Sambo was still driving, almost to the cabin they kept in the hills, when his phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at it and then he glanced sideways at Josiah. “Larry said no to the Bent Wrench.”

“Surprise,” Josiah said, sarcastically.

Sambo sighed. “He told Georgie he was close to Brownie’s and he’d meet him there.”

“Brownie’s?” Sambo seemed to have forgotten how long Josiah had been away.

“It’s a dive bar, close to the Southside. An old washed-up, wannabe football player and his whore of a daughter run it. She hangs out with the Skulls.”

“So, they’re changing the location of the set-up? Taking control.”

“They might think that, but Georgie’s got an inside line to Street Chaos. He’s going to let them know that Dax and most of his executive board will be there.”

“I thought you just said Dax Marshall wasn’t stupid enough to ride into a set-up.”

“He’s not, but Chaos doesn’t know that Dax knows it’s a set-up. They’ll hit whoever is there, in and out, quick…and take Larry down in the process.”

Josiah sighed. When he was inside, Sambo had made it sound like things were running so smoothly. Now, it just seemed like they were playing a guessing game and depending on a bunch of street thugs to do it. He didn’t like it. “Okay, but make sure if Dax Marshall does show up, nobody takes him out. I want him around long enough to suffer his losses.”

“You got it, son.” Sambo texted Georgie back. Josiah looked out the window again and began to formulate a new plan in his head. He realized after an hour in the car with Sambo that this wasn’t going to get done his way, unless he did it himself.

* * *

“Okay,” Larry said, looking at the phone. “He said yes to Brownie’s at eight tonight.”

Dax picked up his phone just as Hunter and Claire came back in on the tail end of what Larry said. Claire started to say something but Hunter put his hand on her shoulder. He felt her sigh, but she kept silent. They all sat quietly as Dax said, “Hey, Kat, how’s the ankle?” He listened with a small smile on his face and after several long seconds he looked at Hunter and said, “I’m sure he feels terrible. Hey, I have a favor to ask.” He listened and whatever she said made him laugh. Hunter could only imagine. Hurricane Katrina was a piece of work, but as long as he’d known her, he’d never heard her say no to Dax. “We need the bar tonight at eight.” Another pause and then, “No, I mean cleaned out, only us. I’ll send a few guys in their regular clothes, no kuttes, a little earlier. Chaos will likely be coming by….” He laughed again. “You kind of ended up with a sweet deal the last time they shot the place up.” He held the phone back from his ear and the whole room could hear the sound of her voice. Hunter didn’t know exactly what she was saying, but he was sure it was peppered with a lot of four-letter words. When she finally took a breath, Dax simply said, “Thanks, Kat. See you in a few hours.” He ended the call and started giving orders to his guys, who left as soon as they got them. Claire waited, but Hunter could almost feel how much energy that was taking her. Once everyone but them and Larry and Dax were gone she said:

“Are you okay, Dad?”

Larry nodded, but he looked wiped-out. “Georgie was setting me up. He’s been tracking my phone. I guess I shoulda known he didn’t give me that phone out of the goodness of his black heart.”

Hunter looked at Dax and the other man nodded. “We’re going to have Larry meet him at Brownie’s. If he’s working with whoever wants to cause a war between us and Chaos, that’s who they’ll send. I’m not sure what they’ll tell them on that end…”

“Street Chaos thinks I set them up, the night they stole that car with the pictures in it. One of their guys, a good friend of Trayvon’s, was killed by the cops,” Larry said. “They want me. Georgie must be working with them…” Hunter couldn’t tell what Dax was thinking, but whoever wanted the Skulls and Street Chaos to go to war wasn’t working with either crew, that was apparent. Hunter was sure Dax was more than smart enough to know that as well.

“You’re going to let him walk into a set-up?” Claire said, her pretty blue-green eyes swimming with tears.

“No,” Dax said. “Hunter and I are going to talk to Trayvon before this goes down. I think he’ll be as interested to know that someone is looking to start a war between us as I was.”

“You sure Trayvon or one of his guys won’t just shoot you on sight?” Hunter asked.

Dax stood up and grinned. “Nope. You ready?”

Hunter chuckled. It was never a dull moment when Dax was around. “Yep.” He looked at Larry and said, “Can I trust that you’ll still be here when I get back?”

Larry looked down at his still-bound hands and said, “Where would I go?”

Hunter looked at Claire. “He’ll be here,” she said. Then almost as an afterthought she said, “Be safe.” Hunter wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her. But he was sure that she wasn’t at that point yet in their “relationship” where she’d be comfortable with PDAs. He just nodded and said:

“Always.”

