Page 7

Reaper

Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse, New York City.

Danny was nowhere to be found. It was as if he vanished into thin air. No matter what door we knocked on, what stone we kicked over, the kid was just gone, and as much as I hated to admit it, he was not in New York City, which only meant he could be fucking anywhere.

Whoever took him had the power and means to make the most dangerous person on the planet disappear.

The problem I couldn’t figure out was who had that kind of clout?

We scoured all of Danny’s familiar haunts and the places he frequented, his favorite coffee shop that bore no trace of him, the school he once attended, only to come up empty-handed. Each passing hour felt like an eternity as we retraced his steps, hoping for any sign, any clue that would reveal who could have possibly taken him.

Montana and I called in every favor we could think of. No one knew anything. The city that had never slept had turned into a labyrinth of dead ends and fruitless searches.

In the hours that followed, the city lights blurred with exhaustion as we continued our relentless search. Montana, with his sharp instincts and unwavering resolve, became my anchor in the storm of uncertainty as he refused to give up. It was strange because generally I was the one who never gave up. Retreat wasn’t in my vocabulary, yet all I could think about was Danny’s well-being. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead and that scared the crap out of me. The kid wasn’t just a club brother to me. He was more than that; I knew that now.

I loved Danny as if he were my blood son.

To make things more confusing, Mercy was getting constant updates from the Biker Federation who, according to them, were receiving texts from Danny.

Only that made no sense.

I knew it, Montana knew it, and so did everyone else who knew the truth. Someone out there was pretending to be Danny and I wanted to fucking know why.

“You sure you want me to do this?” Matrix asked one more time as everyone looked at the screen on the wall.

I clenched my fist tightly. “Just find the fucker so I can kill the motherfucker with my bare hands.”

Matrix gulped as Player stiffened next to him.

“What should we ask? We don’t want to spook this fucker,” Mercy asked.

“Does it fucking matter?” Montana sneered. “The fucker is dead either way. Whoever it is fucking knows where the kid is and has been playing with us. Just do your thing, Matrix.”

Sitting back in my chair, I watched the screen as we all could see what Matrix was typing.

Matrix: Hey, kid. Got a minute? Need help with something.

“Why are you asking that?” Chipper piped up. “Why not just ask who he is? We already know he’s not Danny?”

“Because we don’t want to spook the fucker,” Player said, typing away on his computer.

Sypher: Sure. What do you need?

“Fucker took the bait.” Rage smiled, sitting up straighter in his chair.

Matrix: Running a diagnostic on the club’s security system and something isn’t right.

Sypher: Give me a sec.

“The second this fucker enters the system, the trace will start. I just need thirty seconds to locate him, Reaper,” Player stated.

“He’s in!” Matrix shouted. “Run the trace!”

Not even a second or two later, the screen went black and up popped a face shrouded in darkness.

“Nice try, everyone, but you will never find me.”

Sitting up, I barked, “Who the fuck are you?”

“A friend.”

“Bullshit,” Montana snarled.

“Contrary to your belief, Montana, I am not the enemy.”

“Do you have Danny?” Chipper spoke up.

“No, but I am searching for him. I saw what happened at the hospital.”

“Who are you?” Mercy asked.

“Wrong question.”

“Do you know who took him?” I asked.

“Not yet, but I will soon enough.”

“Are you helping him?” Fury piped up.

“Yes. Sypher tasked me with navigating everyone, including all of you.”

“What can you tell us?” Mercy asked.

“That there is a new player on the scene. Someone that even Sypher didn’t know about. Whoever this person is has a death wish because they are pretending to be the table.”

My head snapped to Montana, who slowly sat up and snarled, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The kill order was a distraction to get Sypher on the private floor of the hospital.”

“And we played right into his hands,” I seethed.

“So there is no kill order for my brother?” Chipper asked.

“No. As far as the table is concerned, Sypher is alive and well.”

“Because of what you are doing?” I snarked.

“Yes.”

“This works in our favor, Reaper,” Montana reasoned, looking at me. “Think about it. With that fucker pretending to be the kid, it gives us more time to find who took the kid and finish this shit before it gets out of hand.”

“It’s already out of hand!” I roared, getting to my feet. “None of us know where he is. You heard Valhalla. Danny is in danger of infections, permanent brain damage, even death. I don’t fucking care what anyone says. All I care about is finding him fast, and if I have to burn this fucking city down to the ground to do it, then so be it!”

“What can you tell us about the kid’s disappearance from the hospital?” Mercy cautiously asked.

