Chapter Sixty
Indigo
Silver Shadows’ Clubhouse...
Something woke me from a dead sleep. After spending years in the military, I was lucky to get four hours before I was fully awake.
Sleep was a commodity I willingly forfeited after joining the Army.
Not that I ever got any proper sleep before that.
Still, when I could sleep, I slept restlessly, knowing damn well that any little noise would wake me instantly.
Sitting up in bed, I rubbed my hands down my face when I heard the unfamiliar noise again.
The clubhouse was quiet.
Too damn quiet.
Looking at my door, my hand crept under my pillow, gripping the butt of my gun as I systematically flipped the safety off when I clearly heard three low taps followed by one tap.
At that, I was up and out of my bed fast, yanking on my jeans and boots, before shoving the windowpane open and diving out the window. Dropping to my feet, my breathing evened, controlled, as my eyes scanned the surrounding area.
Someone was here.
Uninvited.
Unwelcome.
The air was thick with the scent of pine; my adrenaline heightened, ready, alert.
My eyes, honed by countless nights of vigilance, swept across the shadowed clearing.
The Silver Shadows’ clubhouse, usually a bastion of rough camaraderie and guarded peace, felt vulnerable.
The moonlight cast long, distorted figures, playing tricks on the periphery.
My ears, trained to discern the whisper of a distant enemy, strained for any unnatural sound.
The taps had been precise, deliberate.
Not a random animal, not a gust of wind.
Only three people knew the code.
One was gone, still wounded.
My gun, a familiar weight in my hand, felt like an extension of my own nerve.
I moved with the economy of motion drilled into me, a ghost slipping through the undergrowth.
The silence was a shroud, but beneath it, I sensed a presence, coiled and waiting.
It wasn’t the nervous energy of a lost hiker or a drunken troublemaker.
This was calculated.
Professional.
The Silver Shadows had enemies; that was a given, but they usually announced themselves with something a little more... explosive.
This was different.
Subtle.
And that made it infinitely more dangerous.
I hugged the shadow of a towering oak, my boots making no sound on the damp earth. The clubhouse loomed behind me, a dark silhouette against the star-dusted sky. The windows were dark, the usual flicker of late-night revelry absent.
A twig snapped. I didn’t think as I turned and aimed my gun, only to sigh.
“Jesus fuck, Eros,” I seethed. “I almost fucking shot you.”
“But you didn’t.” My brother grinned. “So, I’m guessing it wasn’t you that sent the code?”
“Fuck no,” I whispered, looking around the compound as brothers stood watch, the first line of defense while others slept. “And it wasn’t Ravage. He fucking left.”
Eros looked around and muttered, “Firestride?”
“He’s the only one left.”
“Then where the fuck is he?” I asked, looking at Eros, when I clearly heard a bee buzz past me.
Eros, smiling only moments ago, now looked at me in shock as he slowly looked down at his stomach. I followed his gaze, only to see blood staining the front of his shirt. He looked back up at me then and whispered, “Brother,” before falling to his knees.
Reaching for him, I heard the noise again right before I felt the sting hit my back.
My world tilted, the familiar scent of pine suddenly laced with the taste of my blood.
My hand instinctively went to my back, fingers brushing against the warm, wet flow of my blood.
Eros, a fallen heap at my feet, his eyes wide with a terror I’d only ever seen on the battlefield, was the last thing I registered before the world around me faded.
The whisper of a bee, a sound so innocuous, had been the herald of a far deadlier assassin.
I’d traded the phantom of sleep for a brutal reality, and it had just claimed my brother.
Grasping my side, I lay there on the ground, looking at the clubhouse, my adrenaline a fleeting shield against the encroaching numbness as I saw the Death Dogs and Satan’s Angels systematically take out the sentries.
The silence that had so unnerved me moments ago now felt like a suffocating presence, a testament to a betrayal I was only beginning to comprehend.
The Silver Shadows’ compound was meant to be protected, a sanctuary.
Now, it was a hunting ground, and the hunters wore familiar colors. As the darkness began to claim my vision, a face I hadn’t seen in years stood over me and sneered, “Hello, Indigo. Miss me?”
Sandman
I couldn’t sleep. I never could without my Sunshine beside me. I missed her. I wanted to go home, but Reaper said I had to stay, that he needed me. I didn’t like it.
