Gabe, four years later

“Fuck.” The word gained extra syllables as he growled it into the darkness of the alley. He hadn’t seen the blow that had finally taken him down. Gabe pushed against the ground, trying to get his feet underneath him. One arm buckled, sending him sprawling into the slimy grime along the edges of the cobblestone and he shouted with the pain, cheek pressed to the chill of the bricks underneath him.

“Stay down.” Gabe froze at the command in that voice. The speaker had utmost certainty that he would be obeyed. He believed his words would be taken as gospel, and it sounded so much like Gabe’s old man, he couldn’t suppress a shudder that rolled through him.

Not my daddy. That was all the reminder he needed, and Gabe gathered himself for another attempt. “Fuck.” He paused, got one knee on the ground and shoved again, staggering as he gained his feet. “You.”

“Boy.” Now the voice sounded faintly amused but pleased, like Gabe had done something unexpected and rare. “Takes some balls to climb your ass back up after the beatdown you just took. Should stop while you’re ahead. Stay down. Just fuckin’ quit.”

Reaching back with one arm, Gabe tried to find the wall he knew had to be there, praying it wasn’t far and that his legs would hold him up until he found the support. “I don’t.” He stumbled, and the movement woke a deeper pain. Fuck. “Quit.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” A different voice, this from beside him, and Gabe felt a shoulder shoved under his arm. “He’s done, Shooter. Paid his dues.”

Gabe’s eyes had squeezed shut against the pain which seemed to be coming at him from all directions, swamping him like a metal johnboat in a sudden storm. Wave after wave, doing their damnedest to take him down. Flinging his head back, he forced his eyes open as he stiffened his legs, leaning on his unexpected supporter.

“Whatcha think, Gabe? Think you’ve paid your dues? Think you’re ready to join the big boys?” Shooter. Now that Gabe had a name, he recognized the voice, one he’d spoken to over the phone several times in the past month. Gabe had been trying to extricate his group from the larger chapter in Louisville, and the man had repeatedly put him off, claiming multiple excuses that never seemed to hold water. Rumor had it he wasn’t Diamante at all, but Outrider. Rumor was wrong.

Can’t complain when you’re the beggar, he thought. “Pretty clear—” He paused to breathe, wrapping an arm around his gut and grunting as the pain in his ribs hit him. “I’m sittin’ out on the porch.” Hissing in reaction to a movement from the man beside him, he grunted again. “For the duration.”

“Tellin’ you, he’s done, Shooter. You leave him alive, we are assured of his loyalty.” The voice had a faintly Mexican accent, a way of rolling the letters that sounded exotic.

“Fuck you, Chismoso. He ain’t done until I say he’s done.”

Chismoso. Diamante from Juarez. If he were here, then crazy Lalo won’t be far be—

Something hit Gabe’s calf, sweeping his legs out from under him as his knees crumpled. He went down hard, unable to break his fall, arms instinctively going to protect his already damaged ribs. Another voice, this one gleeful as it shouted, “Again!”

Blow after blow stripped his senses, each sharp pain pushing him deeper under until there was just a noisy blackness all around.

“Tabby and Jonny, sittin’ in a tree.” The shouted rhyme came from a multitude of throats, the gaggle of boys on the schoolyard gravitating towards the ring of bodies already formed around a small girl huddled on the ground. Her too-big pants with ground-in stains from being pushed to the grass had pulled to gape at her waist, her shirt had rucked up and Gabe could see the livid bruise on her back. Goddamn Daddy to hell.

He pushed through the circle, shoving until he went to his knees beside her, reaching out and pulling her into his arms. Her tears wetting his chest, he glared up at the faces laughing down, their words and laughter trailing off as his anger made itself known. Silence descended, and the bell rang, the long rope pulled by the favored first grader calling everyone back to class.

She pushed against him, hands fluttering like butterflies as she tried to escape without touching his skin. A moment later he heard her utter a word and understood, hating that he did, hating even more that she did. “Unclean.”

“Don’t care about that, Tabbycat. I got you.” He pushed to his feet, pulling her up alongside him and walked her to the side door of the schoolhouse. Calling the teacher over, Gabe explained, and they escaped together.

He got Tabby to talking, and she finally gave up the names of the boys who’d started hazing her. The next day was Saturday, and Gabe knew where the boys would be. He forced himself out of bed early to do chores so he could be at the fishing hole before they arrived.

