2. Ash
2
ASH
T he rumble of the bikes outside is a constant hum, the kind that keeps my nerves sharp.
The Dead Demons clubhouse isn’t what it used to be—fractured loyalties and half our guys either running scared or second-guessing their patch.
The air is thick with the smell of motor oil, cheap beer, and tension. I walk into a lounge, grab a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and take a seat at the table, trying to piece together the mess that’s been unraveling for weeks.
The Puppeteer—Reynolds— alive ? It doesn’t sit right. If there’s one thing I can’t stomach, it’s loose ends.
I don’t want to believe the rumors, but ignoring them could mean hell.
Dagger’s tinkering with the jukebox in the corner, Ryder’s nursing a beer, and Liam... well, Liam’s doing what Liam does best; stirring the pot.
“What’s the word on Reynolds?” I ask, cutting through their chatter.
Ryder looks up, his expression dark. “Same as before. Rumors and whispers. Nothing solid.”
“That’s not good enough,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “We need to know where he is. He’s out there, and if he is, he’s probably planning something.”
“Far as anyone’s concerned he’s dead,” Dagger mutters.
“He didn’t kill himself. Reynolds wouldn’t commit suicide.”
“The man was a lead detective, charged with killing and raping young women. What more does he have left to live for?” Ryder asks.
“Let’s say he is still alive…Do you think he’d come after us again?” Liam leans back in his chair, spinning his beer bottle on the table. His golden hair is cropped short, his light green eyes are sharp and disarming. “We took him down once.”
“We didn’t take him down. The Hellfire Riders did,” I remind him, my tone sharp. “And if he’s alive, he’ll come for them. And us.”
Dagger finally gives up on the jukebox and joins us at the table. His broad shoulders fill out his leather jacket, the fabric worn and frayed at the edges. His dark brown eyes are calm but calculating, set under a mop of black hair that always looks like he’s been running his hands through it. “What makes you so sure he’s even alive? Prison’s a hell of a place. Maybe someone killed him and they’re claiming it’s a suicide.”
“I don’t deal in sure things. I deal in possibilities. And the possibility that he may still be alive is enough for me to act.” I slam my hand on the table for emphasis, making Liam’s beer slosh over the edge of the bottle.
“Careful, boss,” Liam drawls, wiping the spill with the edge of his sleeve. “Your paranoia’s showing.”
“It’s not paranoia. It’s called being prepared.”
Ryder sits forward, his arms resting on the table. He’s lean and wiry, his sandy blonde hair hangs just above his steel-gray eyes; eyes that have seen—and caused—too much bloodshed. “Even if he’s alive, what’s the play here? We go sniffing around, and stir up trouble with the Hellfire Riders? All we’re working on are suicide rumors from some of the guys who are locked up.”
I pause, weighing my words. “We’re not stirring up trouble. We’re protecting our territory. And if that means stepping on their toes, so be it.”
“That’ll go over real well,” Dagger mutters, crossing his arms. “Hawk’s been on edge since they caught the asshole.”
I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. “We’re not going to war with the Riders. But if Reynolds is alive, they’re going to have to deal with us one way or another.”
“And the first step is finding out what the Hellfire Riders know about these rumors,” Liam says with a sigh. “That’s only going to add fuel to another war.”
I meet his gaze, unflinchingly and say coolly, “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this club. You all know that. Reynolds fucked us over. I want to make sure this bastard never breathes again.”
Silence falls over the table. Finally, Ryder nods, “Alright. What’s the plan?”
“We start by sending someone to keep an eye on the Riders. No direct contact yet. I want to know who’s coming and going, and what they’re up to. If Reynolds is alive, we’ll deal with him ourselves.”
“And if he’s not?” Liam asks, tilting his head.
“Then we make damn sure he stays dead,” I reply, my voice cold. “We’ve let this shit fester long enough. It’s time to take control.”
Dagger clears his throat, drawing my attention. “There’s something else,” he says. “One of our contacts mentioned a woman. Said she’s been seen around. Matches the description of the one who was at Reynolds’ hideout the day he was captured.”
I freeze, the words hit me like a sucker punch. A woman? My mind flashes back to that day, the chaos of the raid, and the rumors that followed. “What woman?”
“Didn’t get a name,” Dagger replies, his tone careful. “But if she was there, she might know something. Or she might be a target.”
A target. The word lingers in the air, heavy with implication. If Reynolds is after her, she could lead us to him—or she could lead him to us.
“Keep an eye on her too.”
A nagging thought tugs at the back of my mind. Whoever this woman is, she’s already tangled in Reynolds’ web. If she’s still alive, it’s only a matter of time before she’s pulled back into it and before we get involved again.
I pour myself another whiskey, watching them through the haze of my own frustration.
Ryder is the first to break the silence, tossing his blade into the air and catching it by the handle with practiced ease. “So, we’re chasing ghosts now? Trying to catch a guy who’s supposed to be six feet under?”
“Better than sitting here, waiting for him to pick us off one by one,” Dagger crosses his arms. His tone is calm, but his jaw is tight. “You remember what he tried to do to us, don’t you?”
“And that’s why we don’t wait,” I cut in, firmly, “Reynolds doesn’t get the luxury of time. He thinks he’s clever, manipulating clubs like ours to do his dirty work, but he forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?” Liam asks, arching a brow.
“We’re not just any club. We don’t bend. We don’t break. And we sure as hell don’t forget.”
Ryder holds my gaze. “I think you’re pissed, Ash. And I think you want Reynolds to pay so badly, you’re willing to throw us all into the fire just to watch him burn even if he’s dead.”
“This isn’t just about revenge. It’s about survival.”
There’s a long pause, as the weight of my words settles over the room. Finally, Dagger nods, his expression resolute. “We’re with you, Ash. Always.”
“Yeah, alright,” Ryder mutters, though he still looks unconvinced. “But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming you.”
“Noted,” I say dryly.
The tension eases, replaced by our usual camaraderie. Ryder tosses a crumpled napkin at Liam’s head, earning a curse and a half-hearted shove in return. Dagger chuckles; they’re egging each other on until Liam ends up tackling Ryder and putting him in a headlock.
For a moment, I let myself breathe, watching them banter and laugh. They’re more than my brothers—they’re my family. And I’ll be damned if I let Reynolds tear that apart.
But beneath the camaraderie, the sense of unease lingers. Because Ryder isn’t wrong. I am pissed.
I want Reynolds to suffer.