Wolf sat at the head of the table, looking more somber than Ash had seen him in a long time. Everyone else around the table and in the chairs set up along the walls looked either drunk, depressed, or half asleep...but that’s what you get when you called church after midnight on a Saturday night. Even Manson, Wolf’s VP, looked like he was fighting to keep his eyes open. Bruf stood against the wall behind the boss and he was the only one in the room that looked wide awake and stone-cold sober. He was about the most dedicated man Ash had ever met; when Ash first joined up with the club, he had tried to model his actions to Bruf’s...but the man was a breed all his own.

Sledge rushed in just before the door was closed, sat down next to Ash, and made a face at him like “What the fuck’s going on?” Ash just gave him a shake of his head; he had no idea, but they were about to find out. Manson was telling everyone to quiet down and Wolf finally hit the gavel with the wolf’s head on it against the table. “Okay, I know that this isn’t where anyone wants to be on a Saturday night, but we’ve got a problem and the more time that goes by, the bigger this shit is going to get.” He turned slightly and gave Bruf a nod. Bruf left the room and everyone was so silent for the few seconds he was gone that you could hear them breathing. When he returned, the silence was broken with gasps and whispered curses.

Bruf hadn’t come back alone. He pushed a wheelchair in with him. Sitting in the chair was a young man that they all recognized...barely. Bruf parked the chair next to Wolf and Wolf looked at the young man and said, “You okay, kid?”

Tex nodded and Ash saw him grimace in pain as he did. Tex and his twin brother Tensee were both part of a team out of Las Vegas that trained under former MMA champion Jacob Wright. The two young men had been in California for the past year, working as personal trainers at the Skulls gym and doing exhibition matches. Wolf took a deep breath and ran his hand through his heavy beard. Anyone that knew him knew it was a sign that he was trying to keep his cool...but his eyes had a fire burning in them that didn’t bode well for whoever had done this. He turned back toward the men in the room and said:

“Tex was at the gym alone this evening getting ready for a fight he’s got coming up next weekend. As he left, he was assaulted in the parking lot by six men. They didn’t do this with their fists...the chickenshits knew they wouldn’t have a chance against this boy one on one. They used a metal pipe and their boots...motorcycle boots.” Tex nodded again, and Ash realized as he looked at him closer that the man’s jaw was wired shut and that was why Wolf was doing all the talking. His face looked like it might still be swelling. One eye was swollen shut and the eyelid was dark purple. He had some thick gauze across one side of his forehead. Not only was the jaw wired shut, his lips were swollen and his nose looked like it might be broken. He had his arms on the armrests of the chair and Ash actually smiled when he looked at the kid’s hands. His knuckles were more swollen than his face and there was hardly any skin left on them. He may have gotten the shit kicked out of him by six cowards with a metal pipe...but the kid got in a hell of a lot of good licks for sure.

“Did he see their faces?” Sledge asked.

“Tex was able to type out what happened to him to the best of his recollection,” Wolf said, “Bruf’s going to read it to y’all.” Bruf picked up a tablet off the table, scrolled through something and cleared his throat.

“After I took Tensee to the airport, I went back to the gym to work out for a while.” Tensee was the kid’s twin brother, also a fighter, who had a match coming up in Vegas soon. Tex had agreed to stay in California and continue the training at the gym while his brother was in Vegas. A big group of them, Ash included, were scheduled to ride down in time to catch the match in a couple of weeks. Jacob wanted Tensee to spend the last couple of weeks there where he could make sure the kid wasn’t partying too much, was eating right and working on his footwork—which, despite a wicked right hook, was a big reason why Jacob the Lion was a champion. “I was locking the front doors when I heard the sounds of motorcycles. I thought it was you guys, so I wasn’t even worried. When I turned around, they were parked facing me with their headlights in my face. I couldn’t see anything. I asked what was going on, but instead of an answer, I got punched in the mouth. The fight was on. I went after whoever punched me, still blind from the lights. I connected, a few times, but there were too many of them. They got me down on the ground and I was hit with something hard and cold and kicked with steel-toed boots. I could be wrong about how many there were, but it was at least six. They never spoke, and I was never able to focus on their faces...but as they left, I got a glimpse of the back of one of their kuttes. They were Impalers.”

“Motherfuckers!” The words were spoken by more than one of the guys in the room, along with others. The grumbles started out low and were suddenly like the roar of a raging fire that Manson quickly threw a bucket of water on.

