“Ethan’s dead, there’s no need to go after the Demons now.” He hasn’t shared club business with me, he’s told me nothing other than that Ethan’s died, but slowly the mood in the clubhouse has been changing over the past week or two, and I know something big is in the cards. Something that involves all the members, and which has had men looking solemn and cleaning their weapons as if they’re getting ready for war. The arrival of a dozen brothers from other chapters without celebration or partying reinforced my fears.
Wraith hasn’t replied, he’s now kissing my neck.
“Where are you off to today, tell me that at least?”
All he’ll say is that one of the prospects will be staying with me. Everyone else, except for Mouse and Adam, who’ll remain in the clubhouse to protect the women, is going on a run. Yes, with all their weapons prepared and ready. I’m not stupid. Going after the Demons was something I knew they had planned.
He takes my lips and murmurs against them, “Love you, darlin’.”
“Wraith…”
He pulls away with a rueful smile. “Got to get going, Soph. Can’t leave the boys waiting.”
“Please don’t go. I’ve a really bad feeling about today, Wraith.” A feeling I’m never going to see him again.
He doesn’t answer other than giving a sad little shake of his head, then just goes to the bathroom and has a quick shower. On his return, he dresses quickly, and I see him put a gun in his shoulder holster, and another in the waistband at the back of his jeans, and then a third, which he spirits out of nowhere and straps to his ankle. He’s usually armed, but never as much as this before.
With an air of finality, he comes over to me. “I’ll see you tonight, darlin’. I don’t know what time—”
“Text me, Wraith. Let me know you’re safe.”
He sighs deeply. I know he wanted to keep me away from this. He didn’t want me to worry. But the clues have all been there. Something big is going down, and my man will be right in the thick of it. He has to be, he’s the VP.
I care about the other men too, some more than others—Peg, of course, but also Dart, and Slick, who seems to have suddenly gotten himself an old lady. But it’s my man I need to come back home.
Without giving anything away he tells me, “We got this, babe, but I’ll text you. Soon as I can, okay?”
Then with one last kiss, he’s gone. As he closes the door, I hear him greet someone outside, telling them if they ever want their patch to keep a close eye on me. It’ll be the prospect who they’re leaving behind.
Silence. Now the tears start falling in earnest, and all I can think of is saying goodbye to Mark that last time, the day he left for the oil rig, telling me he’ll be back in three weeks’ time. Remembering that awful telephone call, the waiting, and then the confirmation of his death. And today feels exactly the same, like that dreadful bleak period when I’d been waiting for news.
I can’t lose Wraith. I’ve a terrible sense of foreboding, of déjà vu. I’ve been here before, and it’s a place I never wanted to visit again, ever. This… this was why I tried to protect my heart. I’d failed miserably at that and am now paying the price.
Closing my eyes, I try to go back to sleep. If I can sleep the day away, it will go faster. But the ploy didn’t work last time I had to play the waiting game, and it’s clearly not going to work now. My mind churns ten to the dozen, and I can’t switch it off.
It must be half-an-hour later that I hear the roar of bikes starting up, usually the sound doesn’t reach up here, but there must be thirty or so bikers going out today—our club and the visiting members—so the thunderous noise carries. Then it’s silent again, and the lack of sound hangs heavy in the air, an ominous quiet broken only by the chirping of cicadas, as though something is going to happen.
I can’t just lie here.
Realising the women, Adam, and Mouse will be in the clubhouse, I decide to get up and go join them. Moping around here on my own won’t help ease my mind. At least there I’ll be in the thick of it and with whomever’s the first to get any news when it comes in. Now being familiar with Mouse, at least I know he’ll be monitoring everything as it goes on.
It’s my best course of action if I want to keep in the loop. So forcing myself up, I take a tissue and blot the last of my tears, blowing my nose to clear it, then reach for my prosthesis, knocking my crutches as I do so. As they crash to the ground a worried voice calls out.
“You alright in there, ma’am?”
