Chapter 1 #2
I opened my leather Kings of Men cut, dragging out a pack of cigarettes from the inner pocket, and stared at them. I’d wanted to give up the smokes, and I had for a while, but a few weeks out of the hospital I’d started again.
Stress.
Anger.
All the emotions had been too much, and I’d needed something, but now I felt like an idiot. I’d survived life-threatening injuries to my lungs, and I was smoking cigarettes?
I stuffed them back into my cut, then shoved my hands into my jeans pockets, staring around the night air. The moon was barely visible behind dark clouds, but I doubted it would rain.
The door opened behind me, and I didn’t turn to see who it was. The gait and boots crunching the gravel were as familiar to me as the back of my hand. “Will?”
I exhaled and rubbed my face. “I’m all right.”
How many times was I going to say it before someone listened?
PD stepped up beside me, his shoulder bumping mine. His profile was shadowy in the light from the clubhouse. His bowler hat was missing, an unusual thing for him when he was away from home. I didn’t question it, though. We’d all been drinking.
“Okay,” he said, running his hand over his extremely short buzz cut. I hadn’t ruffled his hair in forever, but I loved the way the dark strands felt under my palm, too.
I held back a snort. He never actually asked about my health the way everyone else did, but he didn’t have to.
The question was all in his eyes and the way he stood—rigid and uncomfortable.
We shared a house, had since our prospect years, and he knew me better than my own family. Better than anyone.
“You smoking?” He glanced toward the row of bikes to our right.
His cute, rounded nose, the only thing that softened his features, other than his pouty bottom lip, was lit up by the light next to the front door.
My new black Harley Softail gleamed at the end of the line.
A few months out of the hospital, I’d put tall bars on it, exactly like the ones those Demon fuckers had destroyed.
“Was going to, changed my mind. Tryin’ to quit again.” I hunched forward, my spine twinging with the movement. My ribs ached, but not as much as they had during the spring when the weather was going haywire. The change in air pressure made it worse. Now that it was summer, it wasn’t as bad.
PD inclined his head forward and rubbed his palm over his short hair again.
His anchor goatee had sharp lines. He’d probably cleaned them up before coming out tonight.
If he’d had his hat on, he would’ve tugged it down to cover his eyes.
He gazed out toward the junkyard quietly.
The silence might’ve once been comfortable, but tonight it was strung tighter than a bike chain on the verge of snapping.
“You need anything?” he finally asked.
I shook my head but realized he might not see it in the shadows. “I’m fine. Just needed some fresh air.”
“Was it too smoky inside?”
I sighed. After two punctured lungs, the doctors expected some breathing issues, but it wasn’t bad. There were nights when the barroom was full of weed clouds and I was suffocating, but the last time that had happened, I was only a year out of the hospital. “No, I’m good.”
“Your mom called three times today.”
“Fuck.” I reached inside my cut and clutched the smokes again, just to feel the pack in my fingers, then forced my hand out. There was no way in hell I was going to let her, of all people, kill me.
“She’s worried. You haven’t talked to her since Easter.” He pursed his lips.
“She’s overbearing,” I grumbled.
“You know what she’s like.” He kept his voice even and patient. He hadn’t been anything but since I’d gotten out of the hospital.
“Yeah.” I squeezed my hand into a fist and watched as a pair of lights wound down the rutted dirt lane through the junkyard that surrounded the clubhouse.
As the vehicle got closer, I recognized Undertaker’s van, which he pulled up in front of the line of bikes.
Lee, Undertaker’s giant boyfriend, jumped out of the passenger side and rushed around to the back, yanking open the doors.
I stepped forward when Undertaker came around from the other side and hopped up into the back. He was so much slimmer and shorter than Lee that seeing them together always had me smiling.
There was a muffled yell, not loud enough to alert anyone inside with the pumping music and fucking happening. I frowned.
When Undertaker dragged the prisoner out of the back, Lee helped steady the gagged and blindfolded man.
I stepped closer, my gaze narrowing on the rope Undertaker had obviously tied around the prisoner’s wrists.
No one could quite do it the way he did.
I was close enough to see the faint outline of the Demons patch on the back of the man’s jacket as Undertaker hauled him toward the small metal building where the sickest shit we did to our enemies inevitably took place.
