Killoran, you son of a bitch!

I knew it was him and his goons. The minute that guy back there gave me their descriptions, there wasn’t any doubt in my mind.

The Galloping Jackals. A biker gang that had once stood for family, solidarity and a place for those without a home to go, had once belonged to a standup guy named Bruno. He’d brought us all together, established the club house over in Grey Rock, about twenty minutes outside Austin, and kept order. But then he’d let Killoran join, against my advisement, and everything had gone to Hell.

Killoran was the worst kind of guy, with a chip on his shoulder the size of the iceberg that took down the Titanic, who saw the world as something that needed to be conquered, not navigated. He brought the outlaws to the Jackals.

It started small, with things “falling off the back” of trucks, and “finding wallets on the ground.” We all knew what was really going on, but Killoran was a tough bastard, and his two loyal friends, Trey and Harold, were always by his side. Dealing with him was going to have to be a club decision.

Finally, Bruno came around and realized he had to act. He scheduled a club meeting and we all knew what the agenda would be. But before it took place, Bruno mysteriously was killed in a home invasion.

“Home invasion!” I spat as I revved my bike’s engine and tore through the night in pursuit of the van. “Home invasion, my ass!”

We all knew what had really happened. Killoran and his two goons had snuck in and killed him. They saw their exile coming and made a move to seize power. I thought we had the rest of the club on our side, but we were wrong. Killoran took control and the few stragglers that didn’t swear allegiance to him were killed.

I knew they were coming for me next. I faked my death to get free—torched my bike and drove it off a ravine to make it look like I’d crashed and burnt up. Then I’d headed south to Laredo and found new work. As far as I could tell, my little ruse had worked, since no one had come looking for me. And right now, that was working in my favor. These pricks had no idea what was coming for them, and unless I was out of my mind, they had my fated mate with them.

My fated mate…

I couldn’t believe it, but the scent was still strong in my nostrils, driving me wild with every quarter mile I made up the road. It was more than a smell—it was a feeling, like an emotion had taken up residence in my chest, in my head, in my very soul. I may have been driving my bike, but my destiny was driving me. Fate was tugging on my heart, pulling me forward towards a future I had never anticipated—a future I had sworn off as impossible.

Love for me? Hell no! But the feelings flooding through that tender organ pounding inside my chest were undeniable. My life could not continue until I found him. My fated mate. How fitting was it that he’d be tied up with the unfinished business I’d left behind in my old life?

I have to see him…I thought as the bike roared on through the night. There was no doubt in my mind that the boys were headed to the club house, which meant I had about five minutes before we got there. I’d have to act quickly to prevent what I’m sure they had in store for him.

Miserable bastards!

I gritted my teeth and gunned the engine, pushing the bike well beyond the speed limit. Wind tore through my hair and I hunkered down, making myself as aerodynamic as possible as I sped through the fading heat of the Texas spring.

The road was familiar, and as I started passing known landmarks, I felt an uneasy feeling of nostalgia wash over me like thick swamp water. There was the old farm truck, broken down and abandoned in a field where corn used to grow. There was the tattered Jesus billboard and the speed trap the pork were such a fan of. Tonight there were no cruisers though, and I blazed on down the highway at top speed.

Eventually, the Grey Rock sign came into view and I began to slow down in anticipation of the hard right off the highway and into town. I took it, like I’d done countless times before, feathering the brake to keep from skidding out in the dirt, and pulled onto the road heading into town.

I saw the fresh tracks of at least two bikes and the pack van. They’d probably just arrived at the club house. I only had a couple of minutes before the shit started to go down. The road wasn’t clear like the highway, and was covered with rocks and pebbles that could easily cause me to peel out and topple over, but I kept the throttle up anyway as I sped towards my old haunt with an all-new objective.

When the club house came into view, I felt a fresh surge of emotion rise up within me like a fresh spring being dug from the cracked desert ground. I felt my fangs extend and ran my tongue across them as I throttled down and pulled over onto the side of the road. The van was there, and two bikes, probably Harold’s and Trey’s. The scent of my fated mate was everywhere in the air, and I had to focus to keep from being completely overwhelmed.

“Goddamn,” I said out loud as I slid off the bike and grabbed Sasha from the saddle bag.

I had absolutely no idea what I was about to walk into, or what the owner of this incredible smell even looked like, but it didn’t matter. I knew what was going to happen if I didn’t do something, and I knew I was meant to. So I put one foot after the other and walked towards my old club house, my old life, with a brand new agenda.

I’m coming for you, Killoran, I thought, twisting the grip of the shotgun in my hand. I’m coming.