“I’m fine. Just having a shower and getting dressed. I’ll be out in a few, Spider.” The mode of address, which I’m going to have to put a stop to, has identified the unlucky prospect left to guard me today. Not that it’s necessary now that Ethan St John-Davies is dead―and boy does that take some getting used to that I’ve no further need to worry that anyone’s coming after me―but Wraith’s still being cautious. Spider will probably think he’s unlucky to be missing out on the action, but he might be one of the lucky ones if my fears are correct.
I get myself ready and then walk to the door. Every day I’m getting better at walking, and each time I walk unaided I feel a little bit prouder of myself. I don’t even need to concentrate on every step I take, only when there are stairs involved―and luckily there’re not many of those around the clubhouse―or I’m going over rough ground, which is more common as the club’s neglected to maintain some of the many paths linking the buildings together.
Opening the door, I find, as expected, Spider standing outside. He’s a tall, lanky man, his frame giving rise to his name—his limbs seeming too long for his body. I’ve seen him in the gym, and he’s trying hard, but there’s obviously some way for him to go until he muscles up to be a match for the other men. In his early twenties, he still has the bearing of a boy rather than a man, emphasised by his impish good looks and the manners the club hasn’t yet quite managed to knock out of him.
“You want to go down to the clubhouse, ma’am?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Spider, called me Soph. Or Wheels if you have to, but don’t call me ma’am again, please. It makes me feel ancient.”
An easy grin comes to his face. “Okay, ma’… Wheels.” Although some of the brothers have copied Wraith in calling me Sophie, most still stick to the now redundant handle of Wheels.
I answer his original question, “Yes, I’m going to the clubhouse.”
He looks around me into my room and points to the wheelchair. “Let’s get you seated in that.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Your chair.”
As my brow creases, he continues, “Wraith told me I wouldn’t get my patch if you so much as broke the nail on your little finger before he got back. I’m taking no risks. It’s the chair or you stay here. Your choice.”
I see a touch of the iron he’ll need to develop as a fully patched member of the club, but I still protest. “Spider, I’ve been out of that fucking chair for weeks. I don’t need it anymore.”
He shakes his head, turns his back and stands resolutely in the doorway. He might be a skinny lad, but I doubt I’d be able to push my way around him.
“For goodness’ sake, I can walk goddammit, hold my arm if you’re worried.”
Turning back, he frowns. “Don’t think Wraith would want my hands on his ol’ lady.”
I can feel blood rushing to my cheeks as I inhale sharply. “Well I won’t bloody well tell him if you don’t.”
Another dismissive shake of his head. “Not risking my patch,” he proclaims adamantly and turns his head away.
I glance at the chair and then at his back. Oh, hell. If I want to go to the clubhouse, it seems I’m going to have to give in. Unless he straps me to it, once I’m down there I won’t be tied to it. “Okay, I give in. I’ll use the bloody chair. I don’t know why you’re so hung up on it.”
Now he’s looking at me with a cheeky grin. “Perhaps I just like pushing women around.”
He’s made me laugh. Still shaking my h
ead and chuckling, I go behind the darn chair, grab the handles and push it myself to the door. After his pointed look, I give a sigh and sit in it. I let him wheel me along, and soon we’re out in the bright sunshine and going down to the club, the beauty of the day, the endless blue sky above at odds with my black mood.
There’s always something going on in the clubroom, generally brothers drinking or being serviced by the sweet butts at any time of the day. Sounds of pots banging and cooking smells generally fill the air, coming through from the kitchen. So to find the place completely deserted and quiet is disconcerting. I wasn’t sure what I expected, the old ladies are around at least. The sweet butts are probably languishing the day away in their beds, Mouse is probably behind his computer screen, and God knows where Adam is.
“Looks like you’re it for my company for today, Spider.”
“Shush,” he admonishes me fiercely.
It’s at that point the unnatural still and quiet make me realise there’s something wrong. I feel Spider’s hands on the chair give a slight pull backwards, but before he can get me moving, a man steps out into the clubroom from the direction of the offices.
He has a gun in his hand and a face that I recognise. My hand goes to my mouth partly in disbelief, and partly to suppress an agonised howl of distress. I’d thought I was free, had thought I no longer had a threat hanging over me. I was wrong.
