Page 5 of Pope’s Purgatory

“Anyone heard from Basilisk’s lawyer lately?” I ask.

The brothers shake their heads, and I let out a heavy sigh. “Right. That’s what I feared. Cyanide, check in with Roger and see why the hell he hasn’t updated us on Basilisk’s case. We might need to look for a new lawyer. Are we still paying him?”

“Like clockwork,” Pretty Boy answers.

Basilisk was sent up the river last year when he took the heat for protecting a broad who was being beat on by her old man in the apartment complex he lived in. He told me he didn’t regret it and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’s been protective of women ever since he was forced to watch his father kill his mom when he was thirteen. I once saw him hop in a motherfucker’s face just for raising his voice to his woman. Basilisk is deadly to anyone who crosses him, but he’s the gentlest fucking giant to women and children that I’ve ever seen.

I turn to Manic. “You and Butcher ride out with Cyanide. He gets our brother out or we’ll have to take him out on our boat sometime. He’s been taking money and not providing the results he promised us.”

We go over a few other minor things before I call an end to church with a smack of the custom-made mallet against the sound block. When I was voted in as President, Birdie went out and had the custom gavel made to mark the occasion and surprised me with it on my birthday. She told me the entire thing was carved by hand. The V-twin engine on the head of it is some of the most exquisite work I’ve ever seen, and the handle is wrapped in leather with tassels coming out of it. Shit is fucking beautiful. I was worried about using it, wanting to keep up with tradition and use the one my grandfather did when he started the Coral Cay chapter. Birdie told me I didn’t have to use it, but she still wanted something to honor the position I’d been given. Gavel and Mad Dog were pissed when they didn’t see me using it. When I explained about wanting to keep with tradition, Gavel smacked me upside the head and told me to stop being stupid and use the motherfucker. So, I had his gavel mounted to the sound block he’d used and had a plaque put on it. The brothers and I gave it to him for Christmas the year after I took over. It now sits on the mantel above the fireplace in the house he’d shared with Mad Dog.

I file out of the chapel behind Malice, my eyes scanning for my woman.

Birdie is sitting at the bar chatting up Blitz’s permanent piece of ass, Roxanne. The broad is loyal as fuck, and she’s stuck with Blitz’s crazy ass for a couple years now. Not that she’ll stick forever. They rarely do with him because, eventually, they want more than he’ll give. Brother won’t give up that patch, and when they realize that, the women skip.

“Hey, little mama,” I rumble, stepping up behind her and curling my fingers around the base of her neck. “Ready to ride out?”

Birdie leans into me, her hand drifting behind her to wrap around my thigh. She tilts her head back so can she peer up into my face. “If you are.”

“Let’s go,” I order, helping her to her feet.

I’m ready to get my woman home and make good on that promise from earlier.

Nothing better than the white heat that licks up my spine when I’m buried inside my little mama.

I nod at Roxanne. “Rox, good to see you.”

She smiles at me. “Lookin’ good, sugar. Take care of my girl, yeah?”

The smirk I aim at her is full of all the sinful promises I’m going to deliver on when I get her friend home. “I’ll take real good care of her.”

Roxanne tosses her head back with a laugh. “I have no doubt.” She glances at Birdie. “Have all the fun, babe. Chat later, yeah?”

Birdie wiggles fingers at her in a wave and then I’m dragging her out behind me as she laughs.

The ride home is as enjoyable as any time I’m on my bike with my woman wrapped around me until I glance in the mirror. The blacked-out van and two bikes rolling up on us at high speeds have my fingers curling tighter around the handlebars.

I pick up speed and reach down quickly to tap out our code for danger against Birdie’s thigh.

Her fingers tap against my abdomen in acknowledgment and her hold loosens enough to free up my movements. She’s got her phone out to make a call to Manic, but when the Steel Slayers close in on us, I know my brothers won’t get here in time.

We’re on our own, and we’re fucked if I can’t hold them off long enough for our backup to arrive.

I grab my gun from the shoulder holster and aim for the bike gliding up beside me. I fire off a shot before he can, but he veers away at the last minute, causing my shot to go wide. Before I get the chance to aim again, one of them clips my tire. Birdie lets out a scream of surprise, and I spit out a curse when I have to fight to keep us upright.

No sooner do I get the bike under control than one of them lodges a bullet in my shoulder. I grit my teeth against the blinding hot pain. It’s a struggle to keep my grip on the handlebar, but I manage. Birdie grabs the gun from my hand so I can worry about keeping us on the road and aims at our enemies. She takes out one of the Steel Slayers, and I watch in the mirror as his body jerks and then he and the bike are both going down.

This pisses off the others and it’s open fucking fire on us.

A terrified scream peals from Birdie as the bike wobbles.

“Hold tight, baby,” I yell.

Fear wraps its claws around my throat and squeezes as I struggle to keep the bike under control.

I don’t give a fuck about me, but not having Birdie breathing in this world nearly freezes me.

We crash hard, the bike—and us—skidding along the pavement.

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