Chapter Thirty Three
Around me, the world changed. The night shifted as I sat beneath the Angel, its vast steel wings stretched wide against the dying dark behind me.
But even the Angel of the North couldn’t quiet my head tonight.
Tendrils of light over east, marbling through the clouds.
Some might describe it as a silver lining.
Hope after something negative. I could only see hopelessness.
Regret. Defeat. There was nothing silver to me in the way it clawed through the night, creeping closer.
Right now, in the darkness, I could convince myself this was all a nightmare. That in a few minutes I’d wake up, and he was still here.
He’d been right there. Beside me. Laughing. Joking. Taking the piss, just like he always was. And then in a second. Gone. And I’d seen it all. I’d watched him leave. It didn’t make sense.
My mind kept dragging me backwards whether I wanted it to or not.
Magnet standing on the roof of a warehouse, on the ground below, a group of Notorious prospects surrounded him, his only weapon his own piss.
Wet behind the ears took on a whole new meaning that night as he pissed all over them and their bikes.
We all joked it had been the start of the last war: Magnet taking the piss.
Or convincing half the club it would be a ‘great fuckin’ idea’ to race dirt bikes through Chopwell Woods in the middle of January, only for Fury to end up waist deep in a freezing stream while the rest of us nearly died laughing.
And turning up at Durham prison every fucking month without fail while I was inside. Sometimes with cigarettes. Sometimes with contraband tucked into places I never asked about. Always with stories from the club and stupid gossip because he knew silence was the thing that killed you in there.
“Thought I’d remind you the world’s still spinning, you miserable bastard,” he’d said once through the scratched plastic screen while I sat there bruised and hollowed out from another beating.
And somehow, he always managed it. He was chaos. Noise. Hare-brained ideas and bad decisions wrapped up in tattoos and laughter. The sort of man who could talk you into violence or stupidity with equal enthusiasm and somehow make both feel reasonable at the time.
“Ryan,” I heard his voice in the distance. “Ryan,” softer now.
Below me, light moved on the A1 motorway. Streaks of bright white, neon blue, and red. He hadn’t bled when he came off that bike. Not that any of us could see. His face came back to me. Ashen. Aware. Like he knew his luck had finally run out that day.
“Ry.”
It wasn’t his voice. It was hers. Strong but gentle. The sound I’d played over and over in my head when I’d been inside the first time. The second time it wasn’t there anymore, and Magnet filled that space.
Sophie stopped in front of me, suddenly unsure.
She was tired emotionally and physically.
I felt it too. Just in a different way. The grey in her eyes swirled, flecks of something lighter like the sky above my head.
Reaching out, I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her, pressing my face into her neck.
Her hair still held that strawberry scent.
Just warmed through now. And her perfume had faded, but I could still smell the understated softness of it beneath the hospital soap and the cold spring air clinging to her clothes.
I breathed that smell in deeper, my eyes closing as something inside my chest loosened slightly for the first time since Magnet died.
She didn’t pull away, and she didn’t offer any words, she just stood steady and let my tears fall into her neck.
When I lifted my head, the flecks of light in the clouds had turned to bronze, the sun burning through the night.
Another day. And no Magnet in it. I turned her now so her back was against me, and for the first time I noticed her body shaking in tiny convulsions, our breath billowing out in front of us.
Wrapping my arms around her, we watched the traffic build below, the tiny thrum turning to a steady purr.
“I remember him convincing us to ride to Scotland at two in the morning because he’d heard about ‘the best bacon sandwiches in Britain,’ only for the café to be shut when we got there.
We sat outside in the freezing cold eating petrol station crisps instead, while he insisted the journey had still been ‘spiritual’. ”
Another memory hit before the ache in my chest could settle again.
“First Christmas I was inside in that second stint, he turned up with a card that just said, ‘season’s beatings, brother’.
” My throat tightened slightly. “Inside it he’d hidden a photo of the bikes lined up outside the Dog.