* * *

As Hunter followed Dax along the winding highway, his thoughts wandered back to how he’d ended up here, practically a fixture within a motorcycle club. His mother had even been recently commenting on how he’d let himself go lately. His hair used to be kept short and well-maintained, and now it touched his collar in back and rarely did a product other than shampoo touch it. He hated to shave, he always had. Now that he spent most of his time in a clubhouse full of guys that rarely picked up a razor, it was easier to walk around for a week before he picked one up himself. If not for the Sunday dinners at his mother’s or aunt’s houses, he probably wouldn’t even shave that often. He still had his own style, where clothes were concerned. He had a leather jacket he wore when he rode. It wasn’t black like the Skulls’ kutte, however. It was dark brown to match his leather cowboy boots, and he wore it religiously. His brother had bought it for him and it was one of the few things he had left of Brett. It weirdly made him feel like there was always a part of him with him.

Hunter’s tattoos weren’t in obvious places, either. He was thirty-one years old and his mother still didn’t know he had any…much less three. The longer he hung out with the bikers, the more tattoos he wanted, so that might change someday. He didn’t feel ashamed of his collusion with the club. He’d stumbled upon them in search of a guy that had skipped bail. He wasn’t one of Dax’s guys, a “hang-around” who hoped to be a prospect someday. Dax hadn’t allowed it, telling Hunter later that he had a bad feeling in his gut about the guy. That was the first time Hunter heard Dax say that, but not the last. He’d come to trust Dax’s impressions of people explicitly since. As far as he knew, Dax was never wrong.

Hunter was still heavily mourning the loss of his brother at the time he met Dax and the other Skulls. Surprisingly, Dax saw through his black moods and alcohol binges and hired him to chase down one of the “brothers” who had gone rogue and stolen a lot of money from the club. Hunter found him quickly and brought him back to the ranch to “stand trial” in church with Dax ultimately being the judge, jury, and executioner. Hunter had been surprised, since he’d had a love of the law since he was a kid…but he wasn’t even bothered by it. He had since come to realize that the reason he didn’t care was because he did trust Dax. He’d been working for and hanging out with the club for almost a year now and he had yet to see Dax treat a single person unfairly. When you threw in the fact that being on the ranch had afforded him the opportunity to fuck some of the hottest chicks he’d ever seen…well, that was like icing on the cake.

Hunter’s brother Brett was almost ten years older than him. Brett had always been into bikes, but Hunter was too young to ride yet when Brett went into the army. When he came home after being discharged at twenty-six, Hunter was sixteen. Brett had an old Softail and he asked Hunter to help him fix it up. Once they had it running smoothly, they gave it a new paint job and Brett bought new tires for it and had a friend do some work on the chrome. Hunter thought it was beautiful, even before Brett gave it to him for Christmas that year. His brother taught him how to ride, alongside him on the new bike he’d bought for himself. His was a custom Street Glide and the gas tank was painted to look like light blue smoke. Blue Smoke was a nickname that he’d picked up in the army. Brett had been a highly decorated sniper at the time of his honorable discharge. He had been awarded a medal of valor, and Hunter found out through one of Brett’s buddies that he had over two hundred kills under his belt. Hunter had been impressed by that, but Brett had brushed it off and he had never wanted to talk about it. Something about that made him that much more of a hero to his little brother.

His thoughts of Brett invariably turned to the night he watched him die. The serial killer, who should never have been granted bail in the first place, had slaughtered his brother right in front of him. It was the stuff that nightmares were made of and for months afterwards, Hunter’s only sober moments had been wracked with horror as the memories continuously assaulted him. He credited Dax with helping him get back on track, and as much as he hated to give Chase any credit, he had to give him his due. Chase could have fired him or forced him into some kind of rehab, but he realized that Hunter’s drinking problem was self-medication and he’d suggested outpatient counseling instead. Hunter might have refused to go had Dax not also told him it was a great idea. Then there was his mother and his aunt, who both begged him to get help. They’d already lost Brett. They didn’t want to lose him too. Hunter went to see the counselor. It was a woman, and he’d been surprised at how much she helped him. He still drank now, but only socially. The nightmares weren’t completely gone, but they no longer came every night. He stopped thinking about suicide, which had been the worst, and he realized that his brother would want him to live his life now. Hunter looked down at the blue smoke on his gas tank. He believed that Brett was still with him. His big brother was still watching out for him and that was what got him through hard times now. He’d been busy with cases for Chase and Dax both, but he hadn’t given up on finding the man that killed his brother and when he did, he planned on introducing the son of a bitch to the fires of hell, even if he had to take him there himself.