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Sypher

February 11, 2024, New York City.

Time flew by so quickly that the days blurred together, and before I realized it, Valentine’s Day was rapidly approaching. Following the solemn act of paying my respects to Sunny and after I assisted Scribe and the Sons of Hell in their pursuit and apprehension of the individual who had been terrorizing Henley, I finally made my way back to the city and to Dante.

Although he was unhappy about the way I left, he was understanding, and we quickly rekindled our loving relationship, returning to our blissful state of happiness. As his work with the Soulless Sinners progressed, I concurrently devoted my efforts to cultivating my list of clients, all while diligently upholding the security protocols that protected the interests of my established clientele. I was finding it more and more challenging to concentrate in school, leading me to contemplate the genuine possibility of withdrawing completely and abandoning my studies. Recognizing that my education had reached its peak and feeling frustrated by the unproductive use of my time, I yearned for more stimulating pursuits, which led me to the daunting yet alluring challenge of breaching the Trick Pony’s servers.

With great difficulty, I accessed certain files, the contents of which were deeply disturbing and graphically detailed by the depravity and moral decay which characterized that place. The mere contemplation of Dante’s presence in that dreadful location ignited within me an intense and overwhelming urge to eliminate every single person connected to it. To my surprise, the number of members on my list increased dramatically, expanding with each passing hour. Despite my best efforts, the one person I had hoped to find remained frustratingly elusive and out of reach. Eventually, I would track down the individual who tormented Dante, and once I did, I would ensure that she faced the ultimate price for her actions—with her life.

Staring aimlessly at my computer, willing it to reveal the information I needed, an alert popped up from one of my professors, who also just happened to be my guidance counselor, requesting a video conference.

Groaning, I clicked on the live feed.

“Mr. Franks. It’s nice to see your face.”

“Kind of busy here. What do you want?”

“Your presence in my classroom has been sorely lacking. Care to explain your absence?”

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice, young man. Your attendance is forty percent of your grade. You miss another class and you will fail my course.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, and I’ve already informed the dean of the school. You miss anymore classes and you will be expelled from the University. The school has sent a letter to your home address informing your family of your current situation. Now, I suggest you hurry because my class starts in ten minutes.”

I was about to tell the annoying fuck to kiss my ass when my phone rang. Seeing the caller, I quickly ended the video conference and answered the call when I heard, “Goddammit, Sypher. Pick up the fucking phone!”

“I was in class, asshole. What the hell is so damn important?” I lied. I really wasn’t in the fucking mood for anymore drama. I had enough to last me a fucking lifetime.

“Need you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Who doesn’t?” I snarked, swiveling in my seat, bringing up a new search bar, knowing damn well I was going to have to do some digging for whatever it was Storm wanted.

“You okay, Sypher?”

“Does it matter? Just tell me what you want?”

“Look, if you’re busy, I can find someone else to help.”

“Got nothing better else to do. Speak.”

“You sure, man?”

“Just start talking, Storm. I ain’t got all day.”

“Can you to look into a man by the name of David Campbell? Former NYC firefighter that transferred to Arizona after 9/11. Need everything on the man before and after his transfer.”

Typing into my computer, I set the parameters for the search and hit enter, watching my computer do most of my work for me.

“That’s not gonna be easy. First responder information is sealed, particularly those from the city who survived 9/11. You come from a family of firefighters. Why not ask them?”

“‘Cause the ones who would know are dead.”

“Shit. Sorry, man,” I muttered, remembering Storm’s own father died in one of the towers. “Not promising you anything, but I will see what I can find. Alright?”

“I understand. And, Sypher, send me the bill. I will pay.”

“No problem,” I said before disconnecting the call and leaning back in my chair. God, I felt horrible for snapping at Storm. He wasn’t the cause of my problems. He just happened to call at the wrong fucking time. Running my hands down my face, the familiar ping of an alert had me looking at my computer.

Frowning, I sat back up and groaned when the information Storm requested started filling my computer screen.

