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“Everyone, start making calls.”
Brothers walked away, reaching for their phones.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” Phantom said, standing next to me as we faced the rubble of our former clubhouse. I still couldn’t believe the clubhouse was gone. Even after everything that happened, it was still a shock not to see the original clubhouse standing proud.
“With Sunny being hurt, they probably had to make a few extra stops so she could rest. Give them another day before you worry.”
Shaking my head, I whispered, “Something’s happened. I feel it, darlin’, and it’s bad. Like really fucking bad.”
“Solomon won’t do anything stupid if Sunny and the kids are with him. He’ll play it safe and head straight here,” Hawk said, but even I could hear the concern in his voice. The man may think he knew his son, but he was my brother and I’ve seen firsthand what Sandman is capable of when pushed beyond the brink.
The man was a beast when pushed.
The shit I’ve seen that man do with his bare hands made him the most dangerous man in the club.
If I thought Reaper was bad, Sandman was worse.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, would stop the Sandman.
My cellphone rang.
Looking at the caller id, I answered. “What do you want?”
“Reaper’s gone,” Maxim Fedorov, the head of the Russian Bratva, and my uncle, said flatly.
Looking at Hawk and Phantom, I quickly whistled, getting everyone’s attention as I put the call on speaker.
“What do you mean, he’s gone? You and Montana were supposed to be taking care of him, getting him help and all that shit. You know, because it’s your fault he’s gone fucking postal!”
“He saw the news and fucking left.”
“What news?”
“The news coming out of Vegas. Montana has mobilized the Vegas Chapter, but Jesus fuck, Dylan, we know it was Sandman.”
“What are you talking about, Maxim?” Phantom asked, scanning her phone for the latest news out of Las Vegas. Before my uncle could answer, she gasped. “Oh, God. It’s made national news. Listen to this. Just south of Vegas, a campsite was discovered early this morning, with the remains of five individuals who are confirmed to be affiliated with the Satan’s Angels Motorcycle Club. The bodies torn apart, and their limbs hung in the surrounding trees, while their heads burned in a firepit. The authorities believe they are looking for a sadistic serial killer. They’ve brought in an FBI Task force.”
“And that’s not all,” Maxim sneered. “Montana got word that the Diamondbacks are in lockdown. Satan’s Angels have camped just outside Lawton. They have all the exits blocked. Kansas put out the call for help.”
“Remi’s there,” I shouted. “Get her the fuck out of there!”
“We can’t,” Maxim growled. “We can get in, but we can’t get her out. They are watching the compound. Kansas has the entire club, including Remi and the kids at the clubhouse. The local LPD is helping, but there is only so much they can do. Right now, it’s a stalemate until someone fires first because Satan’s Angels haven’t crossed the line yet. The Nevada FBI has issued a statewide manhunt. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out who the killer is.”
Hawk shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Soloman would never leave evidence behind.”
“All it takes is one drop of fucking blood and then it’s game over,” Maxim snarled. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck set him off, but you need to find him and put a goddamned leash on him before he ties all our hands. And as for Reaper, my guess is wherever Sandman is going, Reaper won’t be far behind.”
“The Golden Skulls will take care of our own from now on. We’re done,” I growled, hanging up the phone. “Where was Sandman supposed to be at last?”
“With the Wraith Warriors in New Mexico.” Savage quickly said.
“Call Wraith and find out what the fuck happened.”
“Already did. Satan’s Angels attacked last night. Wraith got everyone out. Red and half the club took the kids to Colorado to meet up with the Olympian Group. Sandman and Sunny hightailed it for Vegas, with Wraith and the rest of the club to meet up with the Nyght Nymphs MC,” Savage said, informing the group, then stilled.
“What?”
“Sunny lost the baby.”