“The cameras picked up a shadowy presence that lingered in the background. The feed was grainy as hell and the description is vague, but you are looking for a man, roughly six and a half feet tall. Athletic, muscular build. He was wearing a black suit, but here is the weird part. The camera couldn’t pick up his face, but I could clearly see the watch he was wearing, a Patek Philippe Nautilus Moon Phase rose gold watch valued at over two hundred grand.”

“Well, that just omitted the Biker Federation.” Mercy chuckled.

“What do you mean?” Chipper asked.

Montana grinned, sitting up in his chair. “No biker would spend over two-hundred grand on a fucking watch. Hell, I don’t even own one.”

“You can omit the IRA and Irish Mob too,” Fury added. “They would rather spend their money on family and whiskey.”

“So that only leaves everyone else, then.” Mercy sighed.

“It’s not the Bratva,” the voice said. “I checked. Fedorov’s organization is clear.”

“So it’s someone in the Mafia.” Montana sighed, then added, “Reaper, you are close to Giovanni. Can you call him and see if he’s heard anything?”

“It’s not the Mafia,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“How do you know?” Montana asked.

Turning to face him, I admitted, “Because Cesar pledged his allegiance to me.”

Getting to his feet, Montana seethed, “What the fuck are you talking about? The Italian Council doesn’t pledge allegiance. Cesar is a sitting, voting member of the table.”

“Yeah well,” I scoffed. “That was before we became BFFs. How was I to know you were a half decent fucker?”

“Everyone, get the fuck out!” Montana roared as the room cleared quickly. Taking his seat, he rubbed his hands down his face and took a deep breath. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, fucknuts. I’ve done a lot of things in my time on this earth.”

“Max, don’t fucking play me. I’m trying real fucking hard not to lose my shit. Just fucking tell me what I need to know.”

Sighing, I said, “When the table was considering removing you from your seat, Cesar came to see me. He gave me some information that Giovanni had been sitting on. Information that concerned Crispin Sinclair.”

Montana narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess. That fucker didn’t escape the Trick Pony, did he?”

Shaking my head, I smirked. “Nope. The bitch let him go.”

“Why?”

“Because she needed him to locate someone.”

Montana groaned, rubbing his temples. “Hold up. I’m confused. I thought he was looking for Thena?”

“He was, because Thena stole the only evidence he had to find the kid.”

“What kid?”

Shrugging, I added, “Some kid born in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1992.”

“Did the file say who the kid was?”

I slowly nodded.

“Are you going to tell me, or do I have to continue playing twenty fucking questions with you?”

“Not sure.” I grinned. “Depends on your mood.”

Montana narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you killing the messenger.”

“Just fucking tell me.”

“Remember when I offered my help when you were having issues with your pretty bartender?”

Fucknuts stiffened, then growled.

“You should have taken me up on my offer.”

Zach

Silver Shadows’ clubhouse, Diamond Creek, Nebraska.

My God, King was right. Bikers were nothing more than overgrown children with too much fucking time on their hands. I now had a newfound respect for what my Prez dealt with on a daily basis. While I knew my club was nothing like the Soulless Sinners, or the Golden Skulls for that matter, we did have a few boneheads. Jackass quickly came to mind as I remembered the shit he put the club through to lockdown Sam and I wasn’t even going to mention the shit Blade pulled with Beck. He was fucking lucky King didn’t kick his ass.

Yet, it still boggled my mind how Sypher stayed freaking sane. He dealt with several clubs on the daily, while also working with other underworld organizations. The man was a freaking saint. He deserved an award or something.

I had only been in his shoes for a week and I was about to let the whole fucking world destroy itself.

This shit was nuts!

But these two fucking morons took the cake.

When they weren’t screaming at each other, they actually worked well together, but that was short-lived because both men refused to clear the air. The fact was, they had more in common than either realized and if they ever stopped comparing their dick sizes, they might actually end up surviving this fucking mess.

I got that Montana sat at the table and Reaper did whatever the hell he wanted, but something had to give soon. At the rate they were going, they would surely end up killing each other.

The number of secrets between them was enough to drive anyone insane, and while those secrets were coming to light, neither one stopped to consider the ramifications.

They were connected by blood.

A blood link between two sitting presidents was something most clubs avoided at all costs. There was a reason biker clubs rarely aligned themselves with another, because no club truly trusted the other. So mixing blood was never done. Yet, these two idiots were too busy sniping at each other to see the bigger picture. Thanks to their fucking fathers, both clubs had a bullseye on their backs and at the center was a young, innocent girl, and if they weren’t careful, she would become the next victim to their folly.

“You should have told me!”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“I had a right to know!”

“You said you didn’t want my help.”

“Since when do you listen to anything I say?”

“I listen.” Reaper chuckled. “When you have something important to say.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

“Asshole.”

“Fucknuts.”

