years in a prison cell for manslaughter, but I don’t regret a second of it. Didn’t regret it then, don’t regret it now. I’d do it a thousand times over again to anyone who threatened her. And this time, the killing wouldn’t be an accident, because if I ever lost her, I’d lose everything. Spending my life in prison would be nothing as long as I know she’s safe.
She’ll be safer if I’m with her, though. So we’re not charging in and killing Reichmann and his crew. Not yet.
We won’t wait long. The Eighty-Eight already killed one of my brothers, Goose, then planted enough heroin on him that the feds would have been taking a long, hard look at the Riders if we hadn’t found the stash first. I expect more sneaky shit will be coming at us.
But there’s another reason it’ll all be going down soon—and he’s riding his custom chopper up the drive toward the lodge. Red Erickson, the Steel Titans’ prez. This is his place. Jenny’s his daughter. And in a few months, the cancer eating away at his lungs will kill him. It’s why he came to me about folding the clubs together. There are two things he wants before he’s in the ground: to know that Jenny’s protected and to see Reichmann dead.
I’ll give him both.
The sickness isn’t showing yet. Red’s always been a big bastard, and he’s still solid muscle. He got his road name years ago because of his hair but the red’s not so bright anymore; his beard is mostly gray. Since Jenny’s small-boned and dark-haired, I figure she must take after her mother, who was killed in an accident when Jenny was a teenager.
Red cuts his engine, his gaze sweeping the near-empty lot. “Did everyone head out on a ride I don’t know about?”
Because so few bikes are here, even though it’s a Sunday afternoon in summer. “It’s moving day,” I say. “So almost every brother suddenly has a family reunion or a church service to attend.”
His grin is like his daughter’s—quick and wide. “And I’m suddenly not sorry that Jenny had me checking in on the brewery today. You hear from her yet?”
“About an hour ago.” When I was in town loading up the truck. She might have texted me—and Red—since then, but reception out here is shit. “She was just packing up. Says she’ll be heading out of Portland by six.”
Where she’s been tending a booth at a brewer’s festival for the better part of the week. A damn long week. Every night on the phone, I could hear how tired she was. And now she’s got a four-hour drive ahead of her. Chances are, she’ll head straight home and I won’t see her until she’s off work tomorrow.
Red nods. “I’m meeting Thorne up at the house. Why don’t you come on by and have a cold one.”
The back of my neck tightens. It seems like a simple invitation.
It’s not.
• • •
Before today, I haven’t stepped a foot in Jenny’s house. She’s invited me to but probably knew I wouldn’t come in. Because it’s not just her place; it belongs to Red, too. And although he handed over the lodge to me and the Hellfire Riders, this is still his territory. So I wasn’t about to disrespect him by going in.
Now it would have been disrespecting him not to. So I’m standing on his deck with one of Jenny’s ales in my hand, watching him lay half a dozen bratwurst on the grill. It’s a big deck, attached to a big house. He inherited it with the ranch but he and Thorne have done well for themselves over the years, partnering in a construction firm specializing in irrigation systems and reservoir tanks, and he’s poured some of that cash back into the house. Every room looks like it came out of a magazine, but they’re not fancy or sterile. Just large and open, the kind of place where you imagine strawberry pie in the summer and crackling fires in the winter.
And the entire spread—from the lodge to this house—will be Jenny’s when he’s gone. Maybe it already is. She’s told me that their lawyer keeps bringing
She’ll be safer if I’m with her, though. So we’re not charging in and killing Reichmann and his crew. Not yet.
We won’t wait long. The Eighty-Eight already killed one of my brothers, Goose, then planted enough heroin on him that the feds would have been taking a long, hard look at the Riders if we hadn’t found the stash first. I expect more sneaky shit will be coming at us.
But there’s another reason it’ll all be going down soon—and he’s riding his custom chopper up the drive toward the lodge. Red Erickson, the Steel Titans’ prez. This is his place. Jenny’s his daughter. And in a few months, the cancer eating away at his lungs will kill him. It’s why he came to me about folding the clubs together. There are two things he wants before he’s in the ground: to know that Jenny’s protected and to see Reichmann dead.
I’ll give him both.
The sickness isn’t showing yet. Red’s always been a big bastard, and he’s still solid muscle. He got his road name years ago because of his hair but the red’s not so bright anymore; his beard is mostly gray. Since Jenny’s small-boned and dark-haired, I figure she must take after her mother, who was killed in an accident when Jenny was a teenager.
Red cuts his engine, his gaze sweeping the near-empty lot. “Did everyone head out on a ride I don’t know about?”
Because so few bikes are here, even though it’s a Sunday afternoon in summer. “It’s moving day,” I say. “So almost every brother suddenly has a family reunion or a church service to attend.”
His grin is like his daughter’s—quick and wide. “And I’m suddenly not sorry that Jenny had me checking in on the brewery today. You hear from her yet?”
“About an hour ago.” When I was in town loading up the truck. She might have texted me—and Red—since then, but reception out here is shit. “She was just packing up. Says she’ll be heading out of Portland by six.”
Where she’s been tending a booth at a brewer’s festival for the better part of the week. A damn long week. Every night on the phone, I could hear how tired she was. And now she’s got a four-hour drive ahead of her. Chances are, she’ll head straight home and I won’t see her until she’s off work tomorrow.
Red nods. “I’m meeting Thorne up at the house. Why don’t you come on by and have a cold one.”
The back of my neck tightens. It seems like a simple invitation.
It’s not.
• • •
Before today, I haven’t stepped a foot in Jenny’s house. She’s invited me to but probably knew I wouldn’t come in. Because it’s not just her place; it belongs to Red, too. And although he handed over the lodge to me and the Hellfire Riders, this is still his territory. So I wasn’t about to disrespect him by going in.
Now it would have been disrespecting him not to. So I’m standing on his deck with one of Jenny’s ales in my hand, watching him lay half a dozen bratwurst on the grill. It’s a big deck, attached to a big house. He inherited it with the ranch but he and Thorne have done well for themselves over the years, partnering in a construction firm specializing in irrigation systems and reservoir tanks, and he’s poured some of that cash back into the house. Every room looks like it came out of a magazine, but they’re not fancy or sterile. Just large and open, the kind of place where you imagine strawberry pie in the summer and crackling fires in the winter.
And the entire spread—from the lodge to this house—will be Jenny’s when he’s gone. Maybe it already is. She’s told me that their lawyer keeps bringing
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