Hargreaves, Ethan’s sidekick, is standing flanked by two men. Two men holding weapons as if they know exactly how to use them.
“Stop.” Hargreaves gun points above my head, aimed toward Spider. “Take out your weapon and drop it now.”
“Not carrying.” Spider’s controlled reply comes from behind my head.
“I think you are. Take it out now. It will be easy enough to find after I shoot you in the head.”
At the chilling words, I tremble violently. I can’t have another prospect’s death on my conscience. In a shaking voice I advise, “Do as he says, Spider.”
He doesn’t react immediately, but as Hargreaves brings his gun up and cocks it, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, as from the corner of my eye I see a weapon dangling from the prospect’s hand.
“Now, very gently put it on the floor and kick it over to me.”
Spider does so.
Hargreaves stares at the prospect for a moment. “Now the knife you’ve got on you.”
Another slight delay, and then his blade joins the gun on the floor. Hargreaves picks it up, then sneers. “They let some wimps join motorcycle gangs nowadays, don’t they?” He jerks his head at his two men, who dutifully laugh, but who don’t lose focus and keep their guns trained on us. Now he’s removed any threat, turns his attention to me. “Well, if it isn’t the cripple. Ethan’s been trying to find you. Thought the Rock Demons were going to bring you in, but never trust a motorcycle gang to do things right.” A sneer accompanies his last comment. “The little cunts were frightened of going up against the Satan’s Devils, so I had to come myself. My lucky day when I saw all the bikes going out this morning.”
Deciding I’ve had enough of listening to his poison, I try to reason with him. “Your employer is dead. I don’t understand why you’re here.”
A twinge of regret crosses his face. If I thought the man capable of any emotion, I’d say sadness was there too. “It’s a pity,” he says, his voice suddenly angry. “The world’s lost an amazing man there. Shot down like a fucking dog. It’s all that bitch Zoe’s fault, and I’ll deal with her too after I’ve finished with you.”
Zoe? The realisation hits me that he’s here to tie up loose ends. There’s no point taking me, there’s no longer anyone to deliver me too. He’s going to kill me. All of a sudden, all the reasons I want to live come into my mind, and on the top of that list is Wraith. My phone starts ringing in my pocket.
“Don’t answer that,” he instructs.
It rings again, and again I’m forced to ignore it. I can’t even surreptitiously use the keys to leave the line open—he’s watching me so closely and he’d see my hands move.
“What do you want from me?” When whoever’s trying to call me gives up, I try to keep him talking. It was probably Wraith, and hopefully he’ll grasp something’s wrong. Or he’ll think I’m in the shower. A text pings, which I have to ignore as Hargreaves answers my question.
“For you to stop breathing,” he tells me, nonchalantly.
Spider moves in front of me. “You’ll have to take me out with your gun first. Soph, I’ve got your back covered.” There isn’t much inflection on the particular words but staring death in the face seems to sharpen my mind, and in a flash, I recall Wraith storing his extra gun in the back of his waistband. Could Spider have one there too?
He’s hiding me from Hargreaves. Knowing if we live he’ll forgive me if I start to grope him only to find I’ve interpreted him wrong, I move my fingers slowly, making sure I’m making no movement that Hargreaves can see. He doesn’t know I’m not wheelchair bound anymore.
I was right, my fingers touch the cold hard metal of a gun. I’ve watched the men cleaning them often enough, and after my request to have one for myself, Wraith got as far as showing me how to check if one’s loaded and how to take off the safety. I can only assume Spider put bullets in his today, but as I slide it free, I make sure it’s ready to fire. Deciding there won’t be another dead prospect today, I stand, pushing Spider to one side. With faster reactions, he grabs at me, pulling me with him behind the couch. The back of my wheelchair explodes as bullets hit it almost as quickly as the gun is taken from my hand, and standing, Spider fires three shots of his own.
He might be a lanky son of a bitch, but what he lacks in muscle he makes up for with his accuracy, as there’s no more returning fire. But as soon as the men are down, he leaps up over the couch and fires six more shots to make sure.