Rolling my eyes, I leaned back in my chair and groaned as I wiped my hands down my face. There was a fucking reason I stayed hidden in my office because I didn’t want to have to deal with other people’s shit. Bad enough I had crap to do for my club, but babysitting two of the crankiest, most stubborn presidents in the biker world was plain annoying.

Whatever Sypher was charging, it wasn’t nearly enough.

“ENOUGH!” I roared, then watched as both men stopped and turned toward the screen. “If you two are fucking done, it’s my turn to speak.”

Montana narrowed his eyes.

Reaper grinned.

Neither made me feel confident in what I was about to say.

“Will you listen to that asshole? Fucker thinks he’s in charge.”

“Yeah, he does.” Reaper glared at me through the screen, sending a wave of fear that soaked into my bones. Jesus Christ, that man could make anyone piss their pants with one look. “And when I find him, I’m gonna show him who’s really in charge.”

And just like that, they were on the same page again.

Groaning, I sat up and said, “Look, you don’t have time to play around. You two need to stop bitching and start working together because rumors have already started to spread about your blood link.”

“Who fucking cares?” Montana scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “It’s our business and no one else’s.”

“I don’t think you quite grasp the situation, Montana.” I sighed, adding, “You sit at the table. You are the head of the largest motorcycle club in the world. Reaper, you are the President of the Golden Skulls. You have… for lack of a better phrase, a bloody reputation for getting shit done. Alone, you are imposing, but together you two are a monumental threat.”

Montana grinned. “We are badasses, aren’t we?”

“Sure are, fucknuts.” Reaper smiled as both men fist-bumped each other.

“And when the entire biker world learns about your blood link, you will also be the most hated men on the planet.”

Frowning, Montana looked at Reaper and asked, “Do you know what the fuck he’s talking about?”

“Think our shadowy friend has spent too much time in the dark.”

“My God, how can you both be so fucking stupid?” I snarked. “Sypher fucking figured it out months ago and set up safeguards, but you two can’t see past the end of your goddamn noses. This shit with Sypher isn’t just about finishing what you two numbnuts couldn’t, it’s also about protecting the innocent.”

“Make sense before I lose my shit,” Reaper groaned, looking at Montana who shrugged but said nothing.

“EMMA!” I yelled. “He’s protecting Emma! Why do you think there was an attack on Disturbed? It wasn’t to gain territory. They were trying to kill Emma!”

Pippen

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

Sitting on the couch watching while Danika played with Kansas, I couldn’t stop thinking about Danny. My daughter’s giggles filled the air, a symphony of innocence and contentment. Yet, amidst the scene of familial bliss, my heart weighed heavily with worry.

Danny was an integral part of my life from the moment I met him. He was not just my friend. He was my lover, my better half, the love of my life and his absence felt like an inexplicable void. It had been days since I last heard from him and the silence had become deafening.

I tried calling him multiple times, sent numerous texts, but received no response. Initially, I thought he might be busy or caught up in something important, but as time passed, my concern grew into an overwhelming sense of dread. Danny was not the type to ignore messages, especially when he knew how much I worried.

Everyone around me kept assuring me he was fine. “He’s probably just busy,” they said. “Don’t worry, he’ll reach out when he has time.” Their words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to heighten my anxiety.

It was as if they knew something I didn’t and they were purposely keeping it from me.

My mind raced with possibilities. Was he in some kind of accident? Was he in some kind of trouble? Or was he simply overwhelmed and needed space? It was the not knowing that was the hardest part. I wanted to believe that he was okay, that he would walk through the door any minute now, with that familiar smile and a story to tell. But the nagging feeling in my gut told me otherwise.

I tried to distract myself by focusing on my daughter. She was oblivious to my inner turmoil, her world filled with simple pleasures and carefree moments. I envied her in a way. Her life was untouched by the complexities and uncertainties that plague adulthood.

As I watched Kansas tickle Danika, I was reminded of Danny’s playful spirit. He had always been the one to lighten the mood, to bring a sense of adventure and fun into my life. His laughter was contagious, and his absence was a stark reminder of how much he meant to me.

I decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear my mind.

I bundled up Danika and we stepped outside into the crisp winter air. The leaves crunched beneath my feet as the chilly breeze carried the scent of snow in the air.

It was a beautiful day, but my thoughts remained clouded with worry.

We walked to the park, a place that Danny and I found shortly after we moved here. The memories of our brief times here together flooded my mind. I remembered his infectious laughter as he tried to teach Danika to swing, his patience when she struggled, and his cheers when she finally succeeded. The park was filled with the echoes of our recent past, a testament to the bond we shared.

I sat on a bench and watched my daughter play on the swings as Kansas hovered nearby. I pulled out my phone and checked for any messages or missed calls from Danny. Nothing. The emptiness of the screen mirrored the emptiness I felt inside.

