Chapter Eight
Ravage
“All I’m sayin’ is, you need more time to heal.
” Marshall groaned as I sifted through my saddlebag.
I didn’t have much, but it was enough. I had stashes and safe houses all over the United States.
I just needed to figure out where the hell I was and then I could find my way home from there.
“Be reasonable, boy. You ain’t gonna be no good to anyone if you can barely stand. ”
“Where the hell is my bike?”
“You laid your bike down on the interstate, or have you already forgotten that you pissed off Black Odessa? Jesus, boy, they put bullets in you not even four days ago. They know who you are. You need to rest.”
“No.” I shook my head as I threw my saddlebag over my shoulder and winced. “I need to get to Karlyn.”
Marshall groaned. “There you go. Thinking with your dick again.”
I ignored his jab, pulling on a worn leather jacket.
The pain was a constant companion, a dull throb that flared with every movement, but it was a familiar ache.
He was right; I wasn’t at full strength, not by a long shot.
But “full strength” was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Karlyn was out there alone, and the thought of her facing whatever dangers lurked in that forest without me was a far greater agony than any bullet wound.
I looked at the old man, my gaze hardening.
“The Golden Skulls outed me. Hung me out to dry, Marshall. They put a bullseye on my back. Before I killed Yuri, he told me Black Odessa is working with the Death Dogs. And now, Karlyn’s caught in the crossfire because of something I did.
I need to get to her and get her to safety before she becomes collateral damage. ”
Marshall sighed, running a hand over his grizzled beard.
“I know, but you ain’t gonna be no good to her if you’re dead.
But I also know you. You ain’t gonna rest until you’re with her.
But first, we need to get you a bike. But you better listen to me this time, understand?
No recklessness. You take it slow. You need to stay alive, not just for yourself, but for her.
” He stood, his joints cracking like dry twigs, a familiar silhouette against the dying embers of the fire.
“Now, let’s go find you something that runs. ”
As I secured my saddlebag to my new bike, Marshall asked, “Which direction are you heading?”
“West,” I said, cinching the straps tighter.
“Might want to go east,” Marshall offered, throwing his leg over his bike as he looked toward the horizon, saying nothing more.
Looking at the old man, I narrowed my eyes.
“Why the fuck would I go east? The clubhouse is west.”
Marshall shrugged. “No reason. Just seemed like the better option.”
Standing my ground, I growled. “Alright. Out with it. What the fuck don’t I know?”
The old man shrugged again. “I don’t know what you mean. I was just trying to be helpful.”
Groaning, I rubbed my hands down my face.
Talking with Marshall was like pulling teeth.
The fucker never gave up anything until he was ready, and from the way he was being evasive right now, I knew he wouldn’t tell me shit.
“Alright, Marshall.” I sighed. “I’ll bite.
Why do I need to head east when my woman is in the west? ”
“Thought you said she wasn’t your woman.”
Clenching my fist tight, I growled, “Marshall,” as the old man grinned.
Marshall’s grin widened, the lines of mischief etched deep into his weathered face.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the handlebars.
“Just saying, sometimes the things we want most aren’t where we expect them to be.
” His tone was casual, but his eyes never left mine, searching for something beneath the surface when he revved his engine.
The wind howled, a mournful cry that seemed to echo the unease coiling in my gut.
Marshall’s words, cryptic as always, hung in the air, a challenge I couldn’t ignore.
East. Why east? My instincts screamed west, towards the clubhouse, towards the semblance of safety I’d left behind.
But Marshall, with his unnerving ability to see through my bravado, had planted a seed of doubt, a whisper of something I wasn’t seeing.
Black Odessa, the Death Dogs, bullets and betrayal—it was all a tangled mess, and the path to Karlyn felt like a labyrinth with hidden turns.
I swung my leg over the bike, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of my throbbing side.
My eyes, drawn west by an invisible tether, met Marshall’s gaze.
He offered no further explanation, just a silent nod that spoke volumes.
The world, it seemed, was rarely as simple as black and white, and my current predicament was a testament to that.
There were shadows within shadows, betrayals hidden within loyalties, and Karlyn, my Karlyn, was caught in the middle of it all.
I needed to get to her, to pull her out of the fire, but the first step, the one that felt most wrong, was to head east.
With a roar of the engine, I pulled away; the sound swallowed by the vastness of the landscape.
Marshall’s words, a nagging echo in my mind, propelled me forward.
East. The unknown. A gamble perhaps, but one I had to take.
The forest had taught me to trust my instincts, but it had also taught me that sometimes, the path less traveled, the one that defied logic, was the only one that led to salvation.
Karlyn was waiting. And I would find her, no matter which direction the wind blew.
Heading east, we stopped only to piss and fill up our gas tanks.
The miles melted away, a blur of asphalt and the lonely howl of the wind. Marshall’s cryptic advice gnawed at me, a persistent irritant in the back of my mind.
East.
It defied every instinct, every learned response that screamed for me to head west, back towards the only semblance of a home I’d known since the forest. But Marshall had always been a creature of riddles, a seasoned hunter who saw the unseen currents that pulled the world along.
And right now, those currents were telling me east. I gripped the handlebars tighter, the vibration of the engine a steady counterpoint to the storm of questions brewing within me.
Was Karlyn somewhere in that direction? Had Black Odessa and the Death Dogs’ reach extended further than I’d anticipated?
The landscape shifted subtly as we rode, the familiar pines giving way to scrubbier brush and a more arid terrain.
It was a stark, unforgiving beauty, a place that felt as untamed and unpredictable as the situations I found myself in.
Marshall rode ahead, his silhouette a familiar, comforting presence against the vast expanse, yet his presence also served as a constant reminder of the unseen forces at play.