At supper that night, he caught Tabby staring at his hands, knuckles scuffed and bruised from the lesson he’d delivered. When he finally got her to look at his face, he winked, and she ducked her head. But before she had, he’d seen the tiny smile. Work my fingers to the bone to see that.

After a time, even the noisy blackness receded.

***

“Fuck, boss. You took a beatin’.”

Gabe shifted on his back, sliding to one side a few inches, twisting his neck so he could see the speaker. His side was one throbbing mass of pain so he rolled slightly, finding his flanks and low back were just as bad. Gonna piss blood.

“Jesus.”

He tried forcing one eye open, making it into a bare squint. The blood, sweat, and fluids had dried and caked the upper and lower lashes together, so he could only open it a fraction of an inch. A round face hovered close, the man’s features swimming in and out of focus while Gabe concentrated on maintaining that fraction of an inch long enough to see who it was. The voice was familiar, but nothing made sense right now.

Probably cuz my head hurts so fuckin’ bad.

“Can you sit up?”

Ridiculous. He tried to snort a laugh, failing miserably when his ribs complained, his muscles seizing in a hard spasm. Frowning pulled every inch of his face painfully, so he let his features smooth out instead of scowling like he wanted. Blinking that one eye hard, he managed to gain another fraction of an inch open and the face above him resolved into someone he knew.

“Gator.” His voice was weird. Soft and wispy instead of hard and angry, which was how he felt inside. “Get me up.”

“Hang on, boss. Lemme make sure you aren’t broke up.” That preceded a painful process of touch and movement as his second’s hands pressed and pulled, ensuring Gabe wouldn’t permanently injure himself by moving.

“Get. Me. Up.” No mistaking the impatience in his tone, and Gator responded like Gabe expected, an arm around his shoulders lifting and twisting, pulling him a few excruciating inches. Back against the wall, he leaned where Gator put him, not trying to move beyond getting his eyelids open. Best he could do was the one eye, but he managed to get that working, at least. “Head.”

“Yeah, no doubt.” Gator had read the message in the one word. “Side of your face is busted, bruised to shit and swollen enough I expect it hurts like a bitch. What…?” His voice trailed off as he glanced around the alley. “Chismoso called me, or I’d have never found you here, Gabe. What in the fuck did you do to piss everybody off like this? I thought we were in line to join ‘em. This looks to be the opposite.”

“Breathing.” Clamping his teeth against a wave of nausea, Gabe said, “I’m talented like that.”

“You mean you smartassed your way into a fucking beating?” Gator shook his head. “What are we going to do now?”

Gabe let his head lean back against the wall, resting his eye for a minute. “We go on. I got what we want. Nothing less.”

“You mean you’re willing to do this again? You are one crazy fucker.” Gator crouched, one knee to the ground. “Stupid, too.”

“No, man. I got what we want.” He moved, bringing up one swollen hand to dig into the inside pocket of his vest. “Charter.” He battled a cough, and won, knowing how badly that would hurt. “Lexington.” Papers dangled from his fingers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gator took the papers, unfolding them, looking at the handwritten message, blinking in surprise. “Fucking insane, man.” Bringing the documents closer to his face, he asked, “Who the fuck’s Fury?”

“Lookin’ at him.” Gabe lifted his swollen lip, stretching the throbbing flesh tight, grinning through the pain. “Got our own chapter.”

***

Six months later

Fury blew out a frustrated breath at the idea of repeating himself yet again. Why can’t the man just listen? “I told you. No, I’m not opening a second chapter in Fort Wayne. I just expanded the territory for Lexington. Bought a couple of businesses up there. Not lookin’ to cause trouble for anyone, and Shooter gave a thumbs-up to everything. See, not out of line.” The last sentence was hissed, and he knew the man on the other end of the phone had taken the warning as he intended.

“Didn’t mean no disrespect, Fury.” Painter, an officer in the Cynthania chapter of Outriders, backpedaled quickly. “Not intendin’ no offense.”

“Not sure what business it is of Outriders if I did decide to work up a charter. Not like y’all got shit all to do with anything in Fort Wayne.” Fury bent double in his chair, leaning deep to pick up his coffee mug from the floor. Lifting it to his lips, he cautiously sipped at the hot liquid. “Not like y’all got shit all to say about Diamante, period.”

“Not true, man. You know it. We got a princess in town still. We’ll always keep tabs on Morgan’s girl.”

