11. Riot
ELEVEN
RIOT
“You okay?”
I twist to look over my shoulder at Nicky as he sidles onto the stool next to me and rests his elbows on the bar top.
That’s a loaded question, and one I don’t want to answer. If he means in the literal living and breathing sense, then yeah, I’m fucking fine.
But when it comes to the burning destruction around the rest of my life…
No.
All I’ve been thinking about is Ivy. She consumes my every thought. The lies I’m telling her are knives to my chest every time she looks at me like I hang the moon.
She thinks I’m her knight in shining armour, when really, I’m the devil in leather and denim.
I’m dancing on a razor wire over a flaming pit, waiting to fall. I know I can’t tell her the truth—I’ve had to come to terms with that—but every smile she gives me, every inch of softness, doesn’t feel earned.
This shit is like a cancer eating through my body, and for the first time in a decade, it’s not just me I’m angry with, but my brother.
Mace is right to protect this secret, but my frustration is directed at him.
I can’t fucking look her in the eyes while she’s in the dark. How do I help her move on from her past when I can’t give her the missing piece that would heal her?
She ain’t yours to worry about.
Fuck Mace for saying that.
I ain’t walking away from Ivy, even if it drives a wedge between me and my brother, but to be with her—really be with her—I’ll have to continue this lie.
Can I do that?
The war raging within me between my brother and my woman is chipping away at my sanity.
So, Nicky’s question is an iron fist to my gut because I’m not okay, not even close.
But I ain’t telling him that. Not when he’s carrying so much himself.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I roll my glass between my hands.
Even alcohol provides no joy right now. Two sips and the heaviness of it curdled in my stomach.
“You’ve been sitting here for over an hour with the same glass in front of you.”
He’s been in the room for a fucking hour? I didn’t notice, and that’s an issue. Where the fuck is my head at? In this room, my awareness has to be perfect.
There is no room for fuck-ups when I’m sitting in the lion’s den.
I try to re-centre myself, but all I can think about is Ivy.
She ain’t yours to worry about.
What a load of shit. Even if she never picks me, she’ll always be mine to worry about.
So, why the fuck are you sittin’ here and not with her?
“Why the fuck do you care what I’m doin’?”
“We can’t afford any weak links in the chain, Riot.”
Those words get my attention. I finally look at him, and my back straightens.
There are bruised marks under his eyes, dark smudges as if he ain’t been sleeping, and his shoulders appear heavier than usual. The weight of the kutte on his back seems more like he’s holding up the world on them.
Shit . Guilt steamrolls over me. I’ve not been as present as I should be for him. This fight ain’t his to shoulder alone, and I’ve been so fucking preoccupied that I’ve dropped the ball.
I need to be there for Ivy and for my club.
“Forget me. Are you okay? You look like shit.”
His gaze drifts over his shoulder in a casual gesture that no one else would notice, but he’s checking to make sure we’re alone. “I’ve got a lot on my plate,” he admits.
That’s an understatement. The gravity of what Nicky is facing would fell even the strongest fucker. Ravage, Nox, and Howler haven’t just made him a part of this revolution—they put him at the head of it.
“You ain’t alone, brother.” I keep my words vague in case anyone overhears.
I’m not taking chances. We have to play the game carefully. If Crank and Grub so much as suspect what we’re doing, all three of us will be face-down in a ditch, our bodies feeding the worms. I ain’t looking to die. Not now. I ain’t leaving Ivy and Seren alone.
I glance over my shoulder, my spine tingling. Grub is staring in my direction.
Not staring…
Fuckin’ glaring .
A cold hand wraps around my throat, but my mouth curves into a smile, chilling, challenging beneath the charm.
Bring it on, cunt.
I’m in the mood to throw punches, even though my last set of bruises still ain’t completely faded.
My fingers itch to put a bullet into his fucking traitorous head, but I force myself to turn back.
