Chapter Ten
Slaughter
The Diamondback clubhouse was alive with noise and chaos as I pulled up.
Bikes lined the gravel lot in neat rows.
Chrome gleamed in the late afternoon sun, the leather seats still warm from the ride.
There must’ve been forty of them at least, maybe more, all Harleys and custom choppers that cost more than most people’s cars.
The machines sat silent now, but I could still feel the ghost of their engines rumbling, could still smell the oil and gasoline that clung to the hot metal.
Music pounded from speakers somewhere near the back of the property, the bass thumping hard enough to feel in my chest, rattling through my ribcage with every beat.
Some classic rock anthem I half-recognized but couldn’t name.
The smell of grilled meat hung thick in the air, mixing with cigarette smoke and the sharp bite of whiskey.
Someone had a whole pig roasting on a spit, fat dripping and sizzling over the coals.
Brothers milled around everywhere, laughing, drinking, slapping each other on the back with the easy camaraderie that came from shared blood and shared danger.
Their cuts displayed patches and colors that told stories of loyalty, territory, and violence.
Some wore fresh bruises like badges of honor.
Others carried scars that ran deeper than skin.
Club whores draped themselves over men like living accessories, their hands wandering, their laughter high and practiced as they tried to entice someone, anyone, into their beds for the night.
Makeup caked thick to hide the miles, tight clothes showing off everything they had to offer.
It was a scene I had witnessed a thousand times at the Golden Skulls’ clubhouse. Familiar. Comfortable, even.
But I wasn’t here for comfort.
I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, my hands still gripping the handlebars, my heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music or the crowd.
The rumble of my bike faded into silence, swallowed up by the thumping bass that poured out of the clubhouse and the raucous laughter echoing across the gravel lot.
Neon signs flickered in the windows, casting red and blue shadows across the rows of parked motorcycles that stretched out before me like a chrome and steel army.
I didn’t know why I was here. Didn’t know what I was looking for.
Couldn’t put a name to the gnawing feeling that had been eating at me for weeks now, driving me further and further from home.
I just knew I had to be. The pull had led me here.
To this place, this moment, and I couldn’t fight it anymore.
It was like an invisible thread had wrapped itself around my chest and yanked me halfway across the state, through back roads and highways, past truck stops and dive bars, until I found myself sitting outside the Diamondback clubhouse on a Saturday night.
I swung my leg over the bike and stood, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness from days on the road.
Every muscle in my body ached, protesting the miles I had put between myself and everything I knew.
My cut hung heavy on my back, the Golden Skulls’ patch marking me as an outsider in Diamondback territory.
A few brothers glanced my way from where they stood smoking near the entrance, their eyes narrowing slightly before recognition flickered across their faces.
Word traveled fast in the MC world, and they knew who I was.
More importantly, they knew I wasn’t here to start trouble. I was Shadow’s friend. The grieving widower, who had been crashing at the farm for the past few weeks, trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered life.
They turned back to their conversations, dismissing me as harmless. Just another broken soul drowning his sorrows at a biker barbecue. Nothing to see here.
I scanned the crowd, looking for... what? I didn’t know. A distraction, maybe. Something to take my mind off the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be. Or maybe I was looking for trouble. These days, it was hard to tell the difference.
And then I saw Kansas. The Diamondback president stood near a picnic table, his arm wrapped possessively around a petite blonde woman who was laughing at something he whispered in her ear.
Kali, I remembered. His wife. Kansas leaned in and kissed her neck, and she giggled.
A sound so light and carefree, it made my chest ache with a familiar pain I had been trying to avoid.
That used to be me and Julie. We used to laugh like that. She used to look at me the way Kali was looking at Kansas. Like I was her entire world.
I looked away, my jaw clenching so hard I thought my teeth might crack. I couldn’t watch this. Couldn’t bear to see what I had lost reflected back at me in someone else’s happiness.
