass.”
Grind's brows pull together a little. “I thought you weren't 1%? That’s a lot of bullet wounds for a weekend club.”
I step forward, then bump Grind with my shoulder. “Buckle up, big brother. You're about to see how a weekend club handles business.”
Marx’s ear piercing whistle rings out, “Mount up!” he bellows. “We’re rolling out to Roxburgh. Gotta get to Diesel before he ships all that shit out.”
“I’ve got Moss in contact with Roxburgh law enforcement, they’re gonna give us a half hour before they take over,” Nitro adds, leading the way out the door.
“You heard the man,” I tell Grind, shoving past him to get to my girl.
Throwing my leg over my denim blue low rider I let her purr wash over me. It’s been years since I last saw any of my family. The way I see it, there are three types of families. The type the Tombs or the Davies have - siblings that piss you off but you know they got your back. Then there's the type where it’s dog eat dog. Your parents are shit and the kids they make are even shittier. That’s the family I was born into. Then there’s the family that finds you and shows you what being part of a real family is. And that’s the DRMC. They have my back and I got theirs.
Grind pulls in beside me on the road, and it’s a little unnerving. We’ve never ridden like this before. Shit, we’ve never really done anything side by side before. Although I think the fresh air and wind through my hair is chilling me out because I decide I’d rather ride beside Grind than Walker any day. Fucking asshole.
The ride to Roxburgh flies by quicker than I was expecting. Probably because I was stuck in my head. This is probably what Judge feels like all the time. It’s terrible, and I can see why he’s such a grumpy shit. Thinking is doing me no favors, so I decide to shake off the fact that my estranged older brother is here and lock in. We have shit to do, people to put down and a whole damn operation to ruin.
Judge pulls in across from the Death Rider’s old compound, backing into a park, the rest of us following suit. It’s quiet. No prospects. No bikes. Nothing.
“Do you think we missed them?” Tank mutters.
“Only one way to find out,” Marx grumbles, throwing his leg over his bike.
We fall in behind, following Marx’s hand actions, our prior military training kicking in. Well, for some of us. Pops flicks me the bird before grinning and skirting around the edges of the compound.
“Where’s the old dude going?” Grind whispers from behind me, almost making me shit myself.
“In formation, no one follows me,” I bark.
“Sorry. But the old guy-”
