Page 2

Chapter One

Don’t Be a Dick on the Road, Man

C yrus turned his head, offering one last look at the hospital where Priest remained in a coma. Chances of him coming out of the coma were not in his favor. And even if he did awaken, doctors and nurses kept warning of permanent damage. Leave it to Custer to chuckle and laugh and say that Priest couldn’t possibly be anymore brain damaged. That at least got a two second laugh out of everyone.

Riding directly behind Cyrus was Slade and Monte. They had come to the hospital to retrieve the President of SOFRAW . Cyrus spent every possible second in the hospital. Pacing the halls. Adding whiskey to shitty cups of coffee. Talking to nurses and doctors. Sitting at Priest’s bedside.

In his mind, it all swirled like a tornado about to touch down. So much heat had been on the club lately. A fucking rat right under their nose.

Fitz.

Just the thought of that name sent Cyrus spiraling. He throttled his motorcycle, darted into the oncoming lane to pass an ugly yellow car, customized with dark tinted windows, fat tires, and the body low to the ground. As Cyrus began to pass, the car’s engine and muffler screeched like a guy who just got kicked in the balls by someone with razors glued to the tips of their shoes.

“Oh, fuck,” Slade muttered to himself as he began to speed up too.

Monte cut to the right as far as he could and then he shook his head, knowing this… this wasn’t going to be a good thing.

The President of Sins of Fire Real Anarchy West was beginning to go insane.

Cyrus threw his helmet at Slade’s face. Slade managed to punch it away.

“Go fucking get him!” Cyrus roared. “I want him in the fucking garage in the next twenty minutes or I’m ripping your fucking patches off!”

Cyrus scooped up his helmet. Slade looked at Monte, who was already on the phone, calling for Virus and Dolph.

“Call Bram too,” Slade said. “I’m going ahead. Catch up.”

Cyrus’s motorcycle bellowed like a pissed off monster as he sped away toward the clubhouse.

“This is fucked up,” Monte said.

“Shut the fuck up and do what he wants,” Slade said.

Slade got back onto his motorcycle, well aware of how fucked up this entire thing was.

Cyrus had tried passing the yellow car and the yellow car sped up. The two went back and forth. All the yellow car needed to do was ease back a second and let the outlaws pass. But the person driving wanted to be a hero. He kept speeding up. Then he lowered his window and showed a gun.

End of the day, you do not threaten the President of SOFRAW with a gun.

It took the outlaws fifteen minutes to find the yellow car and the driver, parked outside of a gas station convenience store. He was leaning against the hood of his car, trying to look like a badass with his skinny arms folded and his gun showing as it was tucked into the front of his white, baggy pants.

Slade took the gun. Virus punched the guy in the face.

Bram drove the van they threw the guy into.

Back at the clubhouse, they took the guy into the garage. That’s where Cyrus paced back and forth like a lion waiting for his prey. All this gritty, dirty shit was normally Priest’s job. Slade took the reigns as he tied the driver’s wrists with rope. He then whistled for Darrow to get the chains ready.

Hesitation filled Darrow’s eyes, but today was not the day to push back against anything Cyrus wanted. Custer wandered into the garage, lit up a cigarette and dragged a chair across the floor. He plopped down and rested his elbows on his knees and groaned.

“What did this fuck do?” Custer asked.

“Pulled a gun on our President,” Slade said. “You believe that? Like some fucking tough guy. Look at the tough guy now.”

The driver of the car was tied up and hanging from chains, his mouth gagged, tears running down his cheeks. Cyrus continued to pace. He looked at the floor. His head sometimes twitched. He mumbled words but never loud enough for anyone else to hear.

Slade hated the idea of taking the role that Priest would play. In his mind he screamed, Where the fuck is the VP?! Ironic enough that was the exact second Linc entered the garage. He scanned the scene and shook his head.

“Got something you want to say, VP ?” Cyrus asked without looking back.

“Nothing you don’t want to hear,” Linc said. “Do we need a crowd for this?”

“This piece of shit pulled a gun on Cyrus,” Slade said as he stepped toward Linc.

“That’s legit?” Linc asked.

Slade nodded. “Saw it with my own two eyes. Monte and I and some prospects chased this guy down. Driving a customized, fancy car, thinking he’s hot shit. Now he’s chained up.” Slade got even closer to Linc, so he could whisper, “Let him have this one.”

“He’s going to bury this club,” Linc whispered back.

As far as Linc was concerned, there was a good way and a bad way to handle things like this. Linc appreciated the violence as much as the next person. Hell, if someone even looked at Nova the wrong way, he’d certainly break their jaw. So why was this so different?

We have a guy in a coma and another guy out there on the run as a rat , Linc thought to himself.