I hate that this war has to happen. Even if Crank is a pathetic piece of shit who has taken a dump on everything we stand for, what we’re doing feels wrong.
And he ain’t the only one with stains against his name. I’m ashamed of so many things I did while we were at war with the Pioneers. Shit I did because my President ordered it, even though it went against my personal code.
Loyalty to the patch can be blind, and we’d all stepped over lines we didn’t feel good about.
If we survive dethroning Crank, I ain’t sure any of us deserve to keep our colours. It’s gonna take years to rebuild what was broken, if it even can be.
I have to believe things will get better because everything I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed and lost, has to mean something.
Nicky steeples his fingers together on the bar top, his voice low when he speaks. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I say immediately.
“There’s a run tonight, and I want you there to be my eyes and ears on the ground.”
That ain’t an unusual request, but the way his shoulders stiffen tells me there’s more to this. “You expectin’ trouble?”
“I don’t know. There’s just somethin’ off about this whole deal.” He says the words so quietly, I barely hear them. “Keep your wits about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
I’m grateful to have something to busy myself with. Busy means less time to think, to stew.
“Just a heads up… Blade’ll be there.”
Fucking Blade. I don’t trust that prick even a fraction. There’s something about him that sets my instincts off like a firework display. His actions, his behaviour, all of it is just wrong.
“I can handle him, too,” I say.
Nicky interlaces his fingers on the top of the bar. “Crank’s leanin’ heavily on him lately. I don’t know what their dynamic is, but it ain’t a good thing. So, I’m serious when I say watch your back.”
Nicky stands, squeezing my shoulder, and walks away, leaving me sitting alone again.
Fuck, I hate this shit. There’s no good outcome of this civil war. Brother against brother has the potential to spread rot through the entire club.
A message pings on my phone, and after muttering a “fuck” under my breath at what just transpired, I pull it out of my pocket.
It’s from Ivy.
My fingers hover over the screen, dread curling in my stomach. Is she hurt? Is Seren okay?
I open the message, and my muscles unlock. A smile tugs at my mouth as a warmth I’m not used to spreads through my stomach.
It’s a picture of Seren sleeping in Ivy’s arms.
I stare at them, unable to look away. Ivy looks tired but more beautiful than ever. Her hair is pulled into a messy knot, and I wish my fingers were wrapped in its softness.
I didn’t know that lump of meat in my chest could fucking feel this much, but it’s like bands snap around my lungs. Seeing them both in that picture sends a wave of possessiveness through me.
What the fuck are you doin’ sittin’ here? Go to your girls.
She looks better.
Ivy
She is. The antibiotics are working. She’s been fussy today but not crying as much.
She misses you.
I miss you too. Are you coming over tonight?
My chest cracks open. She misses me.
Ivy misses me.
Fuck, I don’t deserve that unfiltered goodness. Ugly guilt and shame spreads through my veins like treacle.
I’ve only been gone a few hours.
Ivy
I know, but Mace and May are arguing over some weird concoction he’s trying to get her to drink and my brother just bought a new game.
I smirk. Toby’ll drive her crazy with the game.
I can’t. I got club shit.
Ivy
Come over now then?
Before I can reply, someone takes the seat Nicky just vacated. Caught off guard again, I mentally smack myself as Dash blows out a breath.
He’s another brother who I can’t figure out where his loyalty lies.
We came up through the ranks together as prospects and then newly patched brothers.
That builds a different kind of relationship to the ones I have with the other brothers in the club, but I don’t know if I trust Dash any longer.
He hasn’t spoken out or said anything to make me believe he doesn’t support Crank.
Then again, neither have I.
The only person who has been vocal about anything is Nicky, but he has the weight of two generations behind him. His father was a member of this club long before he was. His grandfather too. Dash and I don’t have that same history, don’t have that same voice either.
You don’t stand against your President or Vice President. Loyalty is expected, demanded, and I can’t blame Dash for not doing what I haven’t done myself.
“You busy?” he asks, and I notice he ain’t looking at me.
