Page 27

We hit the road almost immediately. Riding the open road, feeling my bike vibrating under my ass and the wind whipping through my clothes, relaxes me.

It also gives me a few minutes to decompress and steel myself for what’s to come.

The air gets colder the deeper we ride into the woods.

The closer we get to the cabin, the calmer and more focused I become.

We leave the paved road behind and carry on for another ten minutes or so. Our tires crunch over gravel, then dirt, then barely-there tracks that only locals or lunatics would trust. This deep in the badlands of California, people disappear and are never heard from again.

Siege kills the headlights as we crest a ridge. We coast the last stretch, barely enough light from the moon and stars to see where we’re going. This is where everything gets super creepy. I scan the shadows as we roll to a stop, unsure what’s lurking just out of sight.

Tons of pine trees dot the landscape along with briars and bushes. There’s a creek off to the east. One barely discernible dirt path leads towards the cabin—and hopefully straight to Carnage.

Tex and Rigs move ahead on foot, rifles slung low, scanning the brush line with practiced eyes. They look like they’ve done this a hundred times. Because they have.

I stay right behind Siege, with my weapon drawn and pointed down. The woods feel like they’re holding their breath.

Rigs holds up a fist, the old hand signal to freeze. We all obey without thinking.

Siege creeps forward beside him. Rigs points towards a fresh set of boot prints in the mud, then glances back to us and murmurs, “Two sets. Recent. No tire tracks.”

“Someone’s been dropped off,” Tex whispers beside me. “Or walked in from a different trail.”

Siege just nods, and we keep moving.

Tusk pulls up to my left a few seconds later, silent as death. “The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. How about you?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” I say. “I sense we’re being watched.” I don’t know how to explain it. Something deep and primitive in my lizard brain senses that something’s wrong. I just don’t know what.

Tusk taps the side of his nose and veers off to circle wide through the tree line. He’s going to sniff out trouble. Tex shadows him a few paces behind, blade already drawn.

My ears immediately pick up on the quiet. There are no owl calls, no tiny creatures scurrying about—nothing. Even the bugs seem to have gone silent. The forest feels unnatural, like it’s holding something back.

We spot the cabin just before the trees thin out. It’s a squat, single-level log cabin with boarded-up windows, a rusting metal roof, and a sagging porch. It looks more like a hunting shack that’s seen better days than an actual cabin.

But I know better. Appearances can be deceiving. This place is their home base, the place they stay, store supplies and plan their strategy.

Siege crouches and signals for us to spread out. We fan out so that we’re covering the most ground possible while still keeping each other in visual range.

Tusk, Tank, and Dutch, loop west. I ease forward with Siege, each footstep careful, soundless on pine needles and dirt. The scent of decaying leaves and wet earth fills my nose.

Then I see it—a faint red blink tucked in the brush.

“Trail cam,” I whisper.

Siege follows my line of sight. He nods once, unsurprised. We expected and planned for this. Tex moves up from the left and cuts the cord with a flick of his knife. Now we’re blind to him, but he’s blind to us too.

We keep moving. Siege leans in close. “If he’s inside, we breach fast and hard. Ghost, you’re first through the door.”

What a gift. “Copy that,” I whisper warmly.

Rigs takes the safety off his rifle. I catch his profile in the dark. The man used to have nothing to lose. Now? He’s got a family. And he’s still here anyway.

I nudge him with my elbow. He glances my way, giving me a questioning look.

“You good?” I whisper.

He nods once. “Yeah. Just thinking what this place would’ve been to me a few years ago.”

“Execution grounds?” I say, quietly. I’ve heard that at one time he used to kill so his club brothers didn’t have to carry that mental burden.

His mouth tightens. “Maybe. Or a remote place to dispose of bodies—not that our club has ever had many to worry about.”

I give him a sharp nod, understanding what he’s trying to communicate. People can change. And he’s not that man anymore. Siege made sure of that.

I check the porch and see no visible movement. The door’s closed and the blinds are pulled. There’s a faint glow behind the blinds. It could be a battery lantern. Then again, it might be a trap.

My thumb brushes the safety on my pistol. The cabin waits ahead, tucked like a secret in the dark. And if Carnage is in there, he’s about to find out what happens when you target the wrong woman—or haunt the wrong club.

Siege holds up three fingers. I brace my boot just under the knob and wait for the drop. He flicks his fingers to two and then to one.

I kick hard, and the old wooden door flies inward, hinges screeching as it slams against the wall. The air inside hits me first—the scent is stale smoke, sweat, and the metallic bite of gun oil. I raise my gun and search for a target before I step inside the rough cabin.

To the left, there’s a cramped kitchenette. I clear it visually in a single sweep. The only thing moving are roaches. They’re crawling over half-eaten fast food. There’s a busted coffee pot and not much else.

Siege barrels through behind me, rifle aimed towards the narrow hallway that splits off the main room. Rigs and Tex follow close behind. The three of us move together like we’ve rehearsed this a hundred times.

From the bedroom on the left, there’s sudden movement—a rustle. We converge on the location and hear a crash, the sound of something heavy being grabbed. Then Tex’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.

“He’s going for a weapon!”

The first guy barely has the barrel of a shotgun in his hands when Tex drops him with two quick shots to the chest. He flies backward and crumples into a heap on the floor.

I don’t have time to think before a second figure bursts out from the hallway.

He’s a wiry man I don’t recognize—shirtless, barefoot, wielding a crowbar.

He lunges towards Rigs, but I cut him off mid-stride by slamming my shoulder into his ribs and driving my knee into his gut.

