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I shrugged. “Don’t know. I left.”
“Well, if I know them, they are hunting down the fuckers, but you put a bullseye on your back when you left the club. Satan’s Angels know you’ve left the compound. They won’t stop hunting you, brother,” Colt stated truthfully as he reached into his cut before sliding me a piece of paper. “Made some calls. These are the clubs that will offer you parlay. They know to expect you, should you show up. Look, Sandman, I don’t know the details, don’t care. What I know is that you are a good man. An honest man and if you need us, the Horsemen will ride.”
The sun had barely risen over the mountains when I pulled out of the Horsemen MC compound. Colt insisted I take his SUV and leave my truck behind as Satan’s Angels would be on the lookout for it. Over the next few days, Sunny and I zig-zagged across the United States, visiting the clubs Colt told me about. Every one of them opened their doors, offering a safe harbor for me and my family.
We were currently in Baton Rouge, Louisiana with the Bourbon Kings MC, when the front doors of the club opened, and in walked King, the president of the Sons of Hell MC along with Kansas, the president of the Diamondback MC.
Several of their club brothers were with them.
“Gator!” King yelled, then stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing me before pointing at Frank and several others, who hurried over.
“Where are Sunny and the kids?” Frank asked without pretense as my body went on alert.
“Upstairs, resting.”
“Scribe, Priest, go!” King ordered as Frank took a stance in front of me protectively, weapon in hand.
“Whisper and Blackjack, go with,” Kansas added as he walked over with Shadow, a former brother in the Golden Skulls MC.
“Jesus, fuck, Sandman,” Kansas cursed lowly, shaking his head. “Half the fucking country is looking for you. Never a damn dull moment with you fucking Golden Skulls.”
“Laissez les bons temps rouler, fuckers!” Gator, the president of the Bourbon Kings, grinned happily, arms wide as he welcomed the newcomers without a care in the world.
Gator and the Bourbon Kings MC weren’t what the other MCs would call...all there. They were a few beers shy of a six-pack. Crazy bastards were an eclectic mix of rowdy country boys, true southern French-Cajuns, mixed in with a few swamp boys who should have never left the swamp. Nothing rattled the Bourbon Kings. They were all about letting the good times roll. And while I thought half of them were crazier than me, they welcomed me and my family with open arms. No questions asked.
“What brings you to my little place of bayou?”
“Fuck, Gator,” King growled. “This is serious. You have the Bourbon Club open for anyone to waltz right in.”
“Why, hell yes, brother,” Gator laughed, shaking King’s hand. “A few more brothers and we can have a right proper party tonight!”
“Not gonna be a party when Satan’s Angels show up. They know you have Sandman,” Kansas stated angrily.
“Pish-posh,” Gator huffed, waving the air. “Those fuckers ain’t gonna be a problem. Hey, King, did you bring any more of that Hell’s Breath whiskey you make? Ran out last week.”
Kansas looked at King, shaking his head. “Is this fucker for real?”
What I liked most about Gator and the Bourbon Kings MC was that they were fantastic at keeping people distracted. Fuckers were proficient at acting like they didn’t give a shit about anything. Which allowed me to drop back and sneak away. Knowing my woman and the kids were in the kitchen, I headed there to find Juju and Pascale, the VP and Sergeant-at-Arms for the Bourbon Kings, ushering them out the back door. Quickly following, I took Soleil from Juju as Pascale handed me a set of keys.
“Take the hearse,” the VP said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I grabbed what I could. Go.”
Nodding, I rushed towards the black hearse when the back door slammed open, and Shadow rushed out. Running towards me, he handed me a small piece of paper. “Head to Oklahoma. Diamondbacks are waiting for you. The second you hit the Oklahoma border, there will be an escort waiting for you. Don’t stop. Just drive.”
Nodding, I started the hearse and drove.
The second I put distance between us and the Bourbon Kings MC, I handed the paper Shadow gave me to Sunny.
“Read it, baby.”
“It says, don’t go to Oklahoma. Satan’s Angels have Diamondback territory surrounded. Stay south. Wraith is waiting for you,” Sunny said, then asked. “Wraith? Who is that?”
I growled.
“The fucking president of Wraith Warriors MC.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sunny
