Saving You Losing Me

Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

ATOM

W e had word the biker is at the studio and, seizing our chance, we head on over there intent on only one thing. Running him out of town.

As the bikes comes to a stop outside the building, the parking lot is deserted but a light shines from the window

“How do you know he’s in there?” Razor asks, a spark of excitement lighting his eye.

“One of the prospects came in with the information.”

Razor nods knowing it would be more than the guy’s life would be worth to lie and as I lean on the handlebars of my bike, the door to the studio opens.

The man in question heads outside and it must be an intimidating sight, seeing what must be thirty bikes set in a semi-circle surrounding the entrance to the studio. The men that sit astride them are dressed to instill terror. Shades cover their eyes and the insignia on their jackets designed for fear. The Dark Angels. The local club that runs on animosity.

He steps forward and I shout. “Stay where you are and state your business in this town.”

“I’m visiting a friend. I have no business here that concerns you and don’t want any trouble.” He says defiantly, causing the surrounding men to laugh and Razor shouts.

“Jacket off and throw your gun across here. Get on your knees and raise your hands.”

It’s no surprise that he follows orders, given the fact he’s at odds of thirty to one, and removes his jacket and throws his gun across the ground. He falls to his knees and raises his hands, saying in a low voice. “See, nothing to see here. I’m not here to cause you trouble. In fact, I may be able to help.”

Ilook around me and laugh. “We don’t need your help. What kind of fool rides into town and picks a fight with the mob before he’s even unpacked? You’re a loose cannon and we don’t like that. We heard you’ve got a target on your back and came to see for ourselves what kind of idiot biker does that? By all accounts, the rumors are true and you’ve got a death wish. No, we have no room for a guy like you. You’re the sort who would get us all killed and so, word of advice, let us escort you out-of-town before you leave in a box. Call it an act of kindness from one biker to another.”

“And if I don’t?”

I lean forward. “Then we provide the box.”

I sense the blood lust around me and he obviously does too because he says angrily, “Is this how you treat a visiting brother? You run them out-of-town without offering them your help. What sort of club are you?”

I can taste the shift in the air and nod to Razor, who is positively salivating at the chance of teaching this guy exactly what happens to rivals in this town. He steps off his bike and removes his jacket and advances toward him, growling, “Shut the fuck up. Your smart mouth has earned you a beating.”

The guys start jeering as he stops a few yards away and smiles wickedly as he quips, “I’m gonna enjoy pounding your ass until you beg me to stop. Then, guess what? I won’t.”

The guy stands and says coolly, “We’ll see about that.”

We fall silent and wait for one of them to make the first move. However, as Razor goes at him, he effortlessly dodges his clenched fist and in one swift move, kicks Razor’s feet away from under him and pulls his arm around his back, holding him in place with one arm as he grabs his hair with another. Then he twists his head far enough to incapacitate him and draw a fine line between life and death.

He faces me with Razor’s life in his hand and growls, “I’ll let you decide. He lives and I help you take over this town. He dies and you bring a war to your club. Your decision.”

A few of the guys raise their guns, quickly followed by the rest until he is surrounded by a wall of steel made up of bikes, guns and hard expressions. However, he stands firm and stares at only one man. Me.

I regard him coolly for a moment and say harshly, “What’s your club, biker?”

He increases the pressure on Razor’s neck and says coolly, “Twisted Reaper MC.”

Silence. Pure fucking silence greets his words, and I sense the unease.

I snap, “Lower your guns.”

I wave my men down and stare at the stranger through narrowed eyes. “Prove it.”

“You doubting my word?”

For a second, I’m uncertain and then smile darkly. “Any old biker can rock up here and claim to be in that club just to get himself out of trouble. Now, we both know you have the proof under that shirt you’re wearing, so purely to clear things up, I’m asking for one favor. You prove it and we’re at your disposal. I think that’s fair.”

I snap. “Put your guns away and give the man your word not to shoot. If he’s a Reaper, he walks. If not, he’s all yours.”

The biker forces Razor to the ground and holds him in place with one foot against his throat, so that one false move cuts off his air and ends his life. As he removes his shirt, I sense the anticipation in the air. There’s a murmur as he faces us, bare-chested and clean.

I hear, “There’s no ink on that bastard.”

He releases Razor and with one move tosses him effortlessly across the ground and then proceeds to turn slowly, in one full circle, and my men gasp as he reveals what we asked for because covering his back in its entirety is the stuff of legends.

‘Reaper’ sits above a tattoo of the Grim Reaper himself; glaring out at us with hate and promise. The image of death and no shit. There is only one club that has a hall pass in every state, and it’s that fucking one.

The Twisted Reapers MC is legendary. Made up of assassins who take no shit and could set fire to an entire state with no comeback. You mess with The Reapers at your peril because, as their name suggests, that is the last thing you will ever do. Their president Ryder King rules over them with an iron fist and his reputation is spoken of in whispers of fear. I’m not gonna be the idiot who signs my club’s death warrant, so I suck it up and stutter. “Then you have my apology. How can we help?”

He grabs his gun and shrugs on his shirt and says thoughtfully. “Maybe you can help. In fact, it could be in both our interests to resolve the reason I came to town. It may make your life a little easier, but it won’t be easy. What do you say—are you in?”

I nod as if I have a choice and say roughly, “Whatever it is, you have our full support.”

He smiles grimly. “Perhaps we can discuss it over a beer. I’ll grab the girl and follow you. We’ll talk at the club.”

I nod, wondering what his plan is and motion to my men to leave. Razor clambers onto his bike, and I feel bad for him. He’s a warrior himself and yet was cut down as if he was a light feather. That’s got to hurt, but it gives me hope.

The Twisted Reaper MC has business in this town and there is only one man possible in their sights. I will do everything in my power to assist them because maybe, just maybe, Michael Santobello’s time is up and it couldn’t happen to a more deserving guy.