I sent him another text, a simple “Are you okay?” hoping this time, he would respond.

The minutes passed slowly, and we eventually made our way back home, where I went through the motions of our evening routine. Dinner, bath time, bedtime stories. Danika’s mood shifted, seeing my moments of solace as my mind constantly wandered back to Danny.

Night fell and I tucked my daughter into bed. She looked up at me with her innocent eyes then pointed to a picture of her and Danny. She wanted her papa. So did I. I smiled and told her he was busy with work and would be home soon.

It was the only answer I could give her, even though I wasn’t sure it was the truth.

I returned to the living room, where Kansas sat on the couch, his eyes focused on his phone as he read something. The apartment was quiet. The only sound was the ticking of the clock, a reminder of the passing of time.

My thoughts returned to the conversations I had with Kansas and Storm. The way they had brushed off my concerns, their reassurances that Danny was fine. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was as if their words were hiding a deeper truth, one they didn’t want to share.

I thought back to the last time I saw Danny. He seemed tense, almost reserved. I tried to talk to him about plans I made for the weekend, but he never engaged. His mind was elsewhere, but now, his silence spoke volumes.

Reaching for my phone, I called Reaper, hoping to get some information. When I heard the automated voice telling me the number I dialed had been disconnected and was no longer in service, I knew something was definitely wrong, especially when Storm rushed into the apartment and said, “Kansas, we need to talk.”

F.I.R.E.

Miami, Florida.

The room was cloaked in an eerie silence, the only sound being the whispered muffles of their cries behind the duct tape I secured around their mouths. Sitting on the bed, I watched them intently as they desperately tried to plead and beg for their lives. Their faces morphed into a mask of fear as soon as their reality sunk deep, letting them know that these were their final moments.

I hated them. I hated what they were, what they believed in, what they participated in. Their greed overshadowed everything in their lives. Their want for more led them down a path of destruction and now it was time to pay the piper. My anger had been simmering for far too long, fueled by their insatiable desire for power and control. They had trampled over anyone who stood in their way, blinded by their own ambitions and deaf to the cries of those they hurt.

Their actions were unforgivable and the consequences inevitable. It was with a sense of grim satisfaction that I watched them squirm, knowing that justice was about to be served. They had thought themselves invincible, untouchable, but in this room, their illusions were shattered. The reality of their fate was inescapable.

As I sat there, a silent observer to their pleas, I felt a strange calm wash over me. It was a calm born of inevitability, the knowledge that their reckoning was finally at hand. Their cries grew fainter, their struggles weaker and I knew that the moment of truth was drawing near.

The game they had played was a dangerous one and, in the end, they had lost. It was a game of deceit, betrayal, and misplaced trust. They had scorned those who cared, ignored the warnings and walked the perilous path, believing they would emerge unscathed.

The price for their sins was steep. They had danced with shadows, whispered with darkness and now, the darkness had come to claim its due. I felt no pity, just a cold resolve. They had made their choices and now they would pay the ultimate price.

Time seemed to stretch infinitely while I sat there, a silent observer to their fate. The moonlight cast ghostly patterns through the window, illuminating the room with a pale, ethereal glow. It was a picture of tranquility, yet the air crackled with anticipation of what was to come.

As the minutes ticked by, my thoughts wandered to the events that had led to this moment. The lies they had told, the lives they had shattered, and the countless children they sold. Every action had a consequence and theirs had culminated in this nocturnal reckoning.

A deep breath filled my lungs as I steeled myself for what lay ahead. The calm before the storm was about to break and there would be no turning back. Their peace was an illusion, a fragile veneer that would soon crumble. The game was over, and the final move was mine to make.

I stepped forward, the shadows moving with me like silent companions. The weight of inevitability hung heavy in the air. They had played a good game, but ultimately, they had lost.

Now, it was time for them to pay for their sins.

In this room, under the watchful eye of the moon, justice would be served. The shadows had come to collect and their debt would be paid in full.

Walking over to the dresser, I picked up my machete, testing the weight of it in my hands as I turned to look at them.

Their eyes widened in fear as I approached, knowing this was it. Their time was up. Death had come to claim them. The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressed in with the weight of their impending doom. Whispers of their past victims echoed in the corners, a haunting reminder of the choices that had led them to this moment in time.

Tonight, their victims would rejoice in celebration, knowing that their nightmares would be no more. The echoes of their suffering would be silenced, replaced by the harmony of justice. A new dawn was breaking and with it, a promise of peace for those who had been wronged, because tonight the Devil was taking his due.

Contract completed. Benson Graves and Iris Hughes are dead.