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Instead, I returned to Sydney being taken by Velma and the Road Reapers.
The twist is still so damn out of left field I can’t process it. I don’t know what to think. It feels like some bad, fucked up dream.
The Road Reapers have been irrelevant for years now. Ever since their prez, Rollins, got locked up for twenty-five to life, and the money they were raking in for the MC grinded to a halt. The small town couldn’t escape the domino effect and suffered too.
It’s been on a steady decline since.
But how the fuck could Velma betray us?
Tom still doesn’t got a clue what she’s done. He won’t take the news well. He’ll be livid the woman he’s been involved with has been running game on him this entire time.
For years she’s earned our trust only to do us dirty.
She might even be behind what happened to Tom and his stint in prison.
The Reapers have got some kinda long con scheme going—they’re trying to destroy rival MCs to takeover what we’ve got.
With Portales only half an hour from Wheaton, we speed and cut the travel time in half.
We close in on a mile within the Portales construction site. My grip tightens on the handlebars of my bike and my glare darkens. I’m falling deep into a pit of violence. Not just the kinda violence that’s got you throwing punches. I’m talking the kinda violence that would make most people recoil in disgust.
I want to dismember every Reaper we come across.
I want to crack their skulls open and put them up as trophies at the Steel Saloon.
I want to make every last one of them suffer ’til their last dying breath.
Including Velma.EspeciallyVelma.
We pull up to the abandoned construction site in a thick cloud of dust.
It’s midday in the Texas heat, which means everything is sizzling. The heavy equipment looks hot to the touch and the dust lingers in the humid air.
We draw our weapons and approach on guard. We’ve got no clue what the fuck we’re walking into. The kinda trap we’re about to encounter. It’s clear the Road Reapers abide by no sense of code, and they’ve got no intention of fighting fair.
This is war. Plain and simple.
“You stay out here,” I say to the back half of the crew.
I capture Cash’s eye and he nods. He understands he’s leading ’em. Me, Ozzie, Bush, and a couple others keep going.
We head into the construction site looking in every direction. This terrain is the kind where it’s easy to conceal yourself; it’s the kind that allows somebody to get the jump on you.
Different equipment and machinery cover the huge site from dump trucks to cranes. There’s stacks of lumber and wheelbarrows used to transport cement. Steel-framed beams rise up several stories into the sky, forming the foundation for walls. There’s a massive tarp covering another building toward the center of the site.
We stop midway down and look around us. I’m a second away from calling Velma.
Somebody beats me to the punch. A male I’ve never spoken to before calls straight from Sydney’s number.
“Cutty, why don’t you come see us—just you. No back up.”
I glance over my left and right shoulder at the others, then nod to signify I’m doing it. I take no more than two steps forward before they interrupt again.
“Unarmed,” the voice announces. “In the tent.”
I remain composed, my face a cold mask, though that doesn’t keep the rage from pulsing through me. I turn to the crew and strip myself of my weapons. Ozzie takes them with his own temper barely contained.
First chance we get, we’re taking these fuckers out.
