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“Whatever you say, brother.” Tank adds. “Anyway, we’re riding out if you wanna come?”

I could sit here checking my phone constantly for updates from Switch, or I could actually put myself to good use.

“Yeah, I’ll come along.” I twist side to side, trying to loosen up my back a little. Turns out equestrian or dressage or whatever the hell we were up to, is harder on the body than I expected.

I follow my brothers out the door, the warm air hitting my senses. The sun is shining, I can already smell Judge’s exhaust, and it’s just the thing I need to get out of my head.

“We waiting on anyone else?” Judge calls.

“Just Rider,” Savage replies.

Aside from Rhodie who is at home with Chewy and his babies, Switch who is busy on my assignment and Marx and Gus who are meeting with Roman, it seems the rest of the club are mounted and ready to go. A smile tugs at my lips. Quarter Mile MC aint gonna know what hit it.

“No need to strip colors when we hit Roxburgh,” Judge calls over his shoulder. “Quarter Mile ain’t claimed it as territory yet.”

Well, now. Ain’t that damn weird. I share a look with Savage, but it’s Jules’ muttered “weird” that sums it up. He has a Chewy look on his face, so I know he’s scheming. Whether it’s a good scheme or a bad scheme, we’ll soon find out.

“Yo Fox, we got anything else on these guys?”

Nitro shakes his head, answering instead. “Nothing. Since you and Rider had eyes on they've laid low. Too low.”

Judge gives the signal and we all fire up our bikes, the roar of the engines temporarily stealing my attention. This, this right here is heaven on earth. The sun on your face, wind in your hair, riding alongside your brothers. Eating up the miles going everywhere and nowhere at once. The only thing that could make this better would be a beautiful woman on the back of my sled, her arms wrapped around my waist. The intimate way your passenger speaks over your shoulder, their breath tickling the fine hair at the base of your neck. Just those small intimate moments you take for granted when you have someone by your side and at your back.

Judge circles his finger in the air, leading the way down the long gravel drive, all of us falling in behind. Pops pulls up next to me, giving me a wink and I can’t help frown back. The old coot looks far too excited to be riding. It’s only then I notice Niko shadowing us in one of the club SUVs. I give Rider a look, tipping my head toward Pops but Rider just throws me a grin and a thumbs up. Shit. He pulls further forward and I choose to ignore him. It’s an hour long ride and I’d rather be soaking that up than worrying about what Pops has up his sleeve.

***

Judge slows, the rest of us dropping down our gears as we enter the outskirts of Roxburgh. It’s a little larger than Rose Grove, but there’s a grit here that Rose Grove doesn’t have. It seems even grimier now that the Quarter Mile MC have unofficially set up here. The parks where the kids play seem abandoned, the whores on the street corners look even scrawnier than usual, and the number of boarded up storefronts as we get closer to the old Death Riders’ compound seems to be rising.

Judge pulls us to stop across from the compound, and curiously no one comes out to see what the fucking noise is. With this many sleds you’d think we’d wake the dead, but not Quarter Mile. I kill my engine, plant my feet and just watch. It’s quiet without our machines rumbling. Too quiet. There are none of the usual sounds you get from an MC. No engine noises, no music blasting, no partying. Nothing. There don’t seem to be cameras other than the ones on the warehouse that Rider and I spotted last time we were here. Not even a prospect on the front gates.

“Where the hell are they?” Tav mutters.

“I know where they ain’t,” Savage says, eyes on his old clubhouse. “That’s the clubhouse. Bar, bunk rooms, Church. They’re not using it.”

“How can you tell?” Rider asks.

“Because that window there? It’s been boarded like that since the last of the Death Riders left. If the lights were on inside you’d see it through the crack in that board.”

I turn to look where Savage pointed, not seeing much but hell, the kid knows more about this place than I do.

“See that door there?” Savage points out, “That’s only used for lockdowns. It's a pain in the ass to close like that which means they ain't coming and going.” He runs a hand down his stubble. “You said you saw Quarter Mile here?”

Rider and I share a look, “Yeah, but there were only around five bikes parked. Two more escorted a truck in.”

Savage tilts his head, thinking. “Was there much movement? Music or anything?”

Shit. Now that he’s asked, I don’t remember any of the usual shit you’d get at an MC club.

“Nada,” Rider replies.

Savage narrows his gaze at the warehouse on the property. “The clubhouse is unused so I’d guess that-” he points, “is where the action is.”

“What did Death Riders use it for?”

“Nothing. It was fucking useless. Leaked like a sieve, was fucking freezing in the winter and like a sauna in the summer.”

“So whatever the hell this lot are using it for, it’s not temperature sensitive,” Judge says.