My senses tingle.
“No.” I tuck my phone back into my pocket.
“Take a walk with me.” He pushes up from the stool before I can accept or decline, and I slide off my own, following him into the courtyard.
As I push through the door and into the fresh air, my fingers brush against the knife strapped to my hip under my hoodie. I don’t think Dash has lured me out here to kill me, but my trust level ain’t exactly high these days.
I watch as he walks over to the fence line, tension radiating from him. I don’t blame him for that. Every part of my body is alert and aware.
I stare at his back as he leans against the fence, looking out over the road beyond. The leather of his kutte is as worn as mine in places, but the patches arced over his back are clean, the white segments bright.
He takes care of his colours.
The realisation hits me in the gut. Even the worn parts of the leather are buffed. Dash has respect for what it means to be in this club, for what those patches on his back symbolise.
Hope swells within me, a fierce fire burning that perhaps we’re not as alone in this as we think.
His gaze tips towards the sky, which is a wash of grey. There’s not a patch of blue in sight, and the cold hints at rain. The gloom matches the mood between us.
“I can trust you, right?”
Those senses sing with warning. “With what?”
He glances down at his boots, his body radiating tension. Cold fear claws up my throat.
“I don’t even know if I should say anything. I don’t know who to—” He breaks off, his jaw flexing. “We came through this journey together. We’re friends, or I think we are, hope we are. And I don’t want to put this on you, but you’re the only person in this building I think will understand.”
I don’t breathe, but I keep my expression neutral. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I’m done,” he says, his eyes finding mine.
I frown at his words, at the absolute sincerity in his face. “Done with what?”
Dash waves an arm towards the clubhouse. “All of this. This shit isn’t what I signed up for, Riot, what we signed up for. I’m heading down to London over the weekend to speak to Ravage, and if he’ll let me, I’m transferring to one of the other chapters.”
I freeze. It doesn’t mean he’s on our side, that he stands against Crank, but the fact he wants to patch into another chapter because of him is a loud endorsement.
“So, you’re just gonna leave?” There’s more accusation in my tone than I would like. Maybe it’s the shock or the anger that we’re losing another brother because of that fucking dick.
Dash’s mouth is tight, his jaw too, as he tears his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to. There’s no part of me that wants to walk away, Riot. This is my fucking life, my home, my… my family.” His words are sad and heavy. “But I can’t keep watching this shit happen day after day. I thought things would get better after the Pioneers were done, but it’s getting worse. Crank and Grub… fuck… I don’t know how you fucking stand it.” He digs his hands into his pocket. The muscle in his throat bobs, and my own feels constricted. “Say something,” he urges.
There’s so much I want to spill, but I keep those words behind my teeth. “What do you want me to say, Dash?”
“That I’m a traitor. That I’m a disloyal bastard. That I’ve shit all over the patch.” He bangs a fist against his left pectoral. “Tell me you’re gonna spill this conversation to Crank.”
Not a chance, but I don’t say that. “My opinion ain’t worth shit.”
He tears his fingers through his hair as if he wants to rip the strands out by the roots. “It is to me. I feel sick even speaking this crap out loud, but I just can’t keep doing this, Riot. I would rather walk away than watch our chapter become… this .” He throws a hand out, his movements sharp and angry. “I understand why you would want to stay—you have your brother here, Nicky too—but I’m done. At least in Birmingham. I’d rather go fucking nomad than keep up this shitty pretence.”
My throat burns. He wouldn’t survive as a nomad. It ain’t a good path to walk for any brother. Hawk had done it for years after losing more than he could bear, but it took a toll on him that only lifted when he transferred into Manchester.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, and that’s not a lie.
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m only telling you because I owe that respect to you as friends, as brothers.”
This is dangerous ground, not because his words are inflammatory or hard to hear, but because I want to tell him to hang in there. I can’t though. If he’s playing me, I could risk this entire operation and get me, Mace, and Nicky killed.