He had a way of knowing things, of being in the right place at the right time, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this detour east was leading me not just away from trouble, but toward something—or someone—I desperately needed to find.
As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and bruised purple, Marshall pulled over, gesturing for me to do the same.
He pointed towards a barely discernible track leading off the main road, disappearing into a thicket of mesquite.
A green sign clearly stated Rapid City to the north, and Lincoln, Nebraska, due east.
“This is as far as I go, boy,” he rasped, his voice carrying the weight of years and unspoken truths. “Head to Diamond Creek. What you are looking for will be arriving shortly. Remember what I told you. Trust your gut. And for the love of God, try not to get yourself killed.”
With a final, knowing look, he turned his bike north, a lone figure fading into the twilight, leaving me with the unsettling quiet of the encroaching night and the echo of his words ringing in my ears as I realized he brought me back right to where it all started.
Pulling into the Silver Shadows’ compound, I knew something was wrong. Brothers patrolled the area, armed, ready for anything. Slowing my bike, I pulled up to the gate when Zero, not a prospect, stepped out of the guard shack.
“Not a good time,” the brother gruffly said as his hand went to his piece. “Club’s on lockdown.”
“What happened?”
“Death Dogs attacked.”
“Dead?” I asked as Zero slowly nodded his head.
Taking a deep breath, I muttered, “Sorry to hear that. My condolences. Is King around? I need to speak to him.”
“Hang on,” Zero ordered, taking a step back, reaching into his cut for his cellphone. As Zero made the call, I looked around the compound and sighed. I was just here weeks ago, and in that time, so much had changed. And with the Death Dogs declaring war, I knew nothing would ever be the same again.
“They are in church. Go park at the front. Cash will come out and get you.”
“Thanks, man.”
Zero nodded as he stepped to the side, letting me pass.
Cash was waiting by the front door as I parked my bike and got off.
He stood there rooted to his spot, saying nothing as I approached.
Looking me up and down, he nodded before letting me pass.
Following him into church, I noticed the women sitting around holding babies as club brothers watched me intently when I distinctly heard one woman gasp.
Turning my head, brothers I’d never seen before rushed over to a woman, blocking her from my view.
Thinking nothing of it, I continued on, following Cash as we both entered church.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” A massive behemoth of a man jumped to his feet, snarling as he glared at me.
King moved quickly as Cash shoved me behind him, and King rushed to stand in front of Cash. “Kronos. He’s not who you think!”
“The fuck he isn’t!”
“Everyone out!” King roared. “Kronos and Zeus, stay. The rest of you, get the fuck out now.”
“Not leaving,” Cash growled, standing firm in front of me.
“Me either,” Nav firmly stated, as he remained seated.
Smirking, I winked at Nav, who just rolled his eyes as the brothers quickly left church.
When the door closed, King turned, pushed Cash out of the way, and slammed me up against the wall.
“Reaper is looking for you! Do you know the shitstorm you created? Where the fuck have you been?”
Narrowing my eyes at the president of the Silver Shadows, I grinned. “Reaper can get fucked.”
“Big words from a brother who wears the same fucking patch.”
“Yeah, well, allegiances change all the time.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” King snarled.
“My club outed me. The underworld knows who I am!” I roared, pushing King off me.
King frowned, shaking his head. “Reaper didn’t out shit. No one knows who you are.”
“Bullshit!” I snapped. “Then why is there a bounty on my head? Why are the Death Dogs hunting my woman?”
I heard Nav growl, “Fuck,” as he opened his computer and reached for his phone, placing a call before he started typing. Hearing the ringing tone, I glared at King, who refused to move or break eye contact, when we all heard someone say, “He there?”
“Yeah,” Nav groaned, typing fast into his computer. “Just strolled in. What the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. You just make sure he stays there. A package should be arriving shortly for him. You tell that fucking dick of a president of yours that if he knows what’s good for him, he better sit on the two of them until this shit gets sorted out.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” Nav clearly said, looking at me.
“Then fix it!” the voice snarled before the line disconnected.
“Fix what?” I seethed, taking a step toward Nav, who turned his computer around so I could see the screen.
“This.”
There, in black and white, was my face along with a dollar amount. The message was clear: One million dollars to the person, club, or organization that apprehended or killed Jackson ‘Ravage’ Baudelaire, son of Morpheus, president of the Brotherhood of Bastards MC.
“Holy shit,” King cursed, raking his hands through his hair as he asked. “Has Reaper seen that?” Before anyone could answer, his phone rang. Reaching for it, he looked at the screen and groaned, holding up his phone for me to see.
It was Reaper.
Connecting the call, King placed his phone on the table and pulled out a chair. “I take it you saw?”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Reaper roared, just as something crashed against the wall. “When I find the motherfucker who outed my brother, I’m going to fucking gut him from asshole to pie hole!”
“Boss, Sypher ain’t picking up.” I clearly heard a dead man’s voice and stiffened, right before I snagged King’s phone and snarled, “Who the fuck was that?”
“Oh!” Reaper scoffed. “Now you want to talk to me, asshole?”
“Who was that?” I asked again, barely hanging onto my rage.
“It’s Massacre,” King offered, looking up at me. “He didn’t die in the warehouse. He’s back in California with Amber and the rest of the Golden Skulls.”
“WHERE YOUR ASS SHOULD BE!” Reaper shouted, then took a deep breath. “I can’t deal with you right now. I’ve got shit in Oklahoma to handle. You deal with him, King.”
And like the call from moments before, Reaper hung up.
King and I stared at the phone before he turned to look at me and growled, “I really fucking hate you Golden Skulls.”