Page 180 of Colt

As I reached the hallway leading to the offices—and Church—my gaze fell onto the wall covered in old photos and rows of cuts.

One, in particular, caught my eye.

My gaze lifted to the soft, black leather, my chest swelling proudly as I took in the patch. A motorcycle with a single wing on each side. Our name,Speed Demons MC, curved over the top, and our state, Wyoming, across the bottom. Nineteen-sixty-eight was stamped inside the design.

It was in September of that year when my pa founded the club and never looked back.

Don ‘Bandit’ Stone, my dad, was a crazy son of a bitch. He decided there was more scratch to be made on the wrong side’a the law, which caused the downfall of his friendship with his buddy, Bob Henderson, the man earmarked as the future mayor of Hambleton.

Years later, the title of mayor passed to Rob’s son, the current mayor of Hambleton, Robert Henderson the Third. The man who stole the love of my life out from under my nose.

I had my own legacy, President of the Demons, which I took over when my pop passed away. The club was a mess back then, so I decided to turn us onto the straight ‘n’ narrow. We gave up our one-percenter diamond patch and opened successful businesses, which to this day gave us good lives.

My steps echoed down the corridor as I walked toward the room where we held Church. I pressed my thumb to a keypad on the wall to the right, it gave a high-pitched beep while the locks disengaged. I pushed the door open and made my way inside the room I’d always classed as sacred.

It was Colt who’d installed the top-of-the-range thumbprint sensor a few years ago. He’d wanted to bring the club into the twenty-first century.

I didn’t understand any of that technological mumbo jumbo; it flew way over my head. I was a mechanic by trade, but I’d admired his abilities and trusted him to do his best for us, which admittedly he did, at least until recently.

I loved him like a son, which is why his betrayal hit me so hard. The more I hurt, the harder I lashed out, as proven by my actions in the last week. A part of me knew I’d gone too far, recognized that the punishment was far worse than the crime, but what they’d done had hit me like a ton of bricks, weighing down on me so heavy that I struggled to see the light.

The last time the light died for me was when I came home after bein’ tortured and held prisoner by Adid’s forces in Mogadishu, to find the girl I loved more than life had married somebody else and birthed his baby.

My world have been dark ever since.

I pulled the gavel off the shelf, taking it to the Prez’s seat and placing it carefully on the table, which had been battered by the same gavel over the years. Every dent in the wood told a story, from back in the day when Bandit was president, and would continue to do so when Cash took over the top spot.

I took my seat, my pinkie touching the block of wood, as if I needed to know it was there, along with the years of tradition and family it represented. The block was smooth against my skin. Comforting almost.

My eyes lifted as the door opened and my oldest friend entered the room in silence, taking his seat. Mere seconds passed before Atlas and Cash came in, followed a minute later by Breaker and Bowie. They all sat down without a word, regarding me with expressions ranging from disappointed to downright fucking furious.

I picked up the gavel, whacked it against the sound block, and rumbled, “Let Church commence,” before my stare met every man in turn. “I know the last few days have been... difficult,” I began. “But it’s over now. Colt’s gone, Freya’s goin’, and we need to get back to normal.”

“Is that it?” Abe asked, the corners of his mouth turning downward as he addressed me. “You turn this MC on its head and tell us to carry on regardless?” He shook his head disbelievingly. “Fuckin’ typical.”

“They knew the consequences,” I pointed out. “It’s been drummed into them both for years.”

He stared at me blankly. “Stupid fuckin’ rule if you ask me. Tellin’ people they can’t fall in love.” He let out a snort. “What gives you the right?”

My chest panged because Abe being irked made me feel like I was a naughty schoolboy getting berated by his dad. He was a man I looked up to, so losing his respect had an impact.

I looked around the room. “Anyone else got somethin’ to say? Why don’t we get it all outta the way so we can fuckin’ move on?” My stare rested on Atlas. “You’re the SAA. Your job’s to ensure club members don’t break the rules. What’s your take on it?”

His eyes met mine and I knew I wouldn’t like his reply.

I was right.

“Ya know, Prez. Every time you said you didn’t want Freya with a club member, I wondered why we weren’t good enough. Don’t get me wrong, I never looked at her as anythin’ but a little sister, but whenever you gave us the spiel, I wondered what we lacked. Over the years the club got straight. We make bank, and now live according to the law, mostly. We put our women on pedestals and love ‘em to distraction. What’s so bad about us?”

My throat caught because when Atlas put it like that, no answer would suffice. I had to make him see though. Had to make him understand. “It’s the life, Atlas. All our women are in constant danger. Look at what’s happened in the last eighteen months. Layla, Cara, Sophie, even little Kady girl got caught up in shit that shouldn’t have touched ‘em.”

“Layla’s bullshit happened before the club,” he pointed out. “She got kidnapped because Henderson didn’t wanna get linked to Sunny. My Sophie got more abuse from her pig ex-husband than the Sinners. Little Kady was marked ‘cause she’s a little fuckin’ beauty and those sick fucks wanted to sell her, not ‘cause of the club.” His mouth thinned into a line. “We’ve worked for years to make the Demons successful. Seems to me we’re good enough to make you scratch to pay for Freya’s education, but that’s where it stops, so I’ll ask ya again, Prez. What’s wrong with us?”

My eyes hit the table, suitably chastised. “Nothin’. I just wanted my girl to have an easy life. It wasn’t personal, I promise.”

Atlas jerked a nod, but I knew he didn’t get it, and after hearing the hurt behind his words, I couldn’t blame him.

“Kennedy told me somethin’ last night,” Kit chimed. “I mentioned Colt’s family name and she nearly fell off her chair. Turns out Colt’s family isn’t just rich, they’re the top tier of New York society and part of the top one percent of the world.”

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