Sometimes, alone in the corner of the bar while nursing a tumbler of whiskey neat, it struck me how much the Devil’s Dragons club had accomplished.

The dangerous sex trafficking cartel Viboras Verde lay scattered to the winds.

The international arms dealer Soroka Sarkonov sat in federal custody, no longer free to arm violent war criminals and strike down innocent lives.

Hell, we’d even struck up a fragile peace with our most dangerous rival: Talon, the malevolent leader of the original Devil’s Dragons charter.

All that in half a year’s work.

Not bad.

The credit belonged mostly to the guidance of our fearless club president, Hunter Hargreaves, and his prideful woman, Sarah Buchanan.

“Grizz.”

I turned to the man I considered my leader, his hand resting calmly against the countertop. Hunter was one of the youngest among us, but his eyes were a damned sight older than they had any right to be.

“It’s time.”

I nodded quietly. “I know.”

A small, pleased smirk flickered across his face. “You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

Rising from my chair, I nodded again.

Hunter patted me sympathetically on my shoulder as I stood in front of him, clasping it tightly for a moment.

Together, we walked towards the front door of the ramshackle bar that still served as the temporary headquarters of the Devil’s Dragons.

Outside, the Dragons were scattered beneath the stars. Working by flashlight and moonlight, half of them were cleaning their bikes while others drank beer and shot the shit.

“Dragons!” Hunter called out to them, escorting me into their midst.

Our comrades paused what they were doing, looking curiously over at us. None of the others knew what was coming, and I envied them.

“You’re probably wondering why I pulled you out here,” Hunter began, stepping forward to command their attention. “No big, fancy speeches this time, boys. I’m gonna cut straight to the fucking chase.

A sarcastic, collective sigh came from the crowd while the bikers shared smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Hunter grinned. “I think it’s high time that we stop pissing around out here. I’ve been dragging you all over the American Southwest for long enough. We’ve cut a decent living out here, but the work’s dried up, our chances look like shit, and we need to cut and run. We need somewhere solid to call home.”

Hunter turned towards the old bar.

“We got lucky getting our hands on this place, but you all know we’re on borrowed time here, boys. The cartels are keeping their distance and there’s not enough work to keep us running straight. I’m not gonna try and tell you otherwise. We need a place to start over.”

A proud smile was on his face when he turned back, fixing his gaze on me.

“That’s where Grizz comes in.”

All eyes were on me. I hated the spotlight, and Hunter knew it. Why couldn’t he just tell them after I left? It would be easier to just ditch in the middle of the night and let them find out in the morning…

“Grizz told me we need to be looking East. Said there might be somewhere promising for us to call home… somewhere to build up a real living again. He told me about New Orleans, over in Louisiana. It’s open territory, and I think it’s time we made it ours. We need to put some eyes down there and find our way forward...”

The Devil’s Dragons turned from him to me then back again, thinking on this while Hunter continued. I could see the gears turning in their heads.

A biker named Victor spoke up.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

Murmurs began rising from the club. What Hunter was suggesting was rare to see in motorcycle clubs, especially out here, but it wasn’t unheard of.

“We’re not talking some overnight mission, a weekend’s ride there and back,” Hunter explained briskly. “New Orleans is a damn long ride, and there’s no telling how long he’ll need to scope it out. Could be weeks. Months.

“You all know what happens now…”

The ones who hadn’t caught up yet were starting to come around, and everyone turned back to face me. The crowd was plastered in a mixture of surprise, worry, and pride.

“Grizz, from this moment on, you are no longer a formal part of this Devil’s Dragons chapter,” he announced, placing his hand on my shoulder again. “You will carry the emblem of the Dragons on your leathers as a nomad, sworn to no man and no turf.”

A hush fell over the assembled bikers.

Something overcame me, and I couldn’t resist the impulse. A calm drowned me.

“I don’t want to go,” I replied.

The others shared glances in the crowd. Defying a direct order from our leader was unheard of.

Especially when it was from me.

“I owe you my life, Hunter,” I told him. “That life debt is unpaid. Send another.”

For a second, I didn’t know how he would react. His eyes cycled through a number of emotions.

Surprise.

Confusion.

Irritation.

Resolve.