Hearing no sound except the ringing in my ears, I pull myself up. There’s no doubt about it, all three are dead. Each has a bullet in the middle of his forehead and two more either side of each of their chests.
We exchange glances, my heart is beating like it’s about to jump out of my chest and my lungs are heaving as though I’ve run a marathon.
“They’re dead, Sophie.” His hand might have been steady when he was shooting, but he’s shaking now. I suddenly doubt he’s shot at a live target before. Taking ammunition out of his cut, he reloads his gun.
I can’t speak. The close brush with death, the tangy smell of blood and death turns my stomach, and I rush to the nearest sink to be sick. It’s in the kitchen. I hear Spider calling out for me to wait and be careful, but I’m too intent on getting to my destination.
But reaching it I scream, “Spider!” Carmen and Sandy, along with the new girl, Ella, are tied up and gagged on the floor—they’re not moving, they look dead.
The prospect rushes in and starts to feel for their pulses, grimacing when he sees the marks indicating they must have all put up a struggle. “They’re breathing. They might have been knocked out or drugged, I don’t know which. We’ll untie them but be careful not to move them. We need Doc here.”
Taking his phone out, he places a call to the medic. I do likewise, but my call is to Wraith. It goes unanswered.
He looks up, shaking his head, his eyes going so wide they’re almost entirely white, and I grasp this is too much for one prospect to cope with, as he says in a grim and unsteady voice, “Where are Mouse and Adam? The shots should have brought them running!”
At that moment the kitchen door opens, and Crystal rushes in, Amy in her arms. “I heard shots. What’s…” Her voice breaks off when she sees the other women on the floor. She hides Amy’s face against her.
“Crystal, can you untie them, but don’t disturb them. We don’t know how badly they’ve been hurt. Doc should be on his way.” I flick my eyes toward Spider and get his nod of confirmation. “But don’t let Amy go into the clubroom,” I continue, my eyes trying to relay she really wouldn’t want to see t
he sights in there. As Crystal’s eyes widen, showing she understands, I add, “Where are the sweet butts?
Crystal answers for him. “I heard the shots as I was on my way down, the whores sleep during the day, and their rooms are up at the back of the compound. They probably haven’t heard.”
At least that’s something. Although I haven’t taken to the other women, I didn’t want to see anyone else hurt.
I nod to Spider. “We’re going to try to find Mouse and Adam.”
“Not you. You’re staying here.” Spider sounds firm.
“No, I’m coming with you. The threat’s gone now, Spider.” Without waiting for him to answer, I turn, and moving as quickly as I can, making my way across the clubroom and past the meeting room to Mouse’s office, the most likely place where he’ll be.
I open the door gingerly, dreading what I might find, fully expecting to find him dead. What I find is a tightly bound and gagged man rolling on the floor, struggling to get free despite the injuries that have been inflicted on him. His eyes flicker madly as the prospect and I rush in. Spider gets out his knife that he’d retrieved with his gun and undoes the ropes. As soon as his hands are free Mouse spits out the rag from his mouth.
“What’s happened?”
“Three men were here for Wheels. I took them out.” Mouse stares at him, then nods once, lifting his chin, his gesture showing his admiration.
“Mouse, are you alright?” I gasp out, eyeing the blood pouring from his scalp. “Doc’s been called, Carmen, Sandy, and Ella—they’re unconscious in the kitchen.”
Mouse drags himself to his feet, staggering as he does so. “Bastards jumped me, overpowered me. Tried to get me to tell them where you were, Wheels. Thought they were gonna kill me, but they clobbered me instead.” He lifts his hand to his head, grimacing when it comes away covered in blood. “Where the fuck is Adam?”
“We haven’t seen him,” Spider spits out.
Mouse goes to his laptop and calls up a program, squinting as he tries to get his eyes to focus. “His phone is by the gates.”
Spider turns and runs, I follow more slowly—Mouse can only just keep up with me. He has to balance himself against the wall. When we get outside, Spider forgets his promise to Wraith and turns, pulling me into his arms and shielding me from the sight.
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