18
We were on the way home from a charity run in Pennsylvania and had landed in Ohio for the night. At Reich’s chapter.
I wasn’t eager to spend any more time with him than I had to, but what the hell, there were five chapters of the Flames of Hell on this run together. I could continue to get lost in the crowd if I wanted to. We hadn’t spoken two words to each other in PA, just acknowledged each other’s presence with a lift of chins, a nod.
Eager for booze and loud music after hours on the road, we strode into the Peghorn Saloon, the local Flames hangout. It was after two in the morning, and there were still plenty of bikes and cars in the parking lot. The Smoking Guns logo screamed at me from the gas tank of a number of bikes. A sharp ache needled through the joints in my fingers and raced up my arms, my muscles stiffening.
Reich pushed open the old metal doors.
No music’s playing.
“Been trying to call ya, Reich. Couldn’t get through.” His glassy eyes wide, his voice shaky, Garrett, the owner of the Peghorn, stood in a bar that was barely recognizable.
Pool tables flipped over, broken cues and balls littering the floor. Shattered bottles and glass everywhere. Men and women were glued to the walls, a din of mumbling, crying, and shifting chairs zipping around the large bar.
Smoking Guns everywhere.
“It’s about fucking time.” Med slammed a hand down on the bar, a bottle of liquor in his hands.
My heart stopped. His snarl. That voice. Those eyes. A cold sting washed over me and settled in my bones. My fingers curled into tight fists, even my middle fingers that were no longer there.
“Holy fucking shit,” Drac muttered next to me.
It’d been four months since I’d been released from Med’s hellhole, but the sight of him, the sound of his voice, generated a tidal wave of nausea and fear, my pulse pounding, my blood jamming in my veins—as if I was still there, still his prisoner. Even now, surrounded by my brothers. Even now.
I hated him. I feared him. I hated him.
I wanted him dead.
He and his crew had been in Pennsylvania, too, but we’d all steered clear. Things were cool, I’d thought. I’d been relieved. There hadn’t been no skirmishes, no fights, only the usual long brooding looks and caustic threats between two rival clubs.
“Where’s the kid?” he asked.
“What kid?” spit out Reich.
“The one I made a man. The one I created for you.”
A laugh rolled through the room, one distinct ringing laugh above all the others.
Scrib.
My breathing got shallow, a cold sweat suddenly swamped my body. The smoke and the heat in the room was stifling, and I tried swallowing, but my mouth and throat wouldn’t cooperate. My body wavered, and Drac pressed his side into mine.
“What for?” Kwik stepped forward. “What the fuck is this?”
“Saw you all in Pennsylvania. Saw him. Got me thinking.” Med took a long swig from a bottle of expensive rum.
“Oh yeah?”
“Bet he’s the one who took something of mine.”
“Like what? A popsicle stick?” Reich said on a sneer. “You dumped him all bloodied, chopped and cut with barely his clothes on. What the fuck you talking about?”
Med’s satanic gaze found mine and drilled a sizzling hole through me. “My girl.”
My girl.
Serena’s blue green eyes formed a haze between me and Med. A blue green haze. Desire. Justice. Hate. Passion.
Reich’s head tilted at Med. A challenge. “The fuck you say.”
My brothers from five different chapters crowded around me. Shielding me. Taking my back. Not one looked at me, questioned me. There was no question.
“Got no other explanation for it.” Med’s voice thundered. “I gave him hospitality.”
“Hospitality, huh? Chained like an animal in a prison cell?” said Kwik, his voice raised.
“I let him live, motherfucker.” Med jabbed a finger in the air. “I let him live.”
“Get out,” said Reich. “Get out of our territory and don’t come through here again. I’m willing to overlook this mess you made at my favorite watering hole, chalk it up to a misunderstanding. But it’s the first and last time, you got that?”
“I want my girl back!” howled Med, smashing the bottle against the side of the bar top without even flinching.
Kwik raised his chin at Scrib. “Leave. We’re through with this bullshit, and you’re outnumbered, asshole.” He turned to Med. “Your girlfriend ran off? Cry me a river. Find yourself a new one.”
Med’s eyes stayed on mine all through Kwik’s rush of words. His eyelids lowered and he licked at his full lower lip, a creepy smile breaking out on his face. “I’m still looking for her, and when I find her…”
“Get out!” Reich said.
Med’s hand went to the front of his jacket, patting the zippered pocket at his chest. “Want your fingers back, Kid? Got ‘em right here. Favorite trophy of all time.”
A wave of acid went off in my mouth, lit up my eyes, burned my veins, scorched my heart with its liquid fire. My bros latched onto me.
But I didn’t lunge forward for a fight.
“You keep ‘em,” I replied, my voice loud and coarse. “Don’t want you to ever forget me. Not ever. The name is Finger.”
Med’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t gotten the response he’d been hoping for. Muttering, he kicked at the remnants of his rum bottle, sending them spinning, smashing, splattering across the floor. A woman screeched. Med stumbled forward on an odd limping saunter to the exit, greasy, sweaty hair in his face. Scrib eyed me as he and the rest of his men followed Med outside.
We all stood in silence in the bar. Outside, the roar of pipes rumbled and screamed, finally fading. Me and my bros picked up chairs and tables, swept the broken glass and dishes in a corner. A couple of women cried and some of the men talked to them, easing their fears. Garrett and his bartender and waitresses ran around pouring and serving drinks. The music played at a lower volume than usual.
Reich snapped his head at me, the look on his face searing. “What the hell did you do? You take his property? You actually fool enough to go back there?”
I eyed him.
He believed the worst of me. He believed the best of me.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and waited for my answer. There was awe in that silence. There was dread. My brothers had defended me and they would to the death because they were my brothers and that always came first against the enemy, but the question hung in the air.
“Lay off my VP, Reich.” Kwik’s sharp voice sliced between us. “From day one, Finger’s been a solid member, working side by side with me.”
“VP,” muttered Reich, as if he had to spit the word out before it choked him.
“Enough.” Kwik’s voice was firm.
Reich headed to the bar, but the weight of everyone’s stares remained on me. Kwik squeezed my shoulder and shot me a look as I let go of a heavy breath. He wasn’t sure either. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
“Get things done in here and then we all need sleep, not more booze.”
“You bet,” I replied.
I would get things done all right. I would have to be more careful than I’d previously planned on. I had no doubt if Med ever caught me and Serena, he’d tear us limb from limb. Seeing her in Chicago was going to be a bitch and a half, but I would do it every chance I got. I would find a way. I would take the risk. Risk showed you what you were made of. And I had it in me to risk everything over and over again for her.
The only thing I didn’t realize was how deep risks could cut and make you bleed.