Chapter Forty-Five
Firestride
Pounding on my door jolted me awake and had me reaching for my gun. Looking around my room, I groaned, rubbing my head as the pounding continued. Throwing back the bedsheets, I stormed over to my door and flung it open.
“Get dressed. We’re needed downstairs,” Heretic ordered, then hurried off to wake the others.
I slammed my door shut and quickly got dressed before I made my way into the fray.
As I hurried down the hallway, the weight of exhaustion pressed against my shoulders, each step heavy with dread for what awaited us.
The clubhouse was alive with anxious energy—voices murmuring, the sharp clatter of boots, and the tension that came before a storm.
Downstairs, the brothers gathered in the dim light, faces drawn, eyes bracing for the unknown as they all geared up for war.
Heretic’s gaze found mine, grim and resolute, and I steeled myself for whatever lay ahead.
In that moment, the air felt thick with the possibility of violence, and I knew my world was about to change.
Seeing Morpheus talking with Cerberus, I walked over to them when I noticed Cerberus’ arms wrapped around Alice as she cried into his massive chest. Confused, I looked around the room for Kyllian, and when I couldn’t find her, I asked, “Where’s Kitten?”
Sniffing, Alice looked up at me. “I saw him hit her before he shoved her in the truck and drove off. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here.”
I stiffened as Morpheus placed his hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “We will find her. I promise.”
“Who fucking hit her?” I snarled, my fury threatening to explode on those around me. Someone touched my property. Someone dared put hands on my fucking woman. They were fucking dead.
“It was that young man, the one visiting yesterday. I saw him staring at Kyllian at the barbecue. I thought nothing of it because they were your guests. I should have told someone. Oh God, I should have said something,” she cried, turning to hide her face in Cerberus’ chest as he wrapped his arms tighter around her.
“Where the fuck is he?”
“We don’t know,” Morpheus admitted. “Got Garrote and Wanderer out searching now.”
“Why the fuck did she leave?”
“Something about talking to Alice about a job. I wasn’t thinking, brother.
I should have sent someone with her. That’s on me.
Deadwood is ours. She should have been safe.
When Alice showed up without Kitten and told me what happened, I kicked Disturbed out of the club.
Luc disavowed the fucker. He’s ours once we find the son of a bitch,” Morpheus grimly said just as his phone rang.
Seeing the caller, I stiffened.
Morpheus whistled loudly, silencing the room as he connected the call. “Missing something?”
My eyes darted to Morpheus as he slowly shook his head. “You must be really fucking stupid, Skinner, because when I find you, I’m going to fucking shove my size sixteen boot right up your fucking ass, then make you lick it clean.”
“Good luck with that,” the son of a bitch snarled. “This is how it’s going to go. I will trade the fucking cunt for Firestride.”
“We don’t make deals with dead men.”
“Then I’ll gut the bitch and send her back to you in pieces,” he threatened before adding, “You’ve got two hours.
Two men, and one of them better be who I want or I will make good on my threat.
The Tumbleweed in Burns, Wyoming. Can’t miss the place.
Oh, and don’t fuck with me, Morpheus. You don’t want to see me mad. ”
The call ended.
My gut twisted into a cold, hard knot as Morpheus pocketed his cell.
Skinner. The name was a brand seared into my soul, a reminder of a past I’d tried to bury beneath layers of leather and violence.
He dared to threaten my kitten? He dared to believe he could bargain for her?
A guttural roar ripped from my chest, a sound that echoed the primal fury building within me.
The smug satisfaction on Morpheus’ face only fueled the inferno.
That motherfucking bastard. He wanted a trade. Me for my woman. Oh, I’d give him a fucking trade he’d never see coming.
Two hours.
The clock was ticking, a relentless countdown to a confrontation I couldn’t afford to lose. My brothers’ gazes, usually a silent testament to their unwavering loyalty, were now fixed on me, their expressions a mixture of grim understanding and unspoken concern.
They knew the stakes.
They knew what this meant.
“The Tumbleweed in Burns, Wyoming,” Morpheus repeated, his voice low and dangerous.
He wasn’t just the president; he was a strategist, a puppeteer who pulled the strings of every man in this club.
He looked at me, his obsidian eyes holding a chilling glint.
“You’re not going alone. Cerberus, make the fucking call.
We’re going to make sure those sick fucks learn a lesson they will never fucking forget. You get me?”
