Chapter Sixteen
Dan
The silo squatted under a sickle moon like a rusted middle finger to the sky. Twenty bikes rolled in silent, lights off, engines cut a quarter mile out. Boots on gravel sounded like bones breaking.
Inside, a single lantern glowed. Darian Ross, known to the club as Teddy, sat cross-legged on a sleeping bag, phone propped on a crate, live-streaming to a dark-web chat that scrolled with fire emojis and bitcoin tips.
He was drunk, swaying, laughing at his own genius.
This was their betrayer, the member turned attacker.
Dan stepped into the lantern light.
Teddy’s laughter died.
“Thought you’d enjoy the show,” Teddy slurred, gesturing at the phone. “Betting pool hit twenty grand on whether you’d run into the fire for the bitch, Dan. You didn’t disappoint.”
Dan didn’t speak. He just walked forwards.
Teddy scrambled for the pistol beside him. Dan kicked it away, grabbed a fistful of greasy hair, and dragged him into the open air.
The circle was already waiting.
Mad Dawg. Rocker. Tinder. Denver. Viper. Gunner. Every patched member who could ride, plus the new blood from the absorbed HHMC chapter who wanted to prove they belonged.
Teddy’s eyes darted, realizing too late what awaited him.
Dan zip-tied him to the front bumper of his own rusted pickup.
Then he stepped back.
No speeches. No warnings.
Mad Dawg went first. “For Ella, you piece of shit.” One punch cracked ribs.
Rocker followed. “For the clubhouse.” Boot to the kidney.
Viper. “For the brothers you sold out.” Chain across the face.
Gunner. “For the warehouse.” Knee to the gut.
Denver crouched last. “For every signal you pinged.” Slow, precise strikes to the hands that had typed betrayal.
Twenty minutes later, Teddy was unrecognizable, gurgling through a mouth of broken teeth.
Riley stepped into the circle, chin up, defiant. Dan turned and saw a car sitting a few yards away, Ella still behind the wheel, eyes covered with both hands.
Riley had a bag over one shoulder, and poking out was her cordless tattoo machine, the battery that went along with it, and in her hand, she held a half-empty bottle of gasoline.
Teddy’s one good eye widened.
Riley knelt, plugged the battery pack into place on the tattoo rig, and pressed the needle to his forehead.
The buzz filled the night like angry hornets.
The needle skipped on bone, tearing tiny flecks of skin.
Blood welled immediately, mixing with ink, running in rivulets down his temples.
Teddy screamed until his voice cracked into wet gurgles.
The machine whined higher as it hit the orbital ridge; Riley adjusted the angle and kept going.
When she reached the last section, the needle came to a stop against the corner of his eyeball.
The smell of scorched flesh joined the gasoline.
Letter by letter, dripping black, permanent, the tattoo spelled out exactly who he was, a T R A I T O R.
She stood, wiped her hands on her jeans, and looked at Dan.
He put one bullet behind Teddy’s ear.
They doused the truck and the body with gas, while Denver shut down the feed and took possession of the electronics for anything they might find on them.
Tinder lit the match.
Flames shot thirty feet high, painting every face in the circle orange.
Dan pulled Riley against his chest. She was shaking, but her voice was steady when she whispered against his throat:
“It’s done.”
***
Dan
All members stood for church today, because when they were talking about giving someone a member patch, it should demand every man’s attention.
Mad Dawg stood in the middle of the circle, Martini at his side.
“This man has passed every test we’ve given him.
He’s worked hard, been respectful, and above all been honest in every interaction.
This man has my vote for member. I’ve been proud to be his sponsor.
” Dawg looked around at every face. “Does any man speak differently about Martini, government name Desmond Teller, proving himself as a prospect for the past thirteen months?”
No one said anything in response, which was the correct answer.
Dawg grinned at them, then grabbed Martini’s shoulder, and roughly shook him back and forth. “You’re in. Hand in your prospect vest to Viper and get a patch from him to put on your own vest. Welcome to the club, brother.”
“That’s it?”
“Oh, hell yeah, the hard bit is already behind you. This is supposed to be the easy part, brother.” He yanked him back and forth one more time before hauling Martini in for a one-armed clinch, holding tight for a moment. “Welcome.”
Dan pushed forwards with the rest of the members, each taking a turn to greet their new brother. He gripped Martini’s forearm in a warrior’s shake, telling him as he’d told only a few others, “Well met, my brother.”
He fell back to the rear of the crush around the newest RMMC member, posting up next to where Tinder stood with his shoulders against the wall. “Growing by measured amounts is the way to go, man.”
“It’s easy when it’s a good fella like Martini. Glad he happened to go into Dawg’s shop and liked what he saw.” Tinder looked preoccupied, and Dan frowned at him, not accustomed to seeing his President less than present.
“What’s up, brother? Something going on?”
“What?” Tinder glanced at him, then said, “Naw, nothing club-related. It’s all gravy, my friend.”
“You know that saying is like three decades out of fashion, right?”
“You still knew what I was talking about, though. Didn’t ya?”
“Yeah.” He nudged Tinder’s shoulder. “Wanna put money on which brother’s gonna be the next to fall?”
That startled a bark of laughter out of Tinder, who shook his head emphatically. “Oh, hell no. I learned back with Dawg not to bet against love.” He lifted his chin. “When it’s supposed to, love always wins.”
“That it does, brother.”
The door between the meeting room and the main room of the clubhouse opened, and men started filing out, already yelling at prospects for beers.
“Who’s the next prospect to make a bid for a patch?”
“Probably be Rocky. He’s in his eleventh month and doing well. Malibu is his sponsor, so he could tell you better. From what I know though, and I know a lot, that’s the next growth spurt the club’s gonna hit.”
“Grow ‘em slow and right.”
“Hell yeah, brother.” Tinder thudded a fist against Dan’s shoulder. “I hear a beer calling my name.”
“And I hear my ole lady callin’ mine.” He grinned. “I’m so whipped and glad of it.”
“It’s good when you know your strengths.”
“Fuck you, Prez.”
“Nope. Love is love and all that, but you’re not my type, Dan.”
“What is your type, Tinder?” That came from one of the club’s bunnies, who was already treading too close to the meeting room’s threshold.
“Not fucking you.” She got a sharp shake of his head as he crowded her space. “You don’t belong in the church room, woman. You know that.”
“I heard Riley gets to go in sometimes.” She was trying to play wounded while still aiming for arch, and neither was attractive on her.
“Because Riley’s under the club’s protection.” Tinder was now standing close enough she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “And you are fucking not.”
She pulled in a sharp breath, and Dan prepared to get in between them, but she backed down quickly, turning on her heel to walk away.
“Dumbass.”
“Seconded.” Dan looked around and found Riley sitting in the ole lady corner with Ella and Maria. “I need me some Riley. See ya, Prez.”
“See ya.”