Page 52

Mason/Lock

“What’d you say this place was called?” Quill questioned as we each carried an end of a heavy tent from the garage into the clubhouse.

We dropped it with a hard thud, dust shooting into our faces. “Fuck,” I choked out, waving my hand in front of my face. The smell was so fucking familiar, the material reeking of bonfires, booze, and bad decisions. “Scorch.”

The word alone was enough to make my stomach churn. I hadn’t missed a single one since I was old enough to ride, but what it meant to me had changed dramatically over the years. For everyone else, it was a celebration—a reunion with other clubs, a chance to party and make deals.

For me, it was the place where everything came apart.

It was where I lost the two people in my life I thought I was going to be able to rely on forever.

My dad.

And her.

Her.

Even now, the thought of Calli hit me like a punch to the gut. She didn’t just walk away, she destroyed everything in her wake before she left. No explanation, no warning—just a betrayal that had left me sitting in a fucking cell wondering why the girl I’d spent every Scorch chasing moments with in the shadows had turned on me in the worst possible way.

Quill coughed, kicking the rolled-up plastic. “I know Kingston is classed as a city, but isn’t it in the middle of the damn desert?”

“Where do you think all this dust and sand fucking came from?” I grinned, slamming my palm against his back.

Quill rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms out. The kid was still a prospect, but it was about time he got his patch. I’d been working with him for almost a year, and he’d proven himself time and time again to be an asset to the club. My uncle Dime—the club president—was dragging his feet, though, and I knew why.

Because Quill had my back and not his.

And that’s what this fucking club had become the past few years—a battle of who has the most support behind them in church. “And you couldn’t have grabbed someone else to help carry this allergy-inducing bullshit out?”

“Kid, we have to survive with this shit for a week,” I told him, pointing at the pile that looked like a hot mess, but were actually expensive, high-quality tents that were going to keep our asses from burning to a crisp. “You think I’m gonna trust Henry with this? I can’t even trust that fucker to find his dick in the dark.”

“That’s a little mean, Lock,” Isla announced from behind the bar. Though, when I looked over, she and Leigh—both live-in club girls—were grinning like Cheshire cats. “Just the other day, Henry told me that in Australia, they have Christmas in summer, so if you went down there in June and came back in December, you could have two Christmases a year.”

I was sure the blank stare on my face communicated exactly what it needed to.

Quill, though, I guess was better with his words. “We haven’t given him a gun yet, right?”

“Brother…” I warned though it was with an amused grin as I walked back toward the garage. “Hurry up. There are two more out there that we need to get down, and then we need to pull out the gas cooker, the pots, pans, cutlery—”

“Lock!”

I clenched my jaw at the sound of his voice, glancing back over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“You got a second?” Dime asked, standing in the doorway to the garage with his arms folded across his puffed-out chest like he was some fucking animal trying to assert his dominance.

“Not really,” I replied, even though I knew he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever was on his mind.

“Too bad. Quill, give us a minute.” Quill looked at me first—he always did because there was loyalty in him and a lot of the boys here that ran far deeper than my uncle imagined. I lifted my eyebrows, making sure Dime couldn’t see the gesture, and the kid made a beeline for the door. Dime closed it behind him before turning back to face me. “Figured we should talk before we head out next week.”

The muscles in my shoulders tightened. Dime didn’t bother with casual conversations unless he had an agenda. “About what?”

He crossed his arms, his face hard to read under the dim light. “I know it’s not your favorite place, kid,” he continued, his tone almost gentle. Almost. “But it’s important. You’re not just another patch anymore. You’re next in line, whether you like it or not.”

Next in line.

That’s what he always said.

Like the presidency was a carrot he dangled in front of me whenever I tried to push the club in a different direction. And yeah, it was mine by rights—my birthright, if that’s what you wanted to call it. But we both knew the truth, the only reason I hadn’t been able to step into that place when Dad was killed was because I was locked up.

And by the time I got out, ready to take my place, Dime had convinced everyone I was too young, too angry, that I’d be focused on finding vengeance and going after whoever murdered my dad.

He convinced them all that it was better for him to step in until I was ready.

But over the years, I’d started to realize that Dime wasn’t planning on handing that power over anytime soon, and because of that, the club had begun to show cracks in its ranks.

There was a major division in the ranks.

And if it wasn’t dealt with soon, we were going to be torn apart.

“I don’t need a pep talk,” I said, standing up and slinging one of the camping duffels over my shoulder.

“It’s not a pep talk. It’s a check-in,” he said, stepping closer. “I want to make sure your head’s in the game. Scorch is where deals are made, where alliances are built. And with the kind of plans we’ve got coming down the pipeline—”

“We?” I interrupted, turning to face him fully.

“Yeah, we. You, me, the club.” He spread his hands like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I snorted. “You mean the guns and drugs you’re trying to shove through the border? Or the women you want to line up like inventory?”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a cold stare. “This isn’t about what I want, Lock. It’s about what the club needs. You think those businesses in town you’ve been sniffing around are going to keep the lights on? You think they’re gonna pay for lawyers when one of the boys gets picked up? Hell, even keep us on the radar with the other clubs? Respect doesn’t come cheap.”

“Neither does a bullet to the back of the head because you’ve stepped on someone else’s territory or snatched the wrong girl off the street,” I said, my voice low. “And that’s what happens when you start running shit like that. We’ve seen it before.”

Dime’s face hardened, his jaw tightening like he was biting back a retort. “You sound just like your old man.”

I didn’t miss the way he said it, like it was a bad thing.

“And you don’t,” I shot back, my voice cold.

The tension between us was a living thing, coiled and ready to strike. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, Dime’s mouth twisted into a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, kid,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. The weight of it felt like a challenge. “Someone has to make the hard choices that no one fucking likes, and you know what, if that makes me the bad guy, I’ll be the bad guy. But I’m the one making sure our brothers can afford the lifestyle they’re used to, that they can feed their families. Maybe one day you’ll understand it. But don’t worry. I’ll keep things running until you’re ready.”

I shrugged off his hand and stepped past him, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I’ll be ready when the time comes. The question is, will the club still be standing by then?”

I didn’t wait for his response, dragging the dusty fucking bag I was carrying out of there and into the clubhouse. The main room was full of laughter and chatter as Quill somehow managed to convince the girls to help him unravel everything, and I trusted him enough to make sure it all got looked after, so I left them to it.

I grabbed a beer off the bar and sank into one of the couches, trying to push the conversation out of my mind.

This wasn’t the club my dad had envisioned.

Running whores on the streets and acting like pimps?

Sending college kids on paid holidays to Mexico so they could bring drugs back across the border?

I’d heard whispers from other Hell’s Bandits chapters—some of them were not fucking happy about the reputation Dime was giving the club.

Tucson was my family’s legacy, and if we didn’t sort our shit out soon, the only legacy I’d have is of the Hell’s Bandits chapter that crumbled without a real leader.

But maybe that’s what it needed.

Maybe it was time I burned it all down, so we could build it back up.