I hated this place. There were too many people here, too much noise. Not enough trees.
He huffed again, letting me know he was there, in the shadows with me.
I growled.
Fucker followed me everywhere. I couldn’t take a piss without him on my ass. If Reaper wouldn’t chew my ass out, I would gladly slit his throat. But I was told to behave and leave him alone.
So, I did.
Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest when he moved, stepping into the light. His eyes focused on the front doors.
I moved too, then heard it.
The familiar whizzing sound.
Together we reached for our guns, then slipped back into the darkness and waited.
He was like me.
I was like him. That was probably why we didn’t like each other. I would have to talk to Sunny about it when I saw her again. She would explain it to me so I could understand. Standing there in the darkness, we waited.
More whizzing sounds.
I turned to look at him when the doors exploded inward with a splintering roar, showering us with debris.
Malice didn’t hesitate, his own weapon spitting fire, a controlled fury against the sudden chaos.
I mirrored him, the familiar weight of my gun a comfort as I scanned the widening breach.
They came in waves, Death Dogs and Satan’s Angels, armed, firing at will, their intent to kill everyone in their path.
The whizzing sounds intensified, a deadly symphony of incoming projectiles that sang past my ears.
I could feel Malice’s presence beside me, a silent, begrudging partnership forged in the crucible of danger.
We were two predators, cornered but not yet broken, our instincts screaming for survival.
My gaze flickered to Malice for a fraction of a second. He moved with brutal efficiency, his face a mask of grim determination. No wasted motion, no hesitation. It was the same ruthless focus I saw in the mirror, the same survival instinct that gnawed at me even when I was alone.
My Sunshine would have a name for it, a gentle explanation for why two such forces, so alike in the darkness, would clash and burn. But there was no time for explanation, no room to think.
Right now, she needed me to be the killer I was born to be.
More bodies spilled through the ruined entrance, their shouts swallowed by the cacophony of gunfire.
The air grew thick with gunpowder and the foul scent of fear, both theirs and, if I were honest with myself, a sliver of mine.
I ducked behind a toppled table, its polished surface now shattered, and returned fire, the recoil a familiar jolt against my arm.
Malice was a whirlwind of controlled violence, a force of nature cutting through the attackers as brothers from clubs that claimed to be friends, spilled out into the open.
The second I saw Reaper rush from church, I moved, racing toward him.
He was my president. The one Remi asked me to protect.
Shooting and killing my way through the horde, I felt the first sting of a bullet hit my shoulder.
But I didn’t stop. I had to get to Reaper.
The second sting lodged in my thigh and caused me to stumble as a Satan’s Angel took aim at my head, right before Malice tackled me out of the way as he fired, killing the motherfucker.
Pushing his heavy body off me, I ignored the pool of blood forming on his chest.
I needed to get to Reaper.
He was who mattered.
King
I walked into the main room, and there were men everywhere. Brothers from different clubs all stood united. Well, mostly united, I thought, as I looked at Chasm. He sat at the bar with his brother, Shame, and glared at me.
I didn’t understand how he could think I would turn my back on him. How I would side with our former president. He was my brother. I was closer to him than I was to Declan. And all of it gone because he made a choice not to wait for me.
Turning my head, I sought out Hemlock. My fucking brother by blood. He’d known who I was when he walked into my fucking house. Did he know who I was when he met Chasm at that warehouse? Did he get into Chasm’s ear? Was he the one who told him he couldn’t trust his best fucking friend?
“Reaper, Montana, Zeus, and Morpheus. I need you in church.”
I didn’t wait to see if they followed. Morpheus had been a staple here since the women left.
With his sister gone, there was no reason for him to avoid the clubhouse.
Grace had been gone for three fucking days, and I missed the hell out of her.
But after the message I received about the attack, I couldn’t keep her here.
I needed her safe. Needed our baby safe.
Reaper and Montana were the only men outside of my own who knew where they were. They were the only two men I could fully trust. What the fuck did that say about this situation, that the two fucking hottest heads in the building were the ones I trusted the most to have my back?
Ravage was gone. I’d sent him, Tank, Keys, and Johnny with the women. Along with Archie and the other two prospects. The only one still here was Indie, because she fucking refused. Then again, I didn’t argue, knowing she could take care of herself.