Page 44

“No,” I admit.

“Me either.”

“Tell me more about the MC. How did Underground Vengeance start?”

Ice shifts, turning to face me, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. “It began with Winchester, up in Montana, thirty years ago.”

“Interesting name.”

“Eddie Grady was his given name, but his club name was Winchester.”

“Like yours is Ice?”

“Yeah. A friend of his, Grant, needed help. His ex-wife married a predator who was after their son, Michael.”

“That’s terrible. Couldn’t the police do anything?”

“Pigs said they didn’t have enough evidence. Since they wouldn’t step in, Winchester and his friends took justice into their own hands.”

“Did they save the kid?”

“Yeah, Michael was just seven when they rescued him. He and his dad moved to Louisiana. Grant helped start this chapter and Michael took over when he got old enough.” There’s pride in Ice’s words, a reverence for the club’s legacy. “Michael ran the Louisiana chapter for a few years before stepping back to focus on family. But he’s still one of us.”

“Is the Montana chapter still around?” My curiosity piques as I imagine this network of bikers, rebels with causes, spread like veins across the country.

“Alive and kicking. They rode down to NOLA last year to help bust someone out of Lulu’s.” Ice’s tone is matter-of-fact, but I sense a heavy weight behind his words.

“I heard something about a bust at Lulu’s last year. It had to do with illegal prostitution and trafficked women.”

“Your brother used to run that place.”

“Disgusting,” I spit, shaking my head.

“We closed it down with the help of some Feds.”

“You work with the government?” I ask, surprised.

“Not usually. But one of the Montana guys was banging a Fed. Made her his old lady.”

“Old lady?”

“Wifed her.”

“Oh.” Before meeting Ice I didn’t know much about motorcycle clubs. I’m learning a ton, including some of their lingo. It’s fascinating. “Where else do you have chapters?”

“Every major city in the US. We’re in all fifty states.” His chest swells with pride. “We’ve even got ties overseas, for those who need to disappear completely.”

I let out a sigh, thinking of the world, rife with shadows and threats. “It’s tragic, isn’t it? How many bad people there are…”

“Maybe,” Ice acknowledges. “But don’t forget about the good ones. They just don’t make headlines. People aren’t interested in hearing about what went right. They only want to know what went wrong so they can figure out how to avoid the same fate.”

“True.”

“But ultimately, there are more good people than bad.”

“How do you keep believing in people after everything you’ve seen?” The question slips out, tinged with the weariness of a soul too familiar with cruelty.

“Simple,” Ice says. I feel his hand find mine, strong and warm. “As long as there are folks willing to fight for what’s right, I’ll never lose faith. You’re one of them, and I’m happy to be fighting alongside you.”