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We leave the asphalt for dirt road flanked by tumbleweeds and cacti. If you’re looking for this place in the dark, you can’t miss it—it’s the only thing out here.
A storm cloud of dirt trails us as the five of us ride in formation…bringing the thunder of our engines with us.
As planned, they hear us, because seconds later a spotlight illuminates us high up from a lookout post.
It wouldn’t be hard to surprise these drunken assholes in the dead of night, but that’s the fastest way to get yourself shot.
Anybody they don’t recognize on their turf gets a free bullet.
That’s why we’re coming in loud and visible.
A Horde slides open the chain-link fence on its rail for us—there’s barbed wire topping it.
There used to be a metal drawbridge here with a moat so you’d have to ride in single file. I told Nico it was a dumb idea because people might not be able to get in fast…but if something happened, he wouldn’t be able to leave fast either.
A couple of well-placed RPGs could’ve done in the whole lot of them.
Maybe I should have done that instead of warning him.
We ride onto the rough, gray concrete in a phalanx. The space is about the size of a football field and there are guys with kuttes all over carrying Uzis and AKs.
There are barrels with fires in them, tin roofed dwellings and enough junk metal to fill a scrap yard.
This place truly looks like hell’s waiting room.
The Devil’s Horde has eight chapters across North America. This is just one of the them and there’re twenty-nine patch members here.
For them, being a patch is an excuse to misbehave because they have a gang to back them up. These guys spend most of their time drinking, fighting and fucking.
Everyone watches us ride in and we rev our engines a little extra to announce our arrival.
We come to a stop a few yards from where a bunch of them are sitting around a fire pit, drinking to excess as usual.
I drop my kickstand and wait. The Reapers know to follow my lead, so they do the same. Twenty-nine against five isn’t much of a competition, but we’ll do better if we can watch each other’s backs.
The Horde keep drinking and talking. They don’t know why we’re here, but we’re ‘friends,’ so they’ll mind their own business until instructed otherwise.
I’m guessing that obviously…Malcolm hasn’t come back.
And that information is confirmed when Nico comes out through a rickety wooden door and calls out to me, “He’s not here!”
Nico is 5’7” and stocky. He’s got a shaved head tattooed with green flames, piercings on most of his face and a beard that reaches his belly.
I turn to my guys, “Hold the fort, I’m going to have a talk with Nico. Alone.”
They nod to me and do what I brought them to do—Look threatening as fuck and command respect.
The Horde can’t match the Reapers. Anyoneof my guys is worthfiveof theirs.
The only reason we’ve kept all this a secret is because I didn’t want the Reapers cutting a swath through these fuck heads out of anger.
If I’d told them the truth two years ago, they’d have burned this place to the ground…with or without my permission.
And if that’d happened, we’d have had the other seven chapters on our asses. It would have been an unwinnable battle.
The relationship I have with Nico is a necessary one.
It was my decision. And I decided we couldn’t afford the animosity.
