Page 20 of Rogue’s Path (Sweet Chaos #1)

Rogue

“They showed up.” I watch the video feed as the Birds of Prey Motorcycle Club pulls inside of our gates.

“You know, at one time, they were our allies. The boys used to play together at rallies.”

Havoc’s right. I know he is. “But we’ve been enemies since the new leader took over.” That coup was bloody and brought the club into dangerous territory.

“The founding members aren’t our enemies. And there are rules for these things. Nothing will happen during the funeral.”

Their prez, Reaper, steps off his bike.

I’d happily shoot him right now. “Even his bike offends me.”

“There’s no accounting for taste. That thing is hideous.” Havoc stands up, walking closer to the wall of televisions.

The visible welds make me cringe. “It’s like he made it himself.”

“You know we’re going to have to go out there and welcome him.”

In theory. “I’m sure there’s something else I could be doing while you take care of that little task.”

“Not a chance. I need you by my side to make sure I don’t kill him.”

But who’s going to make sure I don’t? “I’d prefer to clean the bathrooms with a toothbrush.”

Havoc laughs. “Wouldn’t we all? How are we on security?”

“Only the common areas are open. All the private rooms and the labyrinth are locked up tight with a guard schedule to cover them 24/7 except during the funeral. The visible camera and invisible ones are all being backed up every two minutes to a separate server in the bunker.”

“And if the Birds of Prey decide to break the rules during the funeral?”

Oh, would that make my day. “All doors will be locked during the funeral. Since we built this clubhouse to withstand just about anything short of a direct hit of an atomic bomb, they shouldn’t be able to breach much more than the gates.

” Even those look like fancy chain-link fences, but each link is reinforced, and the pilings holding them up go down twenty-five feet.

A tank wouldn’t make it through the fence easily.

“We’re covered.” But then, Havoc knows that.

“Reaper is so much like his father, just having him inside the gates…”

His father was the lowest of the low. Their club trafficked people, drugs, and guns.

Now we don’t have a problem selling guns.

We do have a problem arming radical groups.

But then again, we don’t just sell to anyone.

If you’re getting weapons from us, we’re going to know who you are, regardless of who you say you are.

“Rhys’ father should still be the Birds of Prey’s prez. ”

“Agreed.”

There’s a knock on the door, which is never good on days like this.

“Come in.” Havoc shouts.

Bishop strides in. “I need to talk to you about one of the tattoos.”

That gets our attention right away.

Havoc spins around. “Which one?”

“The ARMY one. There was something off about it. I’ve seen hundreds of them over the years, but never once have I seen this one. So I reached out to an ARMY buddy.”

He shared a dead man’s tattoo with an ARMY buddy? “Bishop.”

“Yeah, I know. But I was careful. I sketched it out. And I trust this guy with my life. Literally, we served together in special forces for years. General Corlan—“

“General?” Havoc’s voice gets hard.

“Yeah. He’s a retired three-star general.”

My head might explode. “What did this general have to say?”

“That it’s fake. Stolen Valor.”

Fake? That doesn’t make sense. “Why?”

Bishop shakes his head. “I have no idea. But this guy didn’t act like he couldn’t handle the military. He was good. I’m better, but he had skills, formal training, most likely. It doesn’t make any sense why he’d wear some fake tattoo.”

Hmmm.

“Do you have any other information?” Havoc asks.

“Not now. But I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“We need to go say hello to our best friends.” Havoc nods to the screen where Reaper and the woman he’s ‘dating’ are walking towards the clubhouse. She wasn’t on the back of his bike, so that speaks volumes.

To my knowledge, he’s never had a woman on his bike except Rhys.

How did her husband get him to back off?

Bishop glances over. “Someone hasn’t killed Reaper yet? Too bad.”

It really is. I follow Havoc to the door of his office and into the labyrinth. There are no markings along the walls, not even a doorknob or emergency light. You need to know where to press to open each door. The only doors lead into traps.

Around and down, up and through to the left, back two hallways and to the right, which finally leads to the doors to the common areas.

Sync nods as we approach.

The noise takes a while to get used to as we step out. The common areas almost always have people. But not like this.

Most presidents and VPs are helping their clubs settle in outside.

We nod to the couple huddled in a corner with a beer in their hands. Deals and alliances will be made this weekend.

We make it to the picnic tables, where old ladies and prospects keep bringing out more and more food. Reaper is all over his ‘date’.

We aren’t prudes around here, but there are also little kids eating at the next table.

“Reaper.” Havoc thankfully has to be the one to sound somewhat civil.

“Well, if it isn’t Heartburn and his little sidekick Retching. How have you two been?”

Would it really be that bad to just shoot Reaper?

“We have your room ready, if you’ll come with me.”

Or I could just shoot him.

Reaper stands up, dropping the woman onto the ground.

A bullet would be too kind. I reach out to help her up.

“Don’t touch what’s mine.”

The woman shrinks back.

Surely, an exception can be made this one time. Though his request is an unwritten rule. The fastest way to die is touching another man’s woman.

“Show me the way. I’ve always wanted a tour of your place.”

That won’t ever happen. Though maybe we could dump him in the pit until the weekend is over. No one would notice. They’d probably think he was drunk in his room the whole time.

The woman trails behind him with her head down.

I’ve seen that subservient walk all too often in outlaw clubs. It makes my blood boil.

“This will do.” He sneers at the guest suite.

At most clubs, they’re closets with a bed in them.

Ours are the size of a large hotel room with an ensuite bathroom, kitchenette stocked with food in the living room with a couch that pulls out for ones with kids, and a california-king-sized bed in its own room.

“It’s too bad that you’re always coming up short.

Like that little bike-building hobby of yours.

I designed my own bike. Did you see it? That took me fifteen minutes to design. ”

That fits. Though a three-year-old could have done a better job in those fifteen minutes.

“I think I’ll start my own shop.”

Customers are sure to flock to you with a bike that terrible.

“The funeral starts at noon.” Havoc's voice remains calm.

“You be sure to tell Rhys that she can stay with me when she arrives.”

The only way she’d get near you would be to kill you.

We step out of the room, closing the door behind us.

“You didn’t kill him,” Havoc whispers under his breath. “You didn’t kill him.”

“We just need to make it through the next forty-eight hours.” It’s going to feel like a lifetime.