Every screw had been turned by the hands of a club member.
The ramshackle top looked like some sort of storage shed, but we’d dug down and created a space where nightmares went to live.
Curiosity had my feet moving, following Lee and Undertaker toward the pile of rusted metal that covered the entrance to our torture room. PD was right behind me, and I didn’t know if it was because he was feeling nosy, too, or if he wanted to keep an eye on me, but I didn’t care either way.
“Who’s this?” I asked when Undertaker handed Lee the prisoner while he grabbed sheets of metal from the floor, throwing them to the side to reveal stairs.
Undertaker barely gave me a glance, focused on what he was doing. He was the only one in the club who hadn’t asked me how I was, but I hadn’t missed the way his dangerous stare followed me sometimes, watching with a calculation I couldn’t begin to understand.
Lee held a flashlight in his hand and waved it toward me. “Hey, guys.”
When Undertaker had the metal gone, he turned toward us.
“Demon, obviously.” The light shone across his profile when Lee flashed it in his direction and the feral grin on his ghostly face made me shiver.
“Demon is on the menu tonight, boys. Do you have a preference? I personally prefer the meat well done.”
The Demon whimpered behind a dirty cloth gag.
The stairs that led down were steep, but that didn’t stop Undertaker from grabbing the Demon’s upper arm and pushing him.
The prisoner tumbled and landed on his back with a pained groan, and then Undertaker snatched the flashlight and shone it right into the Demon’s eyes as he followed.
We went after him. The stark lights in the small room switched on.
“Who is he?” I asked again, blinking at the sudden flood of light.
Stepping closer to the scum on the ground, I frowned at him.
He was oddly familiar, his face angular and handsome.
His jaw was square and there was a small scar under the right side of his mouth.
His forehead was already covered in blood from a gash closer to his hairline, and the red liquid leaked into his dirty blond hair.
Undertaker stepped forward until he was well in my personal space, his breath flittering across my face.
His blue eyes gleamed with excitement and his black lipstick was already smeared.
He must’ve had fun with Lee. He always got horny around torture, so it was probably right after they caught this loser.
“You don’t recognize him?” Undertaker asked slowly.
PD stepped around me and strode closer, crouching beside the prisoner. His jaw was tight, the veins in his temple popping. “This is one of the fuckers who rammed into us. He was Jamison’s buddy. He kept me busy while Jamison knocked Will off the road.”
Shock was a punch to the gut and my mouth popped open. “Seriously?”
Undertaker teased a knife from his pocket and flipped it open, swinging it around in his fingers like it wasn’t a blade sharp enough to give a good shave.
He motioned at Lee, who nodded obediently and grabbed the Demon, pulling him to his feet with little effort.
He dragged him over to a stained wooden chair and shoved him down before he went to work tying him up.
The prisoner groaned and dropped his head forward.
“Yeah,” Undertaker said with a shrug. “We’ve known who he is for a while.”
“Why didn’t you act earlier?” PD snapped. It was the first passion I’d heard in his voice since this entire thing had happened. “Will deserves revenge on everyone involved. This guy shouldn’t have been walking around living his fucking life for years.”
Undertaker’s mouth twisted into a sly smirk. “Because when we were doing recon, we saw this Demon, here, talking to a special someone.”
“Who?” I snapped, rage welling up inside me. The urge to punch and hurt this man in front of me was growing by the second. The only thing holding me back was Undertaker. I wouldn’t move without his approval or he’d kill me.
“Our favorite commissioner.” His smirk widened and he stepped forward.
“King doesn’t want to kill our chatty little pal yet.
He wants some dirty secrets. This piece of shit and the commish shook hands and met on more than one occasion.
We think the Demons have a deal going with Commissioner Johnston, and we need to know what it is.
King thinks they might be planning to take us out. We’ve had other clues.”
PD gritted his teeth tighter and spun toward Undertaker. “Will and I deserve to kill him.”
I nodded in agreement, my fingers straining in and out of a fist. Fury burned hot in my gut.
Undertaker waved his hand impatiently. “You’ll need to take that up with King. Right now, we have orders to bring this future pincushion here and leave him alone for tonight.”
“What?” I shouted. “Why leave him alone? He deserves pain.”