Chapter Eighteen
Justice
The world feels different in the morning. Jet’s asleep, tangled in my sheets, the faint rise and fall of her chest soothes me. For a guy like me, peace isn’t something that lasts, but for her I hope it does.
Sliding out of bed, I pull on my jeans and cut, pausing just long enough to look at her again. She looks small and breakable, but after last night, I know better.
I leave her sleeping and head for the yard.
The compound hums low with morning noise, coffee brewing, brothers moving and the laughter of the women in the kitchen. Creed’s standing near the gate, talking with Lyric.
“Morning,” I say as I get closer to them.
Creed’s eyes cut to me. “You see, Ronan?”
“The new prospect?” I blow out smoke. “Not since last night. Why?”
“Because I told him to do a simple supply run, and he’s been gone over two hours. No answer on his burner either.”
That sits wrong in my gut. Ronan’s green, but not stupid. He’s been itching to prove himself since the day he patched in.
“Maybe his bike broke down?” I say, though even as I do, it doesn’t sound right.
Lyric shakes his head. “No chance. He was seen talking to someone in town last night. A guy with Reaper ink on his neck.”
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yes. After things calmed down, I went back to Dad’s house. I stopped at the diner on St. Johns Avenue to get a late night coffee and something sweet. He was across the street talking.”
“Fuck,” Creed mutters. “You think he sold us out?”
“If he did, I’ll find out.”
Before Creed can respond, Devil bursts out of the clubhouse.
“Creed!” Devil’s shout slices through the morning quiet. “We’ve got a man down at the back gate!”
The three of us move fast. Gravel crunches under our boots as we hit the yard. From the gate, I see two of our guys dragging someone between them.
“Who is it?” Creed barks, already running ahead.
“Not sure,” Devil answers, breathing hard. “Found him on the service road. He barely made it here.”
We reach them just as they lower him to the ground. He’s pale, half-conscious, his cut is shredded, his face is a mess of blood and road grit.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, kneeling beside him. “What the hell happened?”
He coughs, blood flecking his lips. “Rivet Knights… ambushed me on the way to see you. They knew I was comin’.
” Another cough racks his chest. “Name’s Blake.
I was sent from Anchorage by Sparky. Told me to warn you about the Rivet Knights.
” He gives a rough laugh that turns into a wince. “Doing a shit job of it.”
Creed’s jaw clenches. “Jesus. We’ll get you patched up, brother. I’ll call Sparky.”
My gut twists. Why the hell are the Rivet Knights moving against us?
Blade gasps and grabs Creed’s wrist, strength fading fast. “They… they asked about a girl. Called her Jet.”
I look up, meeting Creed’s eyes. The same thought hits both of us at once.
We’ve got a leak.
My chest goes cold. Jet.
“They know because someone told them,” I say flatly.
Then, the first gunshot cracks through the trees.
The brothers scatter for cover, grabbing rifles, yelling orders. Creed’s already barking commands, his voice is rough, and all authority.
“Lock the gates! Get the women inside!”
I’m running before Creed finishes. Bullets tear into the fence, metal shrieking. I duck behind a truck, return fire, and catch the glint of something moving through the trees near the back gate.
At first I think it’s one of ours circling wide, until sunlight catches chrome, it’s a bike.
Creeping closer, I find Ronan. He’s crouched low, back to me, thumb flying over his phone. My gut twists.
Keeping low and out of his line of sight, I move silently and fast as the gunfire drowns out my steps.
He glances over his shoulder, his eyes go wide when he sees me. Ronan drops the phone and reaches for his gun.
Traitor.
I close the distance in three strides, grab him by the collar and yank him backward so hard his feet leave the ground. The gun skitters from his hand. I throw him down and kick him in the ribs as hard as I can.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” I snarl. “What the hell did you do?”
He groans, spitting blood. “They have my sister! I didn’t have a choice!”
“Bullshit,” I growl. “You always have a choice.”
Now he’s crying, shaking like a kicked dog. “I didn’t think they’d come this fast—”
“Yeah, well, they did.”
A shot ricochets off a tree beside us. I shove him forward. “You’re gonna bleed for this. Creed doesn’t tolerate traitors.”
My eyes flick to the clubhouse where Jet is. Every instinct screams to run to her, but Creed’s voice cuts through the madness.
“Justice! On me!”
Duty wins.
Snatching up Ronan’s gun, I fire into his knee. He screams, clutching at the joint, and I know he’ll never walk the same. Hell, we both know he won’t be leaving the MC alive, not after this. This will keep him down long enough for us to find out who’s fucking with the Royal Bastards.
Taking position beside my Prez, we keep low and move toward the sound of bikes.
“Time to remind these fuckers whose territory this is,” Creed says.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
We step out from behind cover, side by side.
Gunfire erupts — metal, smoke, blood, chaos.
And just like that, peace dies screaming.