Page 41 of Healed

“Brilliant,” Dante muttered. “Bringing her own booze into my bar. That’s not insulting at all.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be very familiar with the booze she’s bringing.”

Dante looked at her suspiciously. “Rachel.”

“Yes, Dante?” she replied innocently, her eyes wide, blinking slowly.

“What is Imogen bringing?”

“Well… remember that tradition Warrior had of giving out whiskey for wedding favours?”

“Yeeees?”

“And remember how Trent was saying he was going through Zach’s belongings the other week?”

“Dear God.”

“They found Zach’s stash?” Vienna asked, looking elated.

“Imogen found the stash. Which means it’s ours.”

“No. Hell fucking no,” Vienna said, shaking his head. “We’ve been looking for that since we were kids. Me, Dante, Chris, and Trent. I don’t hear Rachel in that list.”

“Sucks to suck,” she shrugged. “You didn’t look hard enough.”

“We tore the fucking clubhouse apart! Dante, tell her!”

“You got the last lot!” Rachel said. “I’ve heard all the stories about how you and Dante stole Crash’s wedding whiskey, ending with Chris needing his stomach pumped and you throwing up in Kitty’s wardrobe.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers. That was a lifetime ago. You can’t take a decade-long treasure hunt from us.”

“I can, I will, and I have. Tough titties.”

She got up from her seat, holding her hand out to her children, and then left the room, followed by Vienna running after her, muttering his protests.

And from there, the day just got more and more hectic.

Within minutes more and more people crowded into the kitchen. There were too many faces, too many introductions, and too many names for me to remember. And each of them made themselves at home, wandering about the clubhouse without a care in the world.

Nobody spoke much to me, but I didn’t speak to them, either. I simply observed and wondered if I would ever feel the same ease they all seemed to have.

Chapter 12

Gabriella

As the day slipped by, I remained under the radar, quietly observing and noting the changes I was seeing.

Throughout the day, members from other charters appeared—there was the Scottish charter, who gave Rachel a wide berth—the Manchester charter, London, Newcastle, and Lancashire.

According to what I overheard, there was another charter from Wales, but they were not coming, and a charter in Northern Ireland that was also not coming. The Wales charter was having its own issues—nothing major that needed mobilisation, but it did need the attention of all its members. And the Northern Ireland charter was only called in for extreme circumstances, and with the rest of the groups, they were not needed right now.

The day slipped into evening as we waited for everyone to arrive, with Monster and Pivot already arranging a massive BBQ for everyone. The compound had been shut to members of the public—citing staffing issues, though I knew this was due to security breach concerns—and the old ladies who would usually be working in the various shops were pulling overtime in the clubhouse bar to make sure everyone was attended to.

“You’re not fucking coming in, Eagle,” Rachel hissed. I watched from one of the booths at the back of the bar, seeing her barricade the door with her arms on the frame.

“Come on now, lass. That was a long time ago.”

“Not fucking long enough as far as I’m concerned. I’ve told you, the lot of you are barred.”