Shadow was a few feet away, his arm draped casually over Joan’s shoulder as he talked with a massive brother I didn’t recognize.
Broad-shouldered, heavily tattooed, with the kind of presence that screamed Sergeant at Arms. The guy had to be at least six-five, built like a brick wall, with ink covering every visible inch of skin from his neck down to his knuckles.
His cut sat perfectly across those enormous shoulders, patches telling a story I couldn’t read from this distance.
A pretty young girl stood beside them; she couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty, her dark hair pulled back in a neat braid, her eyes bright and animated as she listened to whatever story Shadow was telling.
She laughed at something he said. The sound carried across the yard, light and carefree.
Everyone looked so... normal. Happy. Like the world hadn’t ended, like life was still worth living.
Like they hadn’t lost pieces of themselves along the way.
Children ran between the bikes, shrieking with laughter.
Ladies sat in lawn chairs, drinking beer and gossiping.
Brothers clapped each other on the back, their faces open and relaxed in a way I couldn’t remember feeling in weeks, maybe months.
I didn’t belong here. Not anymore. Maybe I never had.
I turned, ready to get back on my bike and ride until the pull stopped clawing at my insides, until I could breathe again without feeling like my chest was caving in, and that was when I saw her.
Just a glimpse. A flash of white fabric and dark hair disappearing around the corner of the garage. But it was enough. My heart stuttered, then kicked into overdrive.
My breath caught in my throat, sharp and sudden. My world narrowed to a single point of focus, everything else fading into a meaningless blur. White flowy top. Dark hair pulled high in a ponytail. A man’s hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her out of sight around the corner of the building.
I didn’t think.
Didn’t process.
Didn’t question.
Didn’t stop to consider whether I was right or wrong, whether this was my business or if I was overreacting, as my body moved on instinct—pure, primal, undeniable. The kind of instinct that bypassed rational thought entirely, that came from somewhere deep and ancient.
Bike forgotten, I started walking before I even registered the decision. My boots hit the gravel hard, each step purposeful, driven by something I couldn’t name and didn’t want to fight. My heart pounded in my chest and adrenaline flooded my system as I closed the distance.
The crowd blurred around me, faces melting into indistinct shapes and colors.
Voices became white noise, a dull roar that meant nothing.
The music, some heavy bass-driven track that had been shaking the ground moments ago, faded into the background, distant and unimportant because all I could see was that corner of the garage where she had disappeared, swallowed up by shadows and the press of bodies.
All I could feel was the pull. Stronger now, so strong it felt like a hand wrapped around my ribs, dragging me forward with relentless force.
It wasn’t a choice anymore. It was a compulsion, a need that overrode everything else.
My feet moved on autopilot and carried me through the throng of leather-clad bikers and partygoers as if they weren’t even there.
“Yo, brother, you good?”
A Diamondback prospect stepped into my path, his hand raised in a placating gesture, concern etched across his young face.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, still trying to prove himself worthy of the patch.
I didn’t slow down. Didn’t acknowledge him.
Didn’t even register his presence beyond the obstacle he represented.
I just kept walking.
“Hey, man, I’m talking to you.”
I shoved past him without breaking stride, my shoulder catching his chest hard enough to send him stumbling back into a cluster of people behind him. Beer sloshed from someone’s cup. A girl yelped in surprise.
“Oh shit!” someone yelled from somewhere to my left. “Shadow! Shadow, get your boy!”
More bodies moved to block my path. A wall of leather and denim formed in front of me.
Diamondback brothers were closing ranks, their expressions shifting from curious to wary, hands dropping instinctively toward their sides.
The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as the festive atmosphere curdled into tension.
I didn’t care as I pushed through them like they were nothing but ghosts, obstacles, irrelevant.
Bodies parted around me, their protests fading into meaningless background noise.
My vision had narrowed to a single point, a single destination, everything else blurring at the edges like I was looking through a tunnel.
The garage was right there. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.