But if I let him go and we lose an ally on the inside…
Shit.
Indecision wars within me, a split-second decision trying to form as the weight of everything presses down on my shoulders. Do I trust Dash? Is he still the same guy who prospected with me? Who has stood at my back for years?
In a split second, I have to make this huge decision, and I opt to keep my mouth shut. This ain’t for me to decide. Who we let into our fold has to come from Rav.
“Things’ll get better,” I say, giving him as much as I can without compromising everything we’re working towards.
He snorts, derision lacing the sound as he paces. “I don’t know how you can say that.” Because I have to believe it. Dash threads his fingers behind his neck, staring up at the sky, two seconds from unravelling. “Where the fuck did things go so wrong?”
I know exactly when and where, but I don’t allow myself to say it. The moment the Pioneers threatened stability in our club, Crank fucking crumbled. He couldn’t stand against the violence Desmond Richardson brought with him, and he didn’t want to. He’s a weak man and an even weaker President flanked by just as shitty a VP.
“Things will get better,” I repeat, this time with a little more conviction.
He blows out a breath and leans back against the fence behind him. “You remember when we first started prospecting?”
Despite everything, my lips twitch. “It’s kinda hard to forget.”
We went through hell to gain our patches. Entry into the Sons ain’t a walk in the park. Twelve months of walking through fire to show our mettle, our loyalty to the club.
It fucking guts me to lose Dash like this, but I ain’t gonna convince him to stay either. Things are gonna get messy, and he deserves to get out if he wants to.
“Maybe one day I’ll be able to come back, but I don’t know, Riot. The way things are now, this doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
That I understand, because I feel the same. “I’m sorry you feel like this is the only way.”
“I hate it. I don’t want to walk away from my brothers, from my city, but if I stay here, I’ll end up walking away from the club entirely.”
I drag in a breath through my nose, my jaw aching from the tightness of it as I try not to scream into the sky. It feels like everything is falling apart… Ivy, the club, shit with my brother.
“You gotta do what you gotta do, brother.”
He nods, ducking his head as he scuffs the toe of his boot through the gravel. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything to anyone. Not yet. I want to talk it through with National, see what Rav and Nox say before I drop it on Crank.”
He wants to make sure he has somewhere to go before he burns his bridges here. I get it.
“I won’t talk,” I assure him. “Where you plannin’ on goin’?”
“Maybe Manchester. They still need numbers after the war, and Howler runs a tight ship.”
Howler is a good President. He’s exactly what leadership should be. He’s also knee-deep in this plot to get Crank out, so Dash would be trading one storm for another.
Dash glances at me. “You know you could come with me. Your brother would understand. Hell, he might even join us. He’s got an old lady and a kid to think about.”
It’s a tempting offer, one I wish I could take, but how the fuck could I walk away and leave Mace and Nicky to deal with this? I know for a fact my brother will never leave his best friend’s side, and I will never walk away from Mace either, even with our current… whatever the fuck this shit is between us.
And Ivy…
Fuck, I’ll never leave her.
“I got too many ties here.”
He nods, dropping his hands to his hips and lowering his head. “I wish things were different.”
I just shoot him a wry smile. “Me too, pal.”
Dash gives me a smile of his own that is laced with sadness.
“Anyway,” he mutters, “I just wanted you to hear it from me first.”
“Appreciate that, and Dash, you know you’ll always have a place here.”
“Right.”
I watch as he walks back into the building, my stomach a ball of knots. I trail my fingers over the patch on my chest, anger burning through me at how things have been so fucked-up.
This patch has to mean something. Everything we’re doing has to be for something. I refuse to believe otherwise.
I head out to my bike and pause at the side of it, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. I need to talk to my brother.
Shit between us has been awkward since the hospital, and I know I should fucking have it out with him to clear the air, but I’m still too pissed.
You can see Ivy while you’re there.
It’s only been a few hours since I was at the apartment, but it feels like a hundred lifetimes have dawned during that time.
