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Devil sat forward, resting his elbows on the wooden table between us. A skull and crown, the Royal Bastards insignia, had been etched into the surface. Behind him, a metal grim reaper hung on the wall, holding a scythe. The skeletal figure was almost life-sized and gleamed like fresh polish had been lovingly applied all over. Every edge seemed sharp, including the long curve of the sickle in its hand.
The rest of the walls contained framed cuts from fallen RBMC members, forever immortalized behind glass. The only other item in the room was a framed, tattered flag with blood splatters. I sensed it meant something to the men in this club. Freedom always came at a price, and the Royal Bastards knew that better than most, with the exception of those who served in the military.
Devil cleared his throat. “Maddog is forming a new chapter for the RBMC. He’s got a unique plan for reforming Las Vegas.”
Reform? In the City of Sin? That seemed doubtful.
Maddog chuckled. “That’s not exactly how I’d put it.” The big guy focused on me as his gaze intensified. “Lucifer named you as one of my officers.”
Lucifer? Confused, I frowned. “Who the hell is that?”
Grim leaned back with a funny smile tugging on his lips. “Oh, he wouldn’t like that his reputation hadn’t spread far enough.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Maddog agreed.
Devil shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve met him and hope I don’t.”
That comment amused Grim and Maddog.
Annoyed because I had several more important things on my mind, including Bianca and vengeance, I scowled. “Explain.”
“Las Vegas is a cesspool of crime. Trafficked people and organs. Black market trade. Drugs. Sex. Illegal guns. Everything has a price, and almost everything has a buyer.”
Yeah, I knew that already.
“My ol’ lady’s sister got caught up in some bad shit. She was sold, but we found her.” Maddog rubbed the back of his neck. “Not fast enough, though.”
I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. “She okay?”
“I think she will be with time. Feral Rebels MC took her in. They’re keeping her safe for now.”
Feral Rebels? Never heard of them.
“FRMC ain’t local,” Grim explained. “But I’ve met their pres. So has Devil.”
Devil nodded. “Same rally where we all met.”
“The one twenty years ago?” I asked, staring at the men across from me. They weren’t old, but each of them had to be pushing at least forty.
“The shit that went down that year formed a bond between the brothers that were there. We’ve kept in contact over the years.”
Okay. Great. What the fuck did that have to do with me?
And what did he mean by the shit that went down?
“I can see the questions swimming in your eyes,” Devil joked. “Bad shit we prefer to keep in the past where it belongs.”
“A feud over territory that sparked a rivalry with the Bloody Scorpions back when Keys was pres, and I was a new patch,” Grim revealed. “It sparked a shitstorm we’re still dealing with all these years later. I haven’t forgotten what Razr owes me.”
“Razr will get what’s coming to him,” Devil promised. “You know my club has your back.”
Grim nodded, tightening his fist before slamming it down on the table’s surface. “We need to focus. This isn’t the time.”
“Then let’s get back to it,” Maddog smirked. “I need men by my side who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. We ain’t saints and never gonna be. From what Devil and the Tonopah Bastards have told me, you have a gift for dealing death.”
I couldn’t resist a dark chuckle. “You could say that.”
Maybe it was the persona of the phantom that had unleashed my macabre talents, or perhaps the fury and need for vengeance that never faded. Either way, I loved to spill blood and hungered for the moment when my enemies would bleed at my feet. I’d fucking bathe in it and soak in my triumph.