School completely forgotten, I extended my arms out in front of me and cracked my knuckles, stretching my fingers before they landed on my keyboard.

“Time to get to work.”

Three days later, after spending an explosive night in Dante’s ass, I had just rolled off him, completely spent, when I heard my computer pinging like fucking crazy.

“Does that thing ever shut up?” Dante gasped, his arm over his eyes as he tried to calm his breathing.

“No,” I moaned, sitting up.

“Babe, just leave it till tomorrow. It’s Valentine’s Day. Our day.”

“I can’t. If it’s one of my priority clients, they have the right to contact me day or night.”

Groaning, he rolled over, giving me a beautiful view of his fine red ass. Reaching for a pillow, he wrapped his arms around it, snuggling his head into the voluminous mass while he yawned. Leaning over the bed, I kissed the side of his face, his voice trailing off as he fell into a deep sleep. “Love you.”

Not bothering to dress, I walked naked into the living room and sat down in my chair, turning off the insistent alarm. Reaching for my mouse, I clicked on the blinking icon to reveal the video feed from the Tennessee club. Curious, I ran a diagnostic on the system, not knowing what tripped the system, when I saw men moving through the woods behind the clubhouse, right before one of Digger’s landmines went off, just as another alarm popped up, from the Sons of Hell compound, then moments later, alarms from the Bourbon Kings, the Wraith Warriors, and the Diamondbacks.

Holy shit.

It was a coordinated attack.

Not thinking, I reached for my phone when it started to ring. Already knowing who was calling, I answered, “It’s Satan’s Angels. They’ve got the place surrounded. Get the girls in the safe room! I’m activating attack option three, so tell Whiskey to stay the fuck away from the fence line.”

“Sypher said it’s Satan’s Angels. He is activating attack option three!” Digger shouted.

“Jesus fuck, Digger,” Ravage yelled as I watched another explosion rock the clubhouse.

“What?” Digger laughed. “You think I’d let any fucker near my house? Rotten bastards won’t know what hit them.”

“We better have a fucking house left, asshole.”

“One time!” Digger growled. “It was one time!”

“You blew out the whole fucking kitchen!”

“And let’s not forget the time he took out my dad’s shed.” I heard my brother Charlie laugh. “Man, I thought Dad was going to skin your ass alive, cuz.”

“That was an accident and you know it!”

Ravage groaned right before he asked, “Alright, Sypher, we’re ready. Where are the fuckers?”

“Got three coming in from the south. Five from the east. Four in the west, and ten trying to break down the gates.”

“That’s all?” Digger sighed, looking hurt.

“Well, Slaughter took out seven all on his own already. He’s closing in fast on those coming in from the south.”

“That’s cheating!” Digger roared. “Those don’t count.”

“Hey, fucknuts!” my brother Bailey shouted. “You done clucking like hens ‘cause these assholes are about to breach the front gate!”

Ravage groaned. “Sypher.”

“One, two, three—”

“Well, would ya look at that?” I watched as Whiskey looked out the front window, chuckling. “They do shake like bobblehead dolls.”

“Ravage, alarms are going off in Kentucky, Virginia, Louisiana, and Oklahoma. It’s not just us. Satan’s Angels are going after the Horseman MC, the Sons of Hell, the Bourbon Kings, and the Diamondback MC,” I said hurriedly, typing something into my computer before he gasped. “It’s a coordinated attack.”

“Well, that’s new.” Bailey chuckled. “Didn’t think those assholes were smart enough for something like that.”

“They are going after everyone who helped us,” I said.

“Where are Sunny and Sandman?” Ravage asked.

Shortly after Sunny woke from her accident and the club learned that Scar, a brother in the Satan’s Angels, was responsible for her accident, Sandman discovered that the Satan’s Angels put a kill order out on his woman and didn’t waste any time before taking his wife and daughter away from the club. For weeks, they zig-zagged across the country, only staying a few nights in clubhouses that opened their doors to them. Yet, something changed, because the last I knew, Sunny was in Vegas with Valhalla and the Wraith Warriors.

