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Moving on, I find myself at the pool table, where a few of the guys are engaged in a heated game. When they see me, they pause, cues in hand. “Hey, Slash,” says Shark, our club’s enforcer. “Wanna break?”
I shake my head, declining the offer with a small smile. “Just watching.”
These men, this club—they’re a part of me. Despite the rank and respect that comes with my position, I’m not above any of them. We’re all bound by the same code of loyalty, courage, and dedication to the club. It’s a bond that’s stronger than blood. And after losing my brother, it’s this bond that keeps me grounded.
I weave my way through the crowd, and the sound of Brick’s voice carries over the raucous laughter and pounding rock music. The president of the Cascade Reapers is holding court at the end of the bar, his large frame commanding attention. I approach him, catching the tail end of a story about a run-in with some local law enforcement.
“Slash,” Brick greets me, slapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. His eyes, wise beyond his years, study me. “You’re brooding more than usual.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I admit, leaning against the bar. Brick signals the bartender for another round of beers, his gaze never leaving me.
“We’ve all noticed,” he says, a soft seriousness permeating his words. “We’re your brothers. You don’t have to carry that shit alone.”
I nod, appreciating his words, but there’s a specific burden thatismine alone to carry. My eyes flicker to the worn photograph tucked in the corner of the bar mirror. A picture of my younger brother, Tommy, his smile frozen in time.
Brick follows my gaze and the jovial atmosphere evaporates, replaced by a somber silence.
“Got some intel about Packwood,” Brick begins, a careful edge to his voice. “Seems the Iron Serpents are causing trouble down there.”
A surge of anger boils up within me, a familiar fire that’s never quite extinguished. The Iron Serpents. The very name triggers a visceral reaction. I reach into my pocket for the damned shell casing I’ve been carrying around since that night.
Brick knows the significance of that town to me. Knows why I’ve been itching to ride down there since Tommy’s murder.
“I need to go there, Brick,” I say, my voice steel. “I need to see for myself what those bastards are up to.”
The memory of Tommy’s lifeless body, the cold dread that gripped me that night, and the promise I whispered to him, fuels my resolve. I will get justice for my brother, even if it’s the last thing I do.
Brick studies me for a long moment, weighing my words, my determination. Finally, he nods, acknowledging the fire in my eyes, the unspoken oath between us. He doesn’t answer immediately, and I let him take the time to think it over.
Finally, he gives a terse nod. “You sure about this?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes. It has to be me.” I’ve been waiting for an excuse to deal with the Serpents, and Brick knows it. The shell casing was all the evidence I needed, but it wasn’t enough for him, despite all my arguing. Brick runs the club by a code that doesn’t allow us to go scorched earth on other clubs without a damn good reason, and there was achancethe bullet came from someone else’s gun. I didn’t believe that, and I still don’t, but I had to wait. Now, if the Serpents are making themselves a nuisance, there’s a reason for me to get in their faces, and I’m going to take it.
Brick grunts in response, leaning back in his chair. He rubs his beard thoughtfully before meeting my gaze. “All right. But you know we have to put this to a vote. The club decides.”
I understand the rules. I’ve been a part of the Reapers long enough to know that no decision is made without a vote. But this is personal, and the idea of putting my revenge up for debate rankles me. Still, I nod in agreement.
Brick wastes no time. He stands, his chair scraping the concrete floor, and announces loudly, “Church!”
The noise in the room dies down, and the Reapers gather around. All the voting members are here today, so Brick explains the situation, the ongoing trouble in Packwood, and my request to handle it personally. He leaves out the part about my brother, about my personal vendetta. He doesn’t have to say it.
When he calls for a vote, the room falls silent. The Reapers look to me, their eyes assessing, understanding. I meet each gaze, my determination clear.
“All in favor?” Brick calls out.
One by one, hands raise into the air. The air in the room grows heavy with anticipation, but when the last hand is raised, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. The decision is unanimous.
Brick nods, looking at me with something akin to pride in his eyes. “Slash, you’re heading to Packwood. You handle your business.”
I feel a sense of gravity settling in. This isn’t just a mission; it’s a personal crusade. And I won’t rest until I’ve avenged my brother.
As the others go back to their business, Brick comes up to me. “Hold up,” he says, his deep voice commanding attention.
“We’re behind you on this. We’ve got your back, always. But you’ve got to promise one thing,” he says, his voice carrying a note of stern warning.
I meet Brick’s gaze, my eyes hardening with resolve.
“I’m listening,” I say.
