Page 86 of Rocky Top

Chapter 22

Rocky

The sky hung heavy, clouds thick and low like they knew what was comin’. I felt it in my bones, same way I felt when a shift was near. Or a storm. Or blood.

We were supposed to be runnin’ a simple supply haul, nothing fancy, just a quick trip up the mountain to meet one of Appollo’s old contacts. Couple crates of parts for our bikes, some off-the-books equipment for the shop, plus a few unregistered odds and ends I didn’t ask too many questions about.

But even before we left the Wild Dog, my hackles were up.

Bandit had been actin’ squirrelly all damn morning. Snappin’ at Smokey over nothin’. Avoidin’ eye contact. And not once did he look me in the eye when he said he was ridin’ out.

The kid had always been trouble, but I’d vouched for him once. Thought maybe he’d settle into the brotherhood. Now? I wasn’t so sure.

Me, Smokey, Bandit, TNT, and a prospect named Flint rolled out. We were halfway up the pass, takin’ the long way toward Sevierville, when I caught the scent.

Wrong. Rotten.

It was faint at first, like the smell of a bad memory, burned leather, blood magic, something cold under the pine.

“Hold up,” I barked into the comm.

The bikes slowed and pulled to the side of the road. I swung off mine and scanned the tree line. The air was still. Too still.

“You smell that?” I asked Smokey.

He nodded grimly. “Ain’t normal.”

Flint was fidgetin’ like a kid who’d just pissed off a teacher. “You think it’s… them?”

“Yeah,” I growled. “I do.”

The them in question was a rival club called Ashhowl MC. Nasty fuckers. Rumors said they weren’t just patched-in criminals, they were necromancer-backed, blood-fueled freaks with a taste for the supernatural.