Page 19

TICKTOCK

T he news came two days after Bulldog had made his decision. The founding members had raised our glasses to Elrik, Bulldog’s son, the heir to the fucking throne. I’d watched the kid stand there, proud, confident, shoulders squared like he could carry the weight of the club on his back. That night, Bulldog had clamped a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder and said he'd be patched out of Sargent at Arms, and he'd now become his predecessor. He'd been proud of him and you could tell just how much by how he hugged him.

Sadly, that happiness didn't last. We hadn't even celebrated Elrik's patch-in when the very next morning, we got the news.

Bulldog was dead.

Aiyana was the one who had made the call out to Saddle. She woke up in the middle of the night. She hadn’t heard him come in and realized he wasn’t home yet. He’d gone out on a late ride, nothing unusual. But he never returned. Most of us went out to look for him, but we didn’t have to go far. Saddle found him slumping on his bike, engine off, helmet still on, leaning against the chain-link gate that marked the far edge of the bayou at the entrance of the property.

At first, they thought it was a heart attack. His pulse had stopped…his body had settled into rigor mortis quickly. It explained how he was positioned.

But something felt wrong.

The garage door had been left open, his gun wasn’t in his holster. Bulldog always watched his back, always checked his six, never left a ride unarmed. There was no bruising, no wounds, no fucking sign of how he died. There was also no autopsy done. Aiyana had refused. Said she knew her husband, and she wanted him buried in one piece.

But I saw her face when she said it. She didn’t look convinced.

* * *

The days leading up to the funeral were slow, filled with grief and unanswered questions. The clubhouse fell silent except for the few arguments that broke out behind closed doors. No one knew what to say. Saddle was riding longer, Brimstone was disappearing more often, and I spent every damn night watching Natalia sleep, trying to keep the rage out of my chest long enough to hold her.

We heard Aiyana didn’t leave the bedroom. She fainted when they told her. One minute standing at the top of the clubhouse stairs, waiting for her man to come home. The next, she was crumpled at Guardian’s feet, his arms catching her before she hit the floor. December and the other Old Ladies moved in, took over, got her in bed, got her fed, but nothing could break through that scream Aiyana let out when she woke up again. One that split the air and would echo in my ears for years to come.

And Elrik?

The kid hasn’t looked the same since. He wears that President patch now like it’s strangling him. Doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t speak unless he has to. Saddle tried to talk to him. Powertrain offered to help sort out the accounts. But all Elrik did was nod.

And Rancid...

Rancid was suddenly everywhere. At Elrik’s side. At Aiyana’s. Whispering advice. Holding meetings. Making moves. Like the devil had finally slithered his way up the chain.

I wanted to kill him.

* * *

The funeral was held behind the clubhouse, where the trees thinned and the bayou sat still and thick. Men from all over came down to pay their respects. All the Presidents of the chapters Bulldog had set up throughout the years had arrived. We all wore our cuts, stood in a crooked circle of mourning as Virgil, our club Chaplain, exorcist, and quietest motherfucker alive, read Bulldog’s last rites. His voice was solemn. His words hit deeper than we thought they were. They were filled with regret and sadness.

"We ride through fire, brothers. But only the real ones rise from the ashes."

That line hit me like a fucking brick.

I stood beside Aiyana, her hand trembling in mine, Saddle on the other side. Rancid’s hand rested on her shoulder like a leech. I looked up and saw his eyes. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t smile either.

He knew I knew something was up.

I leaned into Saddle. “Why aren’t we doing an autopsy?”

His jaw flexed. “Aiyana refused. Said he wouldn't want to be cut open.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“Or she does.”

"Bullshit. She can't even eat without someone telling her. She's a fucking cop, where's her instincts."

"We'll talk about this later," Saddle ordered and I looked back at Rancid, my stomach twisting. I knew he had something to do with Bulldog’s death. And I wasn't going to let that die.

* * *

After the burial, we went back to Bulldog’s house. December took Aiyana upstairs. I stayed in the kitchen, drinking a beer with Saddle, Brimstone, Hart, and Knuckles. Elrik was outside with Knuckles and Macabre who had been watching him like a hawk.

I kept my voice low. “He did it. I know he fucking did it.”

Brimstone nodded. “Been thinking the same. Bulldog doesn’t just drop dead. Not him.”

“His heart was good. He was careful. Paranoid even,” Saddle added. “So, what the fuck happened?”

“No wounds. No signs.”

“Poison?” Hart offered. He stared at his drink and then pushed it away with a grimace. “Could’ve been laced in something.”

“Only one way to know,” I said. “We need an autopsy.”

“You heard Aiyana.”

“Fuck what she said,” I snapped. “She's not thinking right, and we owe Bulldog the truth. Besides she deserves the truth before she drops dead too.”

"Don't fucking say that," Brim shook his head.

"I'm just pointing out the facts. She's at the end of the line, that sickness is gonna kill her. I feel bad for Elrik, it's too much at one time. They both deserve the truth."

“But without her permission?” Knuckles asked. “It’s a risk.”

I rubbed my temple, trying to think. A deep voice caught my attention on the other side of the room, and then it hit me.

“Ain't that Hound. The new Prez up in Kentucky?"

Hart and Saddle turned to look. "Yeah, why?"

"Doesn't he run a crematorium with his son, Coy?”

Brimstone’s eyes lit. “Yeah, he does. You think..."

"I think he might just be the right person to help us.”

"You think he'd want to? What we're asking is a lot," Saddle whispered.

"Those fuckers have seen more blood and body parts than we could ever imagine. This is a fucking walk in the park for them"

"It could work," Knuckles nodded.

“We get Bulldog moved. Quiet. Fast. Let Hound handle the rest. I'm sure he'll do anything for Bulldog.”

Saddle shook his head. “This is wrong.”

I met his eyes. “It is. But not doing it? That’s worse.”

Knuckles lowered his voice. “Elrik can’t find out.”

Our eyes turned to the young President outside, standing beside the fire pit where the older men used to pass him drinks when he was a boy.

The kid was lost, and we were about to shatter everything he thought he knew.

Because whatever killed Bulldog wasn’t done yet.

And we needed to know the truth before it came for the rest of us.