And there may be a point where she never wants to see you again.
The ride over doesn’t settle me in the way being on my bike usually does. I don’t know if it’s Dash’s confession, the shit with my brother, or that deep burning guilt over Ivy, but my skin prickles when I pull into the parking area.
I take my time as I head up in the lift to their floor, and by the time I reach the front door, I’m vibrating with tension.
Peering along the corridor, I pause before I find my balls and rap my knuckles on the frame. It feels like it takes an eternity before the door swings open and my brother’s standing there.
His gaze roams over me for a second, as if looking for missing limbs or blood, then he steps back to let me in.
I wait as he closes the door behind me, like I’m a guest with no idea where I’m meant to go. So much for behaving normally.
“You okay?” Mace asks, eyeing me with a healthy dose of both suspicion and confusion.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re being weird.” So much for avoiding confrontation. “You’ve been weird for days. Is this about what I said?”
There’s no answer I can give him that isn’t gonna make me sound like a fucking pussy, so I hold my tongue, waiting for him to continue.
“Nate.”
“No.” Yes.
“I was out of order. I’m sorry.”
I raise a brow at him. “You’re apologising?”
He scowls at me. “I can say sorry when I’m wrong. And I was wrong for making you feel like you don’t belong here. I ain’t sorry about the other stuff though.”
About keeping secrets from Ivy.
“Of course you’re not.”
He drops his voice low, glancing behind him to make sure we’re alone. “I love that girl like she’s my own blood,” he says, “but she can’t know.”
“I ain’t pissed about that.”
“Then what?”
“It doesn’t matter. That ain’t why I’m here. Dash came to talk to me.”
My brother narrows his gaze. His trust in anyone wearing a Birmingham rocker is even worse than mine right now. “About what?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, not bothering to hide how I feel about this. “He wants to transfer out of Birmingham.”
I can tell I’ve shocked him, that he didn’t expect this.
I lean back against the wall, the weight on my shoulders feeling heavier than it ever has. “Turns out we’re not the only ones who are pissed-off at the status quo.”
I let the words hang between us, let him understand what I’m saying without breaking it down for him. His eyes locked to mine, I wonder what the hell he’s thinking. “He tell you that?”
My hand scrubs over the nape of my neck. “Yeah, he did. He’s going to talk to Rav about patching into Manchester, but I think at this point, he’d take any of the other chapters.”
The look on Mace’s face is one I can empathise with, because I’m pretty sure it mirrors my own.
“Ain’t right. Losing good men, good brothers, because of shit at the top is fuckin’ criminal.”
“If he is a good man,” I counter.
“You doubt him?”
I blow out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t know who the fuck to trust these days. The deeper we get into this shit, the more confused I am. We have to tread carefully, but fuck, it killed me to not tell him that things aren’t gonna to stay like this.”
His brow arches. “You didn’t say a word?”
I shake my head. “Believe me, I wanted to, but trust has to be earned. For all I know, he could be spying for Crank.”
“You think that’s what he’s doing?”
How the hell do I answer that? The nature of what we do makes it vital for us to be able to lie at times, and as close as I was to Dash, our club ain’t the same as it was before the Pioneers declared war on us. I don’t know if Dash is the same guy who came up with me, and I ain’t risking everything we’ve worked for out of some sense of loyalty I had to him in the past.
I shift my shoulders. “I don’t know, and that’s the problem. Outside of you and Nicky, there ain’t a single person in the clubhouse that I trust. He’ll go to Rav, and he can be the one to decide whether to tell him.”
“I’ll let Nicky know. Are you heading back out?” Mace asks.
I shove my hands into my pockets. There’s no way I’m leaving before I see my girl. “I got a bit of time to burn.”
“Good. Maybe you can talk some fuckin’ sense into Toby.”
I snort, following him towards the living room, but as much as I love the kid, it ain’t him I want to see.
It’s the beautiful woman I’m falling in love with.