“Blackwood’s men have been seen in town.”

Fury’s brow draws down as he reaches for his bandana. “Fuckers,” he mutters and his hand strays to his left chest where I know he keeps one of his many knives. He’s probably itching to drag it out and play with it, but he carries on preparing to ride.

“Rav wants us to find them and find out what the fuck is going on.”

“Any leads?” I watch as Daimon fastens his chin strap.

“A last location. That’s it.”

I wait for my brothers to mount up, then hit the gas, the engine roaring as I tear out of the compound through the still-broken gates. Seeing the twisted metal makes my stomach fill with fire. Lucy had to suffer so much and that kills me.

I hate not knowing who these fuckers are who attacked her. The sooner I figure that out the safer I can keep her.

Getting attached, it ain’t me, but there’s something about this woman that has my sense going out of the fucking window. The first time I met her, I knew she was different. She sparked my interest. I’ve dealt with more than my share of bitches over the years—club bunnies just wanting to get your patch on their back, so they pander to your every whim, women looking for a walk on the wild side with a biker. I’ve given myself to both, but what I liked about Lucy was she stood up to me. She didn’t give a shit that I was a biker, that I’m part of a club with a reputation so dark hell would spit us back out. All she saw was the man beneath the kutte. That stirred my interest. She stirs my interest.

I lead my brothers across town, dodging through the traffic, avoiding the buses and taxis blocking the roads. The bandana covering my face keeps away most of the smog clogging the air.

As we near the location Rav gave me, I slow my bike, feeling my brothers behind me closing in. I stop at the edge of the kerb and peer at the bar, feeling my stomach clench with anger. Time to find out what Mike knows.

I throw my leg over the back of the bike, climbing off it as my brothers cut their engines and do the same. The quiet of the air without the rumble of the Harleys is unsettling. Everything about this feels unsettling, though I can’t put my finger on why. I take my helmet off and tug the bandana off my face.

Fury pulls a gun from the back of his jeans. His weapon of choice might be all sharp edges, but that doesn’t mean he won’t use a piece.

He checks it’s loaded before he slips it back where he pulled it from. Daimon does the same, his eyes trailing to mine. I see the thrill in his eyes, the excitement of getting some action. This is what we live for. This is why we’re perfect for this life. All of us get off on inflicting pain. Even me.

People think I’m not like the rest, with my easy smile and calm persona. I’m just better at hiding the deadly current that flows through my veins. The three of us stroll across the parking area and into the bar. The low hum of some generic rock song is playing as we scan the area around us. There are a few civilians scattered around the room, sitting at the round tables—mostly middle-aged men. The room itself is set up like an old log cabin, with wood panelled walls, brass light fittings and a huge hearth on one wall that currently isn’t lit. The smell of beer hangs in the air, mixing with the smell of something good cooking.

I’ve been here before, many times, to collect the cash Mike owes us for taking care of his business. He pays us to keep off our radar. If we weren’t on his payroll, we’d make his life a misery.

I lift my chin at Mike as he steps out of the back and watch his steps falter as he takes us in. I don’t blame his fear. The three of us make for a fearsome sight, standing there in our kuttes, eyes locked onto him.

“Mike, how’s it going?” Daimon says, pulling out his packet of cigarettes.

“There’s no smoking—”

Daimon peers at him through his shaggy dark hair and fires him a glacial glare. Mike’s mouth clamps shut.

“You have information for us,” I say, getting to the point quickly. I want this intel and I want it fast. We can’t have Blackwood’s men wandering around out there.

Mike swallows hard, his fingers running through his thinning hair. His thick paunch strains beneath his button-up shirt as he shifts.

“Come into the back.”

I don’t take my eyes off him as I say, “We’re good here.”

I don’t think Mike would lure us into a trap, but I prefer to keep my exits covered. Fury keeps watch, his eyes on the front door while Daimon watches the door to the staff area. Confident my brothers have my back, I slip onto a bar stool and interlace my fingers on the top of the counter.

“What do you know?”

I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Leon Gregory and Elijah Elliot stopped by the bar yesterday.”

Outwardly, I keep my expression neutral. Inwardly, I wonder what the fuck Isaac Blackwood’s two best men are doing in our town.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Leon has that gnarly scar on his face. He’s hard to miss.”

He’s known as Smiler because of it. As far as I know, he got it in a knife fight a decade or so before he ended up in the employ of Isaac Blackwood. The scar faded to a silvery jagged line from the left side of his mouth nearly to his eye.

“What else?”

His eyes dart back and forth between us and I can practically smell the fear coming off him in waves.

“I’m loyal to the Sons, but these guys aren’t pussycats. I tell you I’m putting myself into shit.”

My mouth curls into a snarl and I lean across the bar, slamming his head against the wood. Blood explodes from his nose as he lets out a wail.

I sit myself back down, straightening my kutte.

“They ain’t here. We are. Start fucking talking. Where did they go?”

He shakes his head, trying to stem the flow of blood with a bar towel. It careens down his face, the coppery tang of it catching the back of my throat.

“I don’t know.” His voice sounds mushy as he speaks. “I did hear them talking, though. They’re hunting someone.”

A thought tickles at the back of my mind. They showed up in town the same time Hank got himself dead.

I don’t believe in coincidence, and I don’t like to jump to conclusions either, but them showing up in town at the same time as Hank gets shot in the fucking melon has me thinking. Had it been a professional hit? Did Hank piss off the wrong people?

“Tell me everything you know,” I tell Mike. “And don’t leave anything out.”

9

Lucy

It’s two days before I see Nox again. I have no idea where he’s been, but the clubhouse has been a hive of activity and that worries me. I’ve asked multiple men what’s going on, but all I get in response is “club business”, which I’ve discovered means keep your fucking nose out.

I’ve been allowed out of my room and to the common room, but that’s as far as I can go. I tried to leave yesterday, intending to go to my place to grab some stuff, so I can hit the road, but Kyle, who wears a different vest to the other men, stopped me on the gate. He refused to let me out, so I guess I am a prisoner, despite Whizz saying I’m not.

The longer I’m here the more petrified I am of my secret coming out. It’s only a matter of time before the Sons discover Hank is clean and then all eyes will come to me. If they dig around too deeply, they’re going to realise my entire past is fabricated. The woman they know doesn’t exist. I have no idea what the Sons will do to me when that comes out, but I can’t be here when it does, nor do I want to see the look on Sasha’s face when she learns the truth.