He left the garage. Slade swallowed hard and look at Darrow. The two shared a silent exchange. This was indeed the outlaw life. Justice came in many forms and justice did not always mean fair . Darrow felt his stomach flip a few times. It went well beyond the scene in front of him. Well… beyond…

“Fuck this,” Darrow whispered to himself.

He hurried and found a large wrench. Without a word and without warning, Darrow walked up to the chained up driver and grasped the end of the wrench in his hand. He knew better than to knock the guy out or kill him. This was Cyrus’s prey to play with. Darrow just needed a sense of…

I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing , Darrow thought to himself.

He brought the end of the wrench down to the guy’s nose, hitting directly at the middle of the bridge, ensuring an awful crackling sound, a pop , and then blood squirting everywhere.

Darrow then pulled the gag out of the guy’s mouth to make sure he could still breath. That’s when Darrow turned and reached out to Cyrus, bloody wrench and hand, and nodded.

“Nobody pulls a gun on my President,” Darrow said. “Ever.”

Cyrus took the wrench and Darrow left the garage. As the door shut, Cyrus began to swing the wrench. The chained up driver screamed. Nobody but the outlaws would hear him. And nobody at all would care.

Darrow walked by Linc, who just stood in the middle of the lot, deep in thought.

“Call the fucking doctor to come fix him,” Darrow spat at Linc, referring to Dr. Hazel.

Jess.

Her father being the legendary Johnny Cutter, the man who founded SOFRAW .

“Watch your fucking tongue, Darrow,” Linc warned.

Darrow looked back and without realizing how juvenile it would appear, he stuck his tongue out at Linc. From the outside, it looked a little funny. From the inside… the reality…

SOFRAW was literally falling apart.

Darrow sat at the table, alone. He’d been sitting there for a little while. The two empty beer bottles in front of him were evidence of such. All he could do was stare forward at the doors, running so much through his head at once.

The door opened and Linc came in, followed by Slade, Custer, Monte, and Deed. Cyrus was last. He stood in the doorway, covered in blood. His face splattered. His hands crimson death. His leather cut and shirt smothered. His eyes looked as evil as ever.

Darrow didn’t want to know a thing about the guy chained up in the garage. Alive. Dead. Incinerated. Dumped into a trunk of a car in the junkyard to rot away. The table was far from full now.

Nico’s normal seat remained empty, as agreed upon by the outlaws. There were reasons. They did not matter right now. Two other seats were empty now. Priest. Beaten into a coma. The reality so dire that nobody wanted to face it or speak it. Fitz . The rat. The scumbag, fucking rat.

Chances were both men would never sit at the table again. Only difference being, Priest would get a proper sendoff. He’d be laid out on the table, for all members to pay respect, including all the other charters. SOFRAS, SOFRAN, SOFRAE.

“I made a decision,” Cyrus said, breaking up Darrow’s thoughts. “If anyone here wants to take it to a fucking vote, try me. We don’t have time for debate. We know what’s at stake out there. What’s happening. It goes beyond what he did to Priest. It’s about who he’s with and who he’s talking to. It’s about who is protecting him.”

“We’re on your side, Prez ,” Linc said. “All the way.”

“No fucking doubt,” Slade said.

“Ever,” Monte said with a nod.

Darrow didn’t speak. He just stared at Cyrus. Their eyes locked tight. So tight that Darrow felt his stomach churning again. Stone-faced. Steel-like jaw. The deadly eyes of an outlaw.

“Fitz has someone inked,” Cyrus said with a smirk. “And we’re going to find out what his wife knows. And what she doesn’t know. By any means necessary. Anyone here have a problem with that?”

“No,” Darrow said, standing up.

The rest of the table agreed. It might not have been fair to Mara to be a target of the motorcycle club, but that’s how it went in this life. The man who inked her was now the man who turned on the club as a rat. According to the unwritten rules, she was as much of a rat as Fitz was. And she was going to pay for it.

Cyrus had nothing else to say. He turned and went to the bar where Maggie waited with her perky tits, soft smile, and a bottle of whiskey.

Darrow worked his way out of the clubhouse and climbed onto his motorcycle and rode off. He cruised the streets of Cielo back to his apartment. He parked around the back of the building like he always did. He climbed the back steps up to the third floor and walked to his apartment.

Three-sixteen.

He unlocked the door, opened it and stepped inside. As expected, he was greeted with someone holding a large knife, ready to stab and defend.

“It’s just me, babe,” Darrow said.

He locked the door behind himself and then walked up to Mara and took the knife from her hand. He gently cupped her face as she blinked, shedding a tear. Darrow swallowed hard.

In some ways he was no better than Fitz. Hiding the wife of the rat in his apartment…?

Darrow had signed his death warrant, simple as that.