“She’s shacked up with a Rebel. Y’all lookin’ to poke that Bear? Everybody knows Mason’s got a hella hard-on for Outriders. If y’all are keepin’ track of what he now considers his, that won’t go over well with him. You and I both know it.” Fury shook his head and rolled his eyes, finding it hard to believe Morgan had gone that far.

“Still, she’s ours.” The words were said firmly, and Fury dropped his argument. No skin off my nose.

“Heard there’s a professional guy in the area.” Not a question, but he laid the statement out, knowing Painter wouldn’t be able to ignore it if he knew anything.

“Yeah, bastard is something else.” Painter laughed, the sound dark and fearful. “Woolfe is one scary motherfucker.” Silence then Painter offered, “They pulled him in because there’s something big going on up in Utah. Time and dime being spent up there like a bitch, and Shooter didn’t have anyone to spare to deal with that shit in the Fort.”

“What’s going in Utah?” Eyes up, he stared at the ceiling, tracking a crack across the stained paint. “I could give a hot shit about Shooter, but Utah’s interesting territory to be claiming.”

“Got some plans for a compound or something. They needed a show of force. Heard your boy hit the area with a hard splash, had to be expelled.” Painter chuckled, the sound grating on Fury’s nerves. “Sent him out of there like a snot rocket.”

“My boy?” With his ties to both clubs, Fury had no idea what Painter was talking about. Gator was the only one he really claimed as a friend and brother, and he was here in Fort Wayne. At my side, like he should be. “Whachu talkin’ about?”

“Lalo.”

Fury didn’t try to stop the growl clawing up his throat, hearing the insane voice in a dark alley shouting, “Again!” like beating him was a thrill ride on a county fair midway.

“Yeah, figured you’d have that response. He’s headed back Florida way, I understand.” Silence for a moment, then Painter tried to get them back on track, wanting the call to end. “Like I was sayin’, Woolfe is one scary fucker.”

Fury leaned back in his chair, taking another drink from his mug. “Any idea what he’s doin’ in the Fort?”

“Not a fuckin’ clue. Man’s a private contractor, so you know he’s got a job or he wouldn’t be in town. My advice? Keep your eyes open.”

Draining the mug, Fury set it on the floor and stood, pushing the chair back and out of the way, giving himself a clear view of the man handcuffed to a set of rings in the wall. “No doubt. You hear anything else I need to know, shit like what’s going down in Utah, bring it to me, yeah?” The call disconnected, and he tipped his head to the side, considering his captive. “You don’t look so fuckin’ scary to me.”

Fury walked towards Woolfe and stopped out of reach. “You know how badly you’ve fucked up tonight? Just how fuckin’ bad you screwed up?” He paused for a breath, then blew it out slowly. “You’ve screwed the pooch, man. There are a hundred men combing Fort Wayne looking for the man in the room up the hall. Lookin’ for his woman, too. You don’t know who you took, do you?” Using the toe of his boot, he prodded the sole of the man’s foot. “Not a fuckin’ clue.”

“My boss is the same as your boss. We do what we’re told.” Woolfe shrugged as nonchalantly as he could be with both hands anchored over his head. “Pays the bills.”

“Bought yourself a world of pain, man. That’s Gunny. He’s an insider. A confidant to the national president of the Rebel Wayfarers. You took him from his own home.” Fury leaned down, letting his lips pull back in a feral snarl. “Brought him to my property. But that wasn’t enough. Oh, no, not for you.” He shook his head. “You had to bring his woman, too. And not only is she his woman, but she's also the sister of a friend of that same club. A friend who happens to be wooing the former president’s old lady.” Leaning in again, he clipped, “Fucked in the ass.” Straightening, he stepped back. “You’re right, though. Your boss is the national president of this club.” Fury hooked a thumb at the back of his vest. “Means I needa do what I gotta do to haul your ass outta the fire before Shooter or Morgan get wind of just had badly you fucked up on my territory.”

At the door Fury paused and turned back, staring into the Woolfe’s eyes. “I guarantee you’re a dead man. Gunny’s insane enough to not let this go.”

“Gunny and I go way back,” Woolfe said cockily. “He ain’t gonna do shit to me.”

Pulling the door shut behind him, remembering the rage he’d seen in Gunny’s face as he paced in the cell Woolfe had locked him in, Fury told the empty hallway the truth as he saw it. “You’re wrong.”