The air leaves his lungs in a wheeze as he topples backward and hits the floor hard. He’s dazed but not out.

Rigs moves fast, rolling him onto his stomach and yanking a zip tie tight around his wrists with practiced precision.

Siege is already checking the back. “Anything else?” he calls out.

Tex pokes his head out from the bathroom, weapon still raised. “It’s all clear.”

I keep my gun up but lower it slightly as I scan the cabin. There are two sleeping bags, one still warm. Paper plates with grease stains litter a folding table. In the corner, a cracked burner phone lies face-up, glowing faintly with a still-open message thread.

I lean down, squinting at the screen. The last message sent reads:

Status?

The reply came just twenty minutes ago:

Nothing yet. Expecting contact soon.

I gesture towards the phone. “Looks like we showed up just in time.”

Siege grabs the restrained man by the collar and yanks him up into a seated position. He’s got a cut across one eyebrow and blood trailing from his nose, but his mouth is curled into something between a grin and a sneer.

“You’re late,” he mutters, voice hoarse and mocking.

Siege cocks his head, not rising to it yet. “Were you waiting for us?”

The guy shrugs and snorts, wincing as blood spatters his jeans. “He told us you’d come. Said the Legion can’t resist a trail this obvious.”

Rigs takes a step closer, his rifle slung over one shoulder. “So, this was bait.” It’s a statement, not a question.

The man shrugs again, like he doesn’t care that they just lost a battle to us. “You could call it that.”

Tex walks past and boots the dead guy’s shotgun further across the floor, just to be sure it’s out of reach. He glances back at the prisoner. “So, you’ve got one friend dead, another who packed up and ran, and you’re sitting here playing decoy?”

The bastard just smiles wider. There’s something going on with this man—some piece of the puzzle we’re still missing.

Siege’s fist comes down fast, crashing across the guy’s jaw with a sick thud. His head snaps to the side and the smile vanishes from his face. For a moment all we can hear is his heavy breathing.

Siege stands over him, furious. His chest heaves, and his eyes burn. The man on the floor blinks, blood sliding from the corner of his mouth. That cocky smile is gone, replaced with a frown.

“You wanna keep playing games,” Siege says, voice low and dangerous, “or do you want a shot at waking up tomorrow?”

The man spits blood to the side. “You think I’m scared of you?”

Siege crouches until they’re face to face. “I don’t think you’re smart enough to be afraid of the man dying to plant you six feet in the ground.”

When he still doesn’t cooperate, Siege tries another approach. “But I know you’re scared shitless of whoever’s on the other end of that phone.” He jerks his chin towards the burner on the table. “That’s why you didn’t run. You’re afraid of what he’ll do if he catches up with you.”

“I don’t run,” the guy growls.

“Bullshit,” Rigs says from behind him. “Only two types of men roll with Carnage—the desperate and the stupid.”

“Or the loyal,” the man fires back. “We ride together. We bleed together.”

“Ride?” I echo, stepping closer. “You saying this is a club now?”

The guy hesitates—just long enough for us to see him try to wipe the truth off his face. He swallows thickly before stating with quiet dignity, “We never stopped being a club.”

Siege glances over his shoulder at me, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.

Carnage didn’t scatter. He kept the men that were voted out of the club close.

“What’s it called?” I ask curiously, circling him, watching every tiny expression jump onto his face. “This new little outfit you’ve got goin’?”

He keeps his mouth shut, so I crouch in front of him. “You think he’s gonna protect you? You’re sitting here zip-tied and bleeding while he’s off somewhere laughing his ass off.”

His gaze flickers from one to the other of us. We see it on his face, a seed of doubt creeping into his mind.

Rigs pushes a chair across the room and sits backwards in it, resting his arms on the back. “How many of you are there?”

Before he can answer, Dutch walks in, holding a half-scorched folder.

“Found this in a metal trash can in the bathroom,” he says, dropping it on the table. “Didn’t burn it fast enough.”

Siege flips it open. Inside is a hand-drawn patch design—a crowned skull with six points on the crown. Underneath it, scribbled in blocky print:

Six Heads. One Crown.

Six names are listed beside it, Carnage, Slaughter, Grime, Joker, Hawk, Merc.

And suddenly, it’s all too clear. This isn’t just some splinter cell of angry exiles. This is a six-man MC, a rogue crew with no rules, no boundaries, no loyalty to anyone but to themselves.

“They call themselves the Kings,” Dutch says grimly.

“Or they plan to. I’m still digging through the ashes.

Their favorite method of covering their trail seems to be indiscriminately burning shit.

I’ve found three different burn locations, each with some paperwork that we might use to piece together information.

I think this might have been their main base of operations. ”

Tex lets out a long breath, rubbing his jaw. “So, this is what Carnage has been up to, building his own empire.”

Siege nods once, his tone ice cold. “Yeah. It’s weird that they don’t seem to have any electronics around, except the television. How do they keep track of their shit or maintain records? This is the part that doesn’t make any sense to me.”

The guy on the floor is smirking all over the place. He starts to speak, but Siege kicks him in the leg. “Shut the fuck up, Joker. Did you really think I forgot your fucking name? Shit’s not so funny now, is it?”

Rigs speaks up, “They’re three men down. We’ve got Joker, Merc, and this looks like Hawk there with a big hole in his chest. From where I’m standing, Carnage doesn’t have much of a crew left.”

I tell them, “In my opinion, losing half his crew will only trigger him.”

What I don’t say is that’s fuckin’ fine by me. All I care is making sure Carnage can no longer pose a threat to the woman I love or her unborn child. To my mind that’s starting to look more and more like putting a bullet in his fucking head.