Max

 

There are rules in a biker’s club. Most of those have to do with biker code—you have to have a motorcycle, you have to have a jacket, and you have to go through initiation—a means of keeping everyone on the same page, and loyal. But there are other things, too. One of them happens to be that I’m not supposed to go anywhere without Bills, or at least a lieutenant. Bills acted as my right hand and my body guard because he’d forever been the most loyal of the Sin Reapers. As their leader, I needed a certain level of protection beyond the regular members.

 

Most of the time, I thought it was unnecessary. These days, I thought it was unavoidable.

 

But I was sitting on my bike now, reaching for my helmet and getting ready for a ride. Still no Bills. I’d given him a call, but he hadn’t picked up. I didn’t bother with a message; by the time he got back to me, the moment would have passed. I’d checked out his house and a couple of the places he liked to frequent, but couldn’t seem to find him. And, as a rule, I wasn’t supposed to go for a ride alone, but I wasn’t willing to wait anymore.

 

What was the point? I needed the ride now to clear my head and get a grip on some things. A ride would do that like it always had before.

 

So I shoved the helmet down over my head, my eyes catching sight of the words scratched on the inside by the Preacher’s own hand.

 

There is always a way to do the right thing.

 

They were sentimental words for me, as the helmet was the last thing he’d ever given me, but on the whole, they were a bit odd. For a man who spent so much of his time on the wrong end of the law, what would he care about doing the right thing?

 

Of course, I knew a little more about the Preacher than most and understood that he belonged to an older sort of biker’s club. The kind that held old time values and lived by rules, a code of honor that most fucking cops couldn’t live by. A lot of the younger guys, the newer ones, didn’t get his attitude. They thought it was even archaic, but the Preacher believed men had a duty to be men. Real men. The kind that lived by honor, whatever side of the law they lived on.

 

I pushed thoughts of the words and the Preacher aside. Revving up my bike, I tore out of the parking lot and headed away from the house I shared with Lucy. She was still at work and my mind briefly thought about heading that way to talk to her, to try again after the disaster that was this morning, but I quickly discarded the idea. Better to give her a little more time to cool down.

 

I didn’t have a destination in mind, thanks to my reluctance to fight again with Lucy. Until I had more information about what was going on, there was no point. I’d blurted out that part about the Preacher, desperate to keep her with me, and now I couldn’t take that back. I had the feeling that the next time we spoke, she’d demand more information. She’d demand to know the truth.

 

I couldn’t give her that. Not yet. Not until I understood more of what it meant.

 

So I just drove. I went through downtown, but didn’t appreciate getting stuck in traffic. At the first opportunity, I turned off down the back way. The speed limit was fifty-five here, ten miles per hour higher than the main roads because so few people went back this way. It meant the roads would be clear and I could open her up a little bit without having to get onto the freeway.

 

I knew the area a little bit, but I was coming to the very edge of Reaper territory—which was becoming Slayer territory thanks to our deal. The area was less familiar to me, though I knew it well enough to be confident I wouldn’t get lost.

 

I wasn’t really paying attention. Where I was or where I was going didn’t matter too much to me, so long as I got the freedom of riding through the city like this. It cleared my head, allowed me to think about what was going on in my life—the Slayers, the man last night, Blade, Bills, and, of course, Lucy.

 

My mind was elsewhere when I saw them, to the point where I barely even realized who I was seeing. I didn’t know their names, since I had no reason to be on friendly or personal terms with them, but I recognized the emblem on their backs. They pulled out in front of me, unaware that I was several blocks behind them, but I could see the gold and red threads laced along their backs in what looked like fire spreading out from a center point. Slayers.

 

I should have let them just keep on going. What did they matter to me? But something in my gut told me this was an opportunity. With everything that was going on with the Slayers and their leader, I couldn’t afford to miss a prime opportunity to learn something real. Evidence, I thought, though I wasn’t even sure now what kind of evidence I was looking for. What did any of this have to do with anything?

 

Probably nothing. When it came right down to it, there was a real chance Blade had legitimately offered up that man last night as a peace offering. Which meant I should just shut up and say thank you. But I couldn’t. Things were progressing too quickly, in unforeseen ways, and it was time I started making some proactive moves.

 

So when I saw the two riders turn left up ahead, I followed. When they made a right after that, I did the same. I mimicked every move they made, every turn and stop and pause. We headed out of town, no longer in either Reaper or Slayer territory. We traveled the old highway that was all but empty thanks to the larger, improved one that most of the traffic took. When the two men finally pulled off, I did the same and gave them a little head start.

 

They pulled in up ahead to an old, abandoned train station. I quickly turned before that station, finding a place to park, and hid my bike behind an old billboard so they wouldn’t see me. From there, I peeked around it and watched as the two men headed towards what might have been an old depot or something.

 

I knew I didn’t have a lot of time if I wanted to see what they were doing, so I gave it several seconds, then dove for the building. I kept my body low, hoping the high weeds growing everywhere would provide me some kind of cover at least and that they wouldn’t be looking for me anyway.

 

It took several of the longest moments of my life to get to the side of the building, but I did and paused. I waited several seconds, holding my breath, to see if there was any commotion. I heard nothing except a door opening. They hadn’t noticed me, I decided, though it did nothing to slow the pounding of my heart.

 

Taking a deep breath, I went around the corner to find a window I might be able to look through. I did, but it was grimy. I could still see through it, though, and I hoped the dirt covering it would mask me further.

 

When I looked through the window, I saw the two bikers as expected. What I had not been expecting was who they were meeting. I only saw him from the back and I tried to convince myself it wasn’t him, but even then I knew it. He had broad shoulders and a shiny, shaved head. He wore a leather jacket just as the other two had, but his emblem was different. On the back in white and gray threads was a tombstone. It was made to look old and cracked, but it was unmistakable, as was the writing across it. Reaper.

 

He was one of mine, but even then I didn’t want to admit to myself who it was. It wasn’t until he turned as he spoke to the other two that I got a good enough look at his face to be sure. Unquestionably sure. The man they were meeting wasn’t just any Reaper. He was my right hand.

 

They were meeting Bills.