His command hung in the air, absolute and non-negotiable.
Yeah, I got him.
I nodded, my words lodging in my throat like shards of glass.
The thought sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins, an insidious fear I hadn’t felt since childhood.
Oh, I’d go in and get my woman, but we wouldn’t be leaving any survivors.
That motherfucker just threw down the gauntlet, and now he would truly see what it meant to fuck with the Brotherhood of Bastards.
This wasn’t about the Brotherhood anymore.
This wasn’t about club politics or territorial disputes.
This was personal.
My brothers’ faces were grim, their silence a testament to the unspoken pacts that bound us. They knew this was personal. This wasn’t about club business anymore; it was about blood, about vengeance, about the woman who had somehow wormed her way past the granite walls I’d erected around my heart.
Cerberus’s voice, a low growl, broke through the suffocating silence. “We go in hard and fast. No survivors.” His words, meant to be reassuring, only stoked the inferno raging within me. There was no deal to make, no trade to be had, only obliteration.
Skinner had threatened a Bastard, dared to lay a hand on her, and for that, he would pay the ultimate price.
The Tumbleweed wouldn’t know what hit it.
It would be a massacre, a brutal, bloody statement about the consequences of crossing the Brotherhood of Bastards, and more importantly, of threatening what was mine.
As we sped towards Burns, the miles blurring into a landscape of dust and desperation, I replayed Skinner’s threat in my mind.
“Two hours. Two men, and one of them better be who I want or I will make good on my threat.” He wanted me.
He thought he had leverage. He had no idea that by taking Kyllian, he had just signed his own death warrant.
He had ignited a fire that would not be extinguished until every last trace of him and his pathetic club was reduced to ash.
He had made it personal.
And the Brotherhood of Bastards always collected their debts.
The town of Burns, Wyoming, was barely a blip on the map.
Home to four hundred people, and in the heart of that small town, was the Tumbleweed.
A bar and diner that served as the small town’s hub of entertainment.
The Tumbleweed was exactly what I expected.
A dive bar that looked like it had seen better days a decade ago.
The neon sign flickered weakly, advertising cheap beer and bad decisions.
The air outside was thick with stale smoke and desperation as I pulled my bike to a stop beside a lone rider, his face a grim mask in the dim light.
I should have known he wouldn’t fucking leave with the others.
He might be Disturbed to the core, but the motherfucker would never turn his back on the Brotherhood.
Indigo, ever stoic, dismounted without a word, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol.
As he walked over to me, he didn’t say much; he never did.
“They are in there.”
“They?”
“Twelve Death Dogs and two hostages. Your woman and a Silver Shadow brother,” he informed just as another rider pulled up beside me.
Shaking my head, I said nothing as he slowly got off his bike and stood. Fuck me, I hadn’t seen him in years, but seeing him now, I couldn’t get over how much he looked like Morpheus. “Got the fucking call. Was in the neighborhood and thought you’d like some help.”
Shaking the man’s hand, I nodded, pulling him into a brotherly hug. “Always, brother.”
Looking around the area, he frowned. “Where the fuck is he?”
“Watching,” I simply replied as Ravage turned toward the horizon and flipped the air the one-finger bird.
Indigo chuckled. “You’re still pissed, I see.”
“Bastard can kiss my ass,” Ravage grunted as another rider rode up and parked his bike. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Ravage grinned, shaking the hand of Eros. “Finally. The brothers of FIRE together at last.”
Eros grunted but welcomed the brotherly hug from Ravage. “Look, we need to make this fast. King and Zeus are chomping at the bit. They want Banshee back alive.”
“That’s who’s in there?” Indigo asked, looking at the Tumbleweed.
“Yeah, and considering who Banshee is, they aren’t fucking around. Zeus and King are ready to burn this place to the ground to get him back. Nav said we have ten minutes.”
“I just need five,” I said, reaching for my gun.
Ravage stretched his head from left to right and he rolled his shoulders, as his hand gripped his machete. Indigo flicked his cigarette and blew out the smoke as Eros stormed toward the entrance.
The moment we kicked the door open, the small crowd inside fell silent.
All eyes turned to us, a mixture of fear and curiosity playing on their faces.
A Death Dog sat nervously at the bar as he scanned the crowd, only to stiffen, his eyes widening in disbelief when he saw us.
The fucker bolted through the crowd, no doubt to warn his brothers.