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I swallowed around the barbs, sure of the kind of torture this was going to be. But if I was being honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

No matter the cost.

“Of course, Prez. You know you can count on me,” I managed.

“Good.” He rapped a fist on the table like we were signing a deal.

One signed in blood since we all knew it was my life riding on this.

Silas and Phoenix pushed back from their heavy chairs, and I followed suit, though my stride was sluggish as I followed them out the massive double doors. It led out to a rambling hall that stretched between Church and the club’s bar at the farthest end.

In between were a slew of rooms where Crows could crash if they’d given themselves over to a little too much revelry, and a few lived here that didn’t have another place.

Our motorcycle club, the Crimson Crows, had been established after Silas, Phoenix, and I had left a brutal MC out in LA.

When we discovered we couldn’t walk down that treacherous path any longer. Not that what we did was any more forgivable, but now we had a way to pay for our sins.

Our boots thudded on the floors and echoed down the long hall.

Silas was at the head as usual since he was our president.

The cut he wore proclaimed it.

The patch on his back showing off our logo.

Three crows sitting on a headstone with blood dripping from their talons.

Another danced on the grave below.

Crimson Crows arched over the top of the scene and President was stitched on the bottom.

I might have been the vice president, but mine was marked with my nickname.

Heathen.

A name that had been given to me years back and had stuck.

Silas pushed through the swinging door at the end into the club’s bar.

Since it was the middle of the day, there were very few Crows loitering about.

It resembled your typical dive bar. A long bar running the space to my right, a stage on the backside, a few pool tables and round high-tops taking up the middle, and dingy couches lining the walls.

Silas kept blazing right on through.

A man on a mission.

While I wanted to hang back and climb into a hole.

No time for that since he went shoving out the double swinging doors and into the light of day.

The lush, soaring trees that surrounded the area were set in a soft sway, and the normal bonfire that raged at night below them had been doused.

There were only three motorcycles sitting in the semicircle usually created by a couple dozen or more of them.

This time of day tended to be calm.

But I could feel the storm off to my left.