Teller
The windin my face isn’t as enjoyable as I usually find it. Bonding with my brothers over a long run can solve a lot of problems. Not today. The open highway as we ride downstate doesn’t bring the peace it normally does. Not for any of us.
The low thrum of fear settles into my gut. Someone shot the president of our downstate charter. Sway took a bullet to the head and somehow survived. Whether I think Sway’s a sleazeball or not, he’s still a brother.
Was the shooting personal? Or club-related?
My gut keeps saying it’s personal. Sway’s fucked over a lot of people. But maybe I’m just trying to rationalize away the danger.
I stare at the back of Rock’s cut, then Z’s. Murphy’s riding next to me and Wrath behind us. All the Upstate officers in one neat formation. Easy pickings.
Fuck. Thinking like that will get us all killed. The whole point of us riding down is to flip a middle finger at whoever shot Sway and show them we’re not scared.
I’ve had enough club-related near-death experiences to maintain a healthy amount of fear on this trip. Instead of enjoying the scenery, I study the vehicles around us, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The gun in the holster hugging my side offers some reassurance. I’ll go down shooting to protect my brothers.
We pull into the Union County Hospital parking lot and find a place to line our bikes up close to each other. A quick scan of the garage and surrounding lot reveals a few clusters of motorcycles and large black SUVs.
Inside, the hospital’s full of brothers from Sway’s charter. Rock jerks his chin toward the waiting room, indicating Murphy and I need to park our asses there. Fine by me.
“Fuck,” Murphy breathes out. His gaze lands on Downstate’s VP. “What’s he all twitchy for?”
“Probably hoping he won’t have to do any extra work.”
Murphy snorts. MC brother or not, neither of us are fond of Shadow.
An hour later, the atmosphere changes. Brothers stir and stand at attention. A murmur goes through the crowd.
“Well, damn.” Murphy nudges my elbow. “How’d Priest make it up here so fast?”
I cock my head and catch sight of our national president. “Should I be insulted that Priest didn’t come visit me in the hospital?” I ask in a low voice.
“No, you should be thankful. Rock’s probably spitting nails.”
I let out a humorless laugh. Rock hates anyone, even the national president—hell especially the national president—in our business.
“Guess we’re not invited to that conversation,” Murphy says, tipping his head toward the glass window that looks out on the hospital hallway. I turn in time to catch a grim-faced Rock, Z, and Priest walking toward the parking lot with Wrath and the national enforcer following behind.
“Good,” I grumble.
Murphy settles into his chair, clasps his hands over his stomach, stretches out his legs, and closes his eyes.
“Are you seriously napping?” I mutter.
“Yup,” he answers without opening his eyes.
I pull out my phone and text Charlotte to let her know we’ve arrived in one piece.
A thump to my right pulls me away from my phone. Murphy’s elbow jabs my side as he bolts upright.
“Ow, ya fuck,” Murphy growls. “What’d you kick me for?”
Jigsaw grins down at us. “You two assholes can’t say hello?”
Murphy’s foot lashes out, delivering a quick blow to Jiggy’s shin. “Hello, asshole.”
“Hey, Jiggy.” I stand and hold out my hand to him. “Didn’t see you when we came in. How you been?”
“Dark times, my brother.” He clasps my hand and pulls me in, slapping my back. “Dark times.”