“Y’all quiet down and listen!” he barked. Wolf waited for it to go silent and said:

“We haven’t had any beef with the Impalers for years as far as I know. The first thing I did was call them and try to get Ogre on the phone.” Ogre was their founder and president...a nasty, crusty old biker with fewer scruples than the devil himself from what Ash had heard. Coyote, the Skulls’ president at the time, was far from being a saint, but even he couldn’t stomach some of the things Ogre was into, and that was what had started their feud and led to Ogre leaving and creating the Impalers a dozen or so years before. Once Coyote was gone and the Impalers began to gain ground in their own territory, they became too distracted to give the Skulls any more shit. But obviously, something had changed. “The old bastard wouldn’t talk to me,” Wolf said. “So, I tried for Sid Vicious, their VP, and that chickenshit also wouldn’t come to the phone. I hope they know that was as far as my fucking olive branch reaches. First thing in the morning I want you all saddled up and ready to ride. We’re taking a trip up to Stockton. If they’re willing to tell us what the fuck this was about, give us the six that did this and a guarantee that we’ll never see any of those bastards in Skulls territory again...I might be feeling generous. If not, then I’m sorry, boys, we might just have a war on our hands.” No one in the room said anything to that. It had been years since the Skulls were at war with anyone. Ash was sure that the men around him were thinking about their loved ones—their old ladies and their kids if they had them. The Impalers had a reputation for fighting dirty...and all anyone had to do if they needed proof of that was to look at the kid sitting in the wheelchair, to the right of their president. Smoke was surprisingly the first to speak. The biker kept his words to a minimum and usually when he opened his mouth, whatever came out was worth listening to. Tonight was no exception.

“Sometimes the only way to fight a fire is to dig a trench and light another one on the other side.”

Mackenzie was no shrinking violet. She was a force to be reckoned with in a boardroom. Asher Bennett III hadn’t hired her solely because of who she was, or what he perceived she had done for his son and therefore his family. She had a master’s degree in business management. She graduated summa cum laude from her classes at NYU, and after a short internship with a retail clothing giant that had their corporate offices on Staten Island, she’d landed a job with one of the most influential business moguls in Manhattan at the time, a very successful, wealthy recluse who ran his billion-dollar international business from the comforts of a mansion he’d built on twenty acres out on Long Island. His name was Chester Mayfield and Mack’s technical title had been personal assistant. She was way overqualified for that title, but the job had turned out to be everything she had hoped it would be and then some. She rapidly went from running errands to standing in for Mayfield at important meetings and even in front of his board of directors. She had to grow a stiff spine since her presence in a lot of those places was frowned upon, and nasty rumors about what her “other” duties for the old man might be began to circulate. A big part of her getting stronger had been thanks to Asher...but that was before everything fell apart.

Now here she was five years later, calling on that strength as she drove the car she’d rented at the airport toward the address the attorney had given her for Asher. The idea of just dropping in on Ash made her nervous enough, but the idea of doing it in the midst of a motorcycle clubhouse almost gave her an anxiety attack. But it was necessary, and she hoped Ash would understand. She thought about calling him, but what she had to say needed to be done face to face.

Her GPS told her that she had “reached her destination,” and she pulled the little Honda to a stop at the curb. To her right was a cyclone fence that surrounded a big shop. The sign said, “Westside Motors.” The logo was a circle with a classic convertible in the center...with a skull painted on the hood of the blue car. This had to be it. She left the car at the curb and walked up to the gate. It was locked, but there was a little guardhouse behind it and she’d seen someone inside. She rang the buzzer on the gate and a man stepped out of the guardhouse. He was probably in his thirties, tall with a lot of lean muscle, long brown hair held back in a ponytail, and intense, dark brown eyes. He was wearing a leather vest just like the one Ash had been wearing at the coffee shop the last time she saw him. He looked at her curiously and said:

“You looking to pick up your car?”

“Um...no, I was looking for Asher Bennett IV.” The guy cocked an eyebrow and she said, “Ash?”

“He’s not here.”

“Okay...can you tell me where I can find him? It’s really important.”

“Nope. I can tell him you came by.”

“It’s really important.”

The guy looked her over. She’d worn a tan linen pantsuit and matching pumps. It was an outfit that she thought of as casual but suddenly she wished that she’d worn jeans instead. She would have at least fit in slightly better. “Okay, I’ll tell him,” he said. He started to go back inside the guardhouse.

“Wait! You didn’t even take down my name.”

He turned back around and with an annoyed look, pulled out his phone, and said, “Okay, give it to me.”

“My name is...”

“Mack?” The sound of the man’s voice came from behind her. She turned toward it and was surprised and happy to see her old friend Steve. At least until he said, “What the fuck are you doing here? Got a little peek at what you threw in the garbage five years ago and now you want to fish it out? What’s wrong...not enough corporate dicks for you to suck in Manhattan?” She felt her face go hot and a flicker of anger light in her belly. She had to remind herself that Steve hadn’t just been her friend...he’d been Asher’s as well. When it was time to take sides, he’d taken Asher’s side and as much as she wanted to blame him for that, she couldn’t. She let the partial smile she’d had on her face when she first saw him drop, and as calmly as she could she said:

“Steve, I’m here because Charlie is missing.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and said, “It’s Sledge.”