Red.

That was all I could see.

The blaze of rage burning in my eyes.

The stinging of sadistic desire for revenge.

The sight of coursing blood.

Abel’s blood.

I was riding south on Interstate 85 in the middle of the night, just past Greenville. I hadn’t even noticed when we crossed over the North and South Carolina boarder. Jaxon was close on my flank. We road well together. There was a stinging emptiness though. Going up to Vilas, we had been three. Riding home with one missing was something I never thought would happen in my wildest dreams.

“Fuck you, Rigger!” I cursed my fallen traitor of a brother, screaming into the damp, still night air. My words were swallowed by the wind that whipped through my beard. I was the one who had brought Rigger into the club. I was responsible for trusting him on this mission. It was all my fault that Abel was dead.

The weight of that responsibility would haunt me for the rest of my days.

I was the reason why Abel was dead. I knew it to be true, but I could barely believe it.

Abel Hellock was not just a friend, another president, another Unacceptable—he was the backbone of the entire organization. He was the binding force that kept our men honest, loyal, and brave. What the hell were we going to do without him?

There was no method to the madness that I could pinpoint. For the first time since the president patch was put on my chest, I was unsure of the future of the club and unsure of the skull and bones that graced my back. As we neared an exit in White Plains, I signaled to Jaxon that we were pulling off.

It was for a call I had been dreading to make for days, but I knew it was far too overdue.

Pulling into a 7-Eleven parking lot, Jaxon and I parked at pumps.

“Everything all right, Pres?” he called over to me, pulling his skull bucket off.

I grabbed my cell out of the right saddlebag of my hog. “Yeah, fill ’em up. I have to hit the head.”

Even though Jaxon would find out I was calling Buck, I didn’t want him to hear me. I knew my voice would be shaky and hesitant. I knew I would fumble for words. It was not the time or place for a leader to show any sign of weakness, especially in front of a soldier who was losing his faith as well. Jaxon would never admit it to me, but my number two was wavering—I could feel it deep in my bones.

The store clerk’s eyes got wide as her gaze wandered over to me when the bell chimed overhead, announcing my entrance into the tiny shop.

I nodded over her way. “Hello, darlin’.”

She feigned a smile. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen, and I knew she was scared shitless. Her hand slowly disappeared under the counter; I knew she was reaching for some sort of weapon hidden under there. It wasn’t the first time I had gotten a reaction like that from a female. I was pretty used to it, and I couldn’t blame her. It was three in the morning, and Jaxon and I had ridden up on screaming hogs wearing cuts, looking meaner than sin. If she were my daughter, I would have taught her to do the same damn thing.

I pointed to the back, where a big Bathroom sign hung over the hallway. “Just hittin’ the john, dear.”

I walked into the tiny white washroom that smelled like mildew and piss. The lock clicked. The phone was gripped in my grasp, and I knew I had to dial. I knew it was time. To say that I was nervous was a damn understatement. It was the hardest thing in the fucking world for me to admit, but I was scared shitless to tell Buck about Abel. The other charters needed to know, deserved to hear it from me, but out of all the other presidents, Kane Buckley was going to be the hardest to tell. He needed to be first. I couldn’t bear the thought of him hearing the news from Blaz or Maccon.

It was two in the morning in Killeen, Texas. Thankfully, Buck was usually still awake at that hour. The phone only rang once before his gruff voice answered, “Yeah? Who the heck is this calling at this hour?”

“It’s Bear.” I sucked in a deep breath, waiting for his response.

“Hold on.” I could hear him shuffling a little and Barley mumbling in the background. Buck whispered, “It’s all right, sweetheart. Just a call I have to take.” The sound of him kissing his wife on the cheek came through the line before he shut a door behind him. “Bear? You all right?”

I chomped down, churned my jaw for a few seconds. No words would come out.

“Bear? What in the fuck is going on?” Buck’s voice was low as he growled into the phone.

“It’s Abel,” I finally spit out. Flashes of Abel’s skull ripping open as the bullet pierced the back of his head haunted me while I fought to find the words to explain the horror of that entire situation.

“What do you mean?” The smallest hint of panic coated the simple question.

I choked a bit before the words left my throat. “It’s not good, brother.”

“Bear, you fucking need to spit it out.” His voice was low and even.

“Fuck, man. H-he was shot. There was nothing we could have done. We walked right into their goddamned trap like fucking idiots.” My voice crackled as the thick words forced themselves out.

“Who? How? What can I do?” The sounds of his boots stomping down the stairs of his house echoed.

“The Vilas guys need some time. Ryder is his heir. Between Holt and Ryder, they will let us know what needs to be done. Right now, all we can do is reach out to connections and try to figure out who is truly behind this. We know Sinners were involved.”

“They’re too small of an organization to have the balls or manpower to go to war with us.” Buck was right; there had to be something more to all of this.

“I am about halfway back to Atlanta. I will call Blaz and Maccon in the morning.”

“Safe home, man. Talk tomorrow.”

“Aye, brother. We will make this right.”

“Nothin’ can make this right. Regicide will never be all right.” I could hear the twisting of Buck’s heart in his words. It mirrored mine. Rage and sorrow collided as we tried to accept our new reality.

After taking a piss and washing my hands, I made my way back through the store. “Have a nice mornin’, darlin’.” I nodded at the clerk on my way out. She never muttered a word all the while her eyes stayed glued on me.

Jaxon was leaning up against his bike, waiting for me.

“Ready to get home?” I asked, throwing my left leg over my Harley.

“That’s a damn understatement.”

* * *

We were only a few miles out from our exit. The road was clear and quiet, it had ben at least an hour since we had seen any other vehicles on the abandoned highway. I could feel the exhaustion from the last couple of days starting to weigh me down. It felt like it had been years since I had truly slept. A flickering light caught my eye just up ahead, off on the shoulder. Right as I was about to signal to Jaxon, he whistled. He must have been seeing the same thing I was.

There was a motorcycle on its side, the headlight flickering, the engine making a low crying sound. I flew off my bike, rushing to the aid of the rider who was sprawled out in the damp grass just a few feet from the overturned bike.

Throwing my helmet to the side, I yelled to Jaxon, “Call 9-1-1!”

“On it,” he responded and I could hear him pushing the buttons on his cell immediately.

I ripped the helmet off of the injured, passed-out rider and was shocked to find that it was a woman. I checked for a pulse—it was faint, but there. She wasn’t breathing. Without second-guessing it, I started CPR. The song “Staying Alive” played in my head just like the instructor had taught me in the class I had taken in high school when I was getting my lifeguard certification. At the time, I’d thought it was the most ludicrous thing on the damn planet, but in that moment, it worked.

I had no idea how long I was pumping on her chest, if Jaxon was talking or not, or even when the responders arrived. It wasn’t until a paramedic pulled me off of her that my brain snapped back into focus.

The flashing lights of the ambulance stung my eyes as I ran next to the rolling gurney. I was about to jump into the bus with her when Jaxon’s hand gripped my arm firmly, pulling me back.

“Let’s follow them to the hospital. Let them do their jobs.”

With wide eyes, I gaped at my VP as we stood next to our bikes. He was right, but it took him shouting in my face a few more times to get me to snap out of my autopilot protector mentality. In the moment we’d found that woman, she had become my responsibility. It was my job to make sure she was going to be all right.

Jaxon’s deep voice broke through the air, “Bear! Get a fucking grip!” he yelled again, barely registering as he pulled me over to where I had thrown my own back to the ground.

I pulled my helmet back on, jumped on my bike and hauled ass to follow the flashing lights of the ambulance to the closest emergency room.