Page 20

TICK TOCK

T he roads were still slick from the storm the night before, moonlight bounced off the water and like the hum of ghosts lurked in the corners of my eyes. Natalia was still asleep when I climbed out of bed, her body wrapped up in my sheets, her hair splayed across the pillow like silk. I stood there a moment, taking her in, letting that peace settle into my chest, because I knew I wasn’t going to feel that again for a long time.

I didn’t wake her. Couldn’t. She’d ask questions and try to come with me. But this run… this one had to be done in the dark.

After a few days of silence, we’d decided to take action into our own hands. There was no trusting anyone inside the Louisiana chapter. Not anymore. Not with Rancid calling shots that reeked of blood and secrets. And definitely not with Bulldog six feet under and no one asking a single fucking question.

That didn’t sit right with me.

So I got on my bike, threw on my cut, and rode ten hours straight to Kentucky. Didn’t stop. Didn’t eat. Didn’t think. Just let the road drown out the guilt and the rage and the weight of knowing I was about to unbury the only man who ever gave a damn about me.

We’d reached out to Hound quietly. The bastard hadn’t hesitated. Loyal as they came, and smart enough to keep this whole thing buried deep beneath Rancid’s radar. Everything had been planned down to the second. Bulldog’s body had been exhumed under cover of night. The casket replaced and reburied without a soul in the club knowing the truth. It was Brimstone who worked the paperwork through a shady clerk, and Hound who made the call to his contact, some backwoods coroner who used to owe us favors back in the day. A war buddy or something. Didn't matter as long as he kept his mouth shut.

By the time I pulled into Louisville, my hands were numb, my eyes bloodshot from windburn, and my heart felt like it was cracking in my chest. The crematorium was set back off the road, tucked behind an old funeral home with rotting shingles and a crooked sign. Hound was waiting for me out front, arms crossed, his jaw clenched tight.

"You ready for this?" he asked.

"If I'm not. I don’t get to have a choice."

We went inside. The place smelled like bleach and ash. Cold tile floors, low lights, and silence that sank into your skin.

He handed me the file.

"It’s bad," Hound said, voice low. "Whoever the fuck did this… they’ll pay."

I opened it and everything blurred.

Multiple broken ribs. Punctured lung. Shattered kneecaps. Skull fracture. Massive internal bleeding. Traces of brake fluid in his wounds like he’d been dragged. They’d beat him. Tortured him. Then straddled him on his own fucking bike and made it look like an accident.

"This wasn’t no crash," I muttered.

"He was breathing when they put him on that bike," Hound said, his voice shaking with fury. "Barely. But he was alive. They wanted it to look clean. Controlled."

I nodded slowly, rage boiling beneath my skin like a goddamn volcano ready to blow.

"You tell anyone about this," I warned, voice thick. "Anyone from Rancid’s crew shows up asking questions, you burn that fucking report and forget you ever saw me."

Hound’s stare didn’t waver. "You got my word. This… this is war, Tick. And I got your back. My whole club does."

I gripped his shoulder once, firmly, and turned for the door.

I didn’t stop the whole ride back.

Ten hours alone with my thoughts. Ten hours of gravel, and wind, and the sound of Bulldog’s laugh rattling around in my skull. I let myself cry for the first time. Deep, broken sobs that ripped through my chest as the miles slipped by. I didn’t wipe the tears away. I let them run down my face in blood and grief.

We’d announced Elrik’s presidency the night before. The kid had barely gotten through his first night as President. I’d told myself I’d be back in time to make sure it went smoothly.

But fate had other plans.

The second I stepped into the Louisiana clubhouse, I knew something was off. Rancid’s voice boomed through the common room, barking orders, filled with venom. Members surrounded him, riled up, half in a frenzy.

“Elrik murdered her! Willow’s dead because of him!”

Willow, that sweet girl he was seeing. I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I suddenly saw Knuckles. on his knees, a gun aimed at his head. Elrik stood nearby, arms bound, blood pouring down his face as he screamed in agony.

Saddle and Hart were backed into a corner, guns raised. And Rancid? That sick fuck was pressing a red-hot iron rod against Elrik’s bicep, burning off the Royal Bastards’ patch.

The kid screamed. Body bucking against the pain.

I lunged forward.

“ENOUGH!”

Barrel caught me mid-charge, tackling me back.

“You?” I whispered, eyes wide. "You fucking traitor!"

He stared back at me, eyes cold, lips tight. He didn’t deny it.

Rancid pointed at Elrik’s mangled body. “He’s done. He’s out. Let him crawl back to whatever gutter he came from.”

That’s when the shot rang out and within seconds, all hell broke loose. Willow’s brother stood at the entrance, gun smoking. The bullet hit Rancid right through the shoulder. It was followed by men shouting and a lot of blood being shed.

Elrik was dragged out by Willow’s brother, both of them running for the door. I tried to follow, but Barrel hit me again, sending me crashing to the floor.

“Stay down!” he shouted.

I didn’t. I pulled my gun, aiming it at his chest. “You fucking traitor!”

He lunged and I fired my weapon. The bullet hit him square between the eyes. He stumbled forward, his knees buckling, and he collapsed on top of me. His blood soaked through my shirt, and I felt his dead weight suffocating me.

It took me a second to realize what had just happened. What I had actually just done. I was in shock and the events of what had just happened were playing on repeat in my head. I’d just killed the father of the woman I loved.

My arm was suddenly being yanked at. The body of my best friend rolled off me. Knuckles had me by the arm.

"Let's go, come on."

I hesitated but he didn't wait, just began to drag me out of the carnage. Shots echoed behind us. Members turned on members. The clubhouse, a place we’d bled for, was being destroyed.

"Move!" he shouted at me, and I stumbled and then I ran and kept running until we couldn't run anymore.