“That fucking debt is repaid a hundred times over, Grizz,” came the authoritative response of the club president, my friend. “There isn’t a soul among us more qualified for this, and we all know it. I trust your judgment on this over my own.”

I followed his gaze as he turned to the rest of the Devil’s Dragons. Each of them was nodding solemnly. I could see it in all of their eyes – they couldn’t do it the right way, and they respected me.

“I trust you,” Hunter told me. “We all trust you. Take us home.”

With a heavy heart…

I accepted.

While Hunter loudly addressed them all again, the world drowned out around me. I stepped to the side and thought on what this meant while the closest brothers proudly clamped hands on my shoulders.

Hunter Hargreaves considered me the most diplomatic and self-sufficient man on his team. It’s why I had been his second-in-command from the start.

He wasn’t wrong.

The club president used me as a trump card, sending me on solo missions when he needed to be in two places at once. He relied on my expertise and experience, seeing firsthand what I was capable of.

I had proudly served him.

But I’d never seen this coming.

Hunter tried to step down just a few weeks ago. Our last enemy had privately shaken his resolve, and he had begun to doubt his ability to lead.

I had been offered the position.

I didn’t want the position.

Sarah set him straight. She kept Hunter right where he belonged at the head of the damn table. I still hadn’t gotten around to thanking her for it.

I glanced back towards the front door of the bar, sensing that his pregnant fiancée was still sleeping off her latest bout of symptoms in the back room.

Turned out, her second trimester was a real bitch.

Sarah would be sad that I left without saying goodbye, but I didn’t intend on waking her. She needed her rest, and there wasn’t anything she could do to make this any easier.

My attention hazily turned forward. Hunter was wrapping up, drawing attention to me again for some reason. Lifting my blank stare, I realized that the other members of the Devil’s Dragons were cheering.

I struggled to give a small smile.

Recognition was never necessary for me. I followed orders, I did what I was told, and I let someone with more charisma take the attention.

I knew my place.

The spotlight wasn’t mine.

But putting the right person there…

That, I could get behind.

The others pulled me inside and demanded to buy me drinks, challenge me to pool, and fight my high score on the battered dart board. I reluctantly joined in.

Hunter stepped past, giving me a small smile and a knowing look.

I know, I nodded.

Long ride tomorrow.

But the morning was just as far away. The night was young. It would have been rude to turn down the festivities, and I was never one to argue when whiskey was on someone else’s tab.

When I finally stumbled to my bunk in the dark I knew it was the last time I would sleep well for a long, long time.

My fingers fumbled over my leathers, folded on top of the thin blanket.

Switching on the lamp, I lifted the jacket against the light. My eyes scoured for the patch, and I saw the familiar, intimidating emblem of the Devil’s Dragons.

But there was a new patch sewn in beneath.

Nomad.

The term wasn’t chosen randomly or lightly. It meant something very specific to the world in which we lived. A Nomad was a chapter of one. He was a distant emissary, representing club affairs well outside the club’s influence. A man with a Nomad patch could step into any goddamned club in the country and not a damn person would stand in his way.

Nomads were dangerous.

I’m dangerous…

And alone.

A deep sadness overcame me as I gazed upon the visible change in membership. I was now a Devil’s Dragon removed. A branch, cut loose from the tree and left to find my way in the wind.

I almost regretted telling him about New Orleans.

But Hunter was right.

We were choking here. If the club didn’t hit the road soon, we’d have no choice but to fall back into the bad ways to keep the lights on. That’s the problem with selling protection… If you’re good at your job, you might just put yourself out of business.

It was time for a change in scenery.

With a lead heart, I hung my jacket on the hook and sat quietly on the edge of my bed. It felt like eons passed as I contemplated my journey, and my separation from the men I had come to call my brothers.

Sleep finally came.

When it was followed by sunrise, the horizon stood waiting. Freshly showered and packed for the road that lay before me, with a direct line to the rapidly falling club funds in my back pocket, I finally mounted my bike.

As I turned to give the bar one last longing look, I spotted Hunter on the patio. He lifted a fist in the air for me, and I responded back in kind.

I revved the engine. The time had come to leave this place behind and seek out a new Promised Land for my men.

If only I’d seen what was coming for me, I might have packed a bigger gun.