Page 5 of The Favor

A favor, which ultimately cost Mick his life.

The somber greeting he received when he walked in only confirmed the truth. Mick was dead, and the entire club was feeling it. Nadia, one of the club girls, walked over to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She fell into his chest with a sharp sob. He curled his hand around the back of her neck.

She sniffled, and her muffled voice was strained. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Trax did his best to comfort her, but he wasn’t generally good with crying women. “Where’s Meg?”

Nadia glanced up, tears rimming her eyes. “Home. Me and a few of the girls are gonna head over now.”

Trax nodded. Meg was Mick’s old lady. They’d been together for years, and of all the old ladies, Meg was his favorite. She was a surrogate mom to him, though she was only about twenty years his senior. Both Meg and Mick had taken him on when he started prospecting. They gave him a safe place and became his family, just as the club had.

A sharp pain speared his chest. Meg. She was beyond devoted to her husband and the club he loved. This was going to wreck her. He closed his eyes and willed himself to pull his shit together. He’d let the guilt sink in later when he was alone. For now, the only thing he could do was be there for Meg and his club. He steadied his breathing and glanced down at Nadia.

“You tell her I’ll be there soon. Need to check in with Kase.” He squeezed her shoulder and then released her, making his way into the back. All the brothers were gathered as he entered the room. The usual jovial crew was destroyed by this loss. It would be a hard one for the club. Mick was one of the oldest and most loyal members. He lived and breathed Ghosttown Riders. He was what most brothers strived to be. What I strive to be.

Years ago, when Trax showed an interest in becoming a member, it was Mick who took him under his wing. A lot of men were drawn into clubs with promises of partying and women. Not Trax and not Mick. It was the brotherhood that Mick spoke of. The solidarity of the members, the unity, and the loyalty drew Trax in. The Ghosttown Riders wasn’t just an MC. It was a family of brothers who had each other’s backs and would stay true until their last breaths.

Until Mick’s last breath. He gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. He would mourn Mick properly with his brothers. Then, when he was alone, he’d allow himself to truly grieve.

Kase, the president of the Ghosttown Riders, stood in front of the members while Trax angled his way in the back to Rourke and Gage. Both men lifted their chins in acknowledgment and aimed their attention back to their president.

“Details are still coming in.” Kase dropped his gaze to the table. Losing a member was always hard, but Mick had been especially close with Kase. “Officially, all we got now—” he drew in a breath “—he was coming home from the pickup, and a car sideswiped him.”

Trax cleared his throat. “Unofficially?”

Kase’s scowled deepened. “I had a prospect go to the scene and take pictures, knowing the fucking cops wouldn’t be sharing all their information with us.” Kase grasped his neck. “Mick was slammed with enough force to throw him off his bike and send it over the side of the road.”

“Know the driver?”

“No. The driver took off.” Kase paused and scowled. Trax was sure he was sharing the same suspicions as his president and the rest of his brothers. Mick was hit with deliberate force, and the driver took off. Fuck. Kase clenched his jaw, scanning the brothers. “Another car coming up from behind witnessed it, called nine-one-one and stayed with him until the ambulance showed.”

“He able to give a description?” Rourke asked from next to him.

Kase gazed up. “She. It was a woman.” He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands at his waist. “Waiting on Carter to get more, but for now, it’s all we got.” He eyed the room. “Officially. Unofficially, don’t think I gotta say, something doesn’t sit right with how this went down. I want everyone riding in pairs from here on out.”

No one would argue with the logic. It was a safety measure. The club had run rough for years, dabbling in activities on the other side of the law. Mostly, drug transporting and loans with an extreme interest. The money had been great, but the risk weighed them down. Too many members, including Trax, had done time. A few years ago, they set their sights on going legit, but their past held a lot of grudges. It was a thought crossing the minds of every member in the room.

It could possibly be a fluke accident. Maybe the car who hit him didn’t realize. Possible, but not likely. They had enemies. Trax settled in against the wall, staring down at the floor. Retribution was common among clubs. The way it played out with Mick—driving alone, quiet road, coming back from a pickup? Fuck. They should have seen it coming. He closed his eyes, trying his best to control his anger. And his regret.

“Mick deserves a big send-off,” Kase said. “And we are gonna fucking give him one.” He glanced around the room. “We fucking clear?”

Trax merely nodded while some of his brothers spoke up with cheers. He wasn’t there yet. He couldn’t celebrate Mick while he was still mourning the loss. Trax remained in the room as others made their way out to the bar.

Most members had left, leaving just a few men.

His VP, Saint, moved through the room in silence, which was usually how he moved. As he passed Trax, he gripped his shoulder in a tight squeeze, and Trax gazed up.

“This isn’t on you.” Saint narrowed his eyes. “We’ll find out who set this up and carried it out,” he paused, “but this isn’t on you. You feel me?”

Trax jerked his chin. The assurance did nothing to relieve any guilt he was feeling. This was on him. He was scheduled for the pickup. He should have been on that highway, not Mick. Saint lingered a second longer before slapping his shoulder and then making his way to the door.

“I’ll make the calls.” He left the room without explanation. There wasn’t a need for it. They all knew what he meant and who’d he’d call. The chapters would want to know, show their solidarity and support, and everyone would want to pay their respects to Mick. He’d garnered a reputation as being a good guy among all the members.

Trax started toward the door when Rourke came to his side. They left the room and made their way through the hall in silence. As they entered the bar area, the room was flooded with people, yet it was eerily quiet.

“Driving out to Meg’s?” Rourke asked, keeping in step with Trax as he headed to the door.

“Yeah.” Trax pushed the door open and then descended the stairs.

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