“Sunny is in Vegas with the Nyght Nymphs MC along with the Wraith Warriors MC.”

“What about Sandman?” Digger asked.

“I’m looking, but I don’t see him,” I said, clicking into the Nyght Nymphs security feed, scouring the multitude of cameras, looking for my brother.

“Soleil and Jax?” Whiskey asked.

“Not there either,” I muttered right when a news alert popped up on my screen. Quickly scanning it, I gasped.

“That isn’t good, Ravage,” Bailey whispered.

“Holy shit. Sandman’s gone off the reservation. He slaughtered a group of Satan’s Angels south of Vegas. The FEDs are all over the scene. Sandman is hunting.”

“Dammit,” Ravage cursed. “Send out the alert. Warn all the clubs to be on the lookout for him. Tell them not to approach.”

“Slaughter finished the three to the south. He’s moving east now,” I informed.

“Well, I ain’t just gonna sit here and let him have all the fun,” Digger said, cocking his shotgun. “Let’s show these fuckers how us Tennessee boys like to play.”

Nodding, Whiskey opened the front doors, and I watched as my cousins rushed out, firing at will.

For the next hour, I sat idly behind my screens, the chaotic sounds of gunfire and explosions a stark contrast to the quiet hum of my computer, watching Satan’s Angels wreak havoc. Consumed by a fierce longing—a desperate ache to be with them, to fight alongside them, to defend our home, clawed at my insides.

All I could do was offer what little help I could, praying that when the chaos subsided, everyone I loved would be safe and sound. One screen after another, a relentless barrage of violence unfolded before me, depicting Satan’s Angels wreaking havoc on every club I’d supported. The repetitive scenes left me with a nauseating sense of dread. In that moment, sitting still, a crushing feeling of being both helpless and entirely useless consumed me.

I noticed yet another alert and though I hesitated, almost too afraid to click for fear of what I might find, curiosity compelled me to look, and when I realized it concerned Storm’s baby momma, I abruptly sat up, utterly engrossed in the task of understanding the information presented before me.

It was impossible.

No fucking way.

“Danny, why do you have pictures of me at the Trick Pony on your computer?”

Snapping around, I found Dante frozen in place behind me, his horrified gaze fixed on my laptop. He couldn’t look away as the screen filled with a barrage of sickening and brutal images, each one more graphic than the last, each one punctuated by a disturbing ping.

Oh shit.

My algorithm broke into another file.

His.

Slowly getting to my feet, I whispered, my voice barely audible above the pinging of another photo, “Dante, it’s not what you think.”

“You promised me,” he breathed, his face ashen, eyes wide with disbelief while he stared at the countless photos still displayed on my screen, each one a painful reminder. With a quiet click, I closed my laptop, the soft whirring of the hard drive fading as his gaze met mine. “You lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t. You asked me not to investigate, and I told you I couldn’t promise you that. I’m sorry, Dante, but after what you told me and what I’ve learned since then, I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re investigating the place?”

“I was ordered to.”

“By who?” he sneered. “Because I fucking know it wasn’t Montana!”

“I don’t work for Montana.”

“Who, Danny?”

Slowly shaking my head, I said, “I can’t tell you that.”

“FUCK!” he roared, walking away from me. “After all these months, you’ve been investigating me!”

“Not you. The Trick Pony.”

“To what end, Danny? I told you that place was vile. Nothing good can come of this.”

With caution in my voice, I uttered his name, “Dante,” and moved closer to him, unsure of his reaction. “There are things going on that you know nothing about. If I could tell you, I would, but I can’t. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I can’t stop investigating the place. Not even for you.”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out. We’re done. I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.”

“You don’t mean that,” I uttered, my heart pounding in my chest.

“The fuck I don’t. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

He said nothing else as I packed my belongings, only to realize I really didn’t have much here, except for my computers. After securing all of them, I packed them in the only suitcase I had before wheeling the heavy case to the front door. Laying my personal laptop bag on top, I turned to him and said, “I’m sorry, Dante. I really am.”

“Goodbye, Sypher.”