Mine had a fucking Santa hat on it. Said he didn’t want me forgetting what freedom looked like. ”
“I remember him convincing Baz he could absolutely jump a scrambler over a burnt-out Ford Escort down the industrial estate. Swore blind he’d measured it properly.
” I huffed out a laugh against her hair.
“He hadn’t. Baz clipped the bonnet and landed in a pile of nettles, screaming like a fucking banshee while Magnet nearly passed out laughing. ”
I laughed then. Actually, fucking laughed. And the sound of it nearly broke me in half. We sat in silence again, first morning light rushing across the sky. And I shivered with her.
Sophie patted my leg. “Ready to go home, Ry?”
“Yes, Grey.” I kissed the top of her head. Her hair damp from the dew.
*****
Life felt like it was stuck on fast forward.
Days sped by. We kept a rolling watch on Suzy.
The women popping in every day with food.
Brothers always at her door or in her house.
Behind the scenes, the club moved. The Viking and the Reverend checked in regularly as the Bloody Hand body count started to tick upwards and we erased the bastards from British soil.
They’d retaliate soon enough. It was just a matter of time.
Coalition meetings grew smaller. MCCs making excuses why they couldn’t attend. I didn’t blame them. Shit was red-hot now, like someone had set a timer on TNT.
Sophie went to work and came home. But never alone. Always one of us with her, and Security Sam was pulling double shifts just to keep eyes on both Emmie and Soph. We were burning the candle at both ends and meeting ourselves coming backwards and I didn’t know how long we could keep that up.
Tonight we were crammed into Magnet and Suzy’s little house again.
The thick windowsill of the bay window was littered with cards, carefully placed in lines.
I’d never seen so many. Brothers, other MCs, friends of Suzy.
Every single one of them outpouring love for him and condolences to her.
She sat in an armchair in the corner of the room tonight, covered in a blanket, her skin pale, eyes red.
“Has she eaten today?” I muttered to Fury.
“Heidi says she has.” He shrugged.
“Is she ok?” I turned to Sophie, who was cupping a mug of coffee in her hands, propped on the end of a sofa off to the right.
“Just stress. I’ve checked her blood pressure and listened in on baby an hour ago. They’re both good. It’s just taking its toll on her.”
I hated this as much as watching my brother die.
Suzy looked like her spirit was fading away in front of my eyes, and there was fucking nothing I could do to take this pain away.
Soph pushed a hot palm into mine and squeezed.
I wrapped my fingers in hers, just for a brief second.
It didn’t stop the thick knot of emotion currently unravelling in my stomach, but it slowed it down.
“Suzy. We need to think about a funeral date,” Heidi nudged gently.
Her eyes glassed over and she moved her gaze to the window. Focussing somewhere far away that only she could see.
The knock at the door startled everyone, eyes darting to each other and rebounding off.
“Coppers,” Chaos announced, letting the curtain fall back into place at the window.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Not panic. The air just tightened. Brothers straightening slightly where they sat. Conversations dying half-finished. I saw Soph tense beside me too, her fingers still curled loosely around the coffee mug. Another knock came. Louder this time.
“Don’t let the fuckers in,” Baz muttered from where he leaned against the kitchen doorway.
“They’re not coming in,” Indie answered calmly, already getting to his feet, and I stood with him automatically.
As we crossed the hallway, I caught movement through the frosted glass panels beside the door. One of the bastards leaning slightly sideways, trying to look through the gap in the curtains. Clocking cuts. Numbers. Faces. Fucking vultures.
Indie opened the front door only enough to step through, forcing them backwards onto the tiny front path as I followed him out into the cold evening air.
“You boys are hard to pin down,” one of the officers remarked casually.
I recognised him immediately. CID. Detective Sergeant Collins. Mid-forties and always with a smug face. Thought he was smarter than everyone else in the room. Usually he wasn’t. But worse, he was Mercer’s old team, and I didn’t doubt it was a coincidence that he was here.
“Tried the clubhouse a few times,” the second one added. “No luck.”
Indie folded his arms slowly across his chest. “Almost like we’ve had a funeral to organise.”
Collins ignored that. “We need to ask a few more questions regarding Mr Dodd’s death.”
“You took statements in the hospital,” Indie replied evenly.
“Aye,” Collins nodded. “And it appears you’d all developed poor eyesight and shocking memory retention.”
Behind me, I heard the front room floorboards creak. Brothers moving closer to listen.
The detective continued watching Indie carefully. “Understandable under the circumstances of course. Trauma affects recall.” The sarcasm dripped off him. “But sometimes,” he continued, “once emotions settle, people suddenly remember useful details.”
“Funny that,” I muttered.
Collins’ eyes flicked to me briefly. “Anything coming back to you now, Reap?”
“Nope.”
I held his gaze. Those dark eyes. Mean. Cruel. I remember those as well as the grey eyes of his old boss. Silence stretched. Cold air curled between us. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. Then Collins shifted tactics.
“There’s also been a rise in bodies turning up lately.” His voice stayed conversational, but his eyes sharpened. “Gunshot wounds. Execution style in some cases. Gangland stuff.”
Neither of us reacted. Years of practice.
“We were wondering if your club knew anything about it?”
Indie’s expression didn’t move an inch. The younger officer shifted awkwardly beside Collins. Indie stepped slightly forward then, calm as ever but somehow making the tiny front path suddenly feel too small for everyone else standing on it.
“We ride motorbikes, Detective. Drink too much beer. How the fuck would we know anything about gangland killings?”
Collins stared at him a second longer before giving the faintest smile. Not friendly.
“Thought I’d ask.”
“Aye,” Indie answered softly. “And we’ve answered.”
The detective nodded slowly, glancing once towards the house again where shadows moved behind curtains before stepping backwards off the path.
“Give us a ring if anyone’s memory improves.”
I watched the police car disappear down the street before exhaling slowly through my nose. Behind us, the front door opened, and a twin leaned his head out.
“Did they fuck off?”
“For now,” Indie muttered.
But all of us knew what he really meant. For now.
*****
Church that night was held from Suzy’s living room in hushed voices.
Just a few of us. Indie wanted the club even tighter.
Tonight’s business was need-to-know only.
In the kitchen, the women washed up dishes, and Mamma Dot made more food like we were about to head into wartime rationing.
Nineties dance pumped in the background.
“Our intelligence is quiet at the minute,” Fury started. “Not a sniff of the Hand.”
“At the moment, they have other things to think about,” Indie answered.
The men squeezed onto sofas or crossed legged on the floor watched him, questions in their eyes but no one raised them.
“It’s given us breathing space. But they’ll regroup. And I am certain they will attack us at Magnet’s funeral.”
Brothers muttered in agreement.
“I propose the funeral we hold will be a sham.” Silence now from everyone. “They’ll attack us there. It’s public. A risk. But they’ll assume we won’t expect it because of that. And when they do, we’ll be ready.”
“What about the other MCs and MCCs. They’ll be caught in the crossfire?” Barry the Blade asked.
“They’re in the coalition. They know what it means.” Fury grunted.
“Aye. But I don’t want them taking unnecessary damage.
Or there won’t be a coalition left at the end of it.
We’ll keep them safe. But they need to be there too, to see us handle business.
We’ll put the Viking up high with the Reverend.
They’ll take the majority of them out cleanly. They won’t even get through the doors.”
“And what about the women?” one of the twins asked from the floor, although I couldn’t tell which was which now that they’d moved.
“I’m going to send them up to Grace.” Indie’s voice dropped lower. “We’ll give them an escort part way. Tomahawk’s lot will get them to the causeway. They’ll be safe once they get on that island, out of the way.”
“Will they all fit in ya ma’s house, Indie?”
“She’ll cope for a few days. She’ll love the company and the kids. Holy Island is too close-knit and too public for the Hand to try anything there.”
We all nodded.
“When this is all over. And it will be,” Indie paused, glancing around the room, making eye contact with each and every one of us. “We will give Magnet the send-off he deserves. But I’m not having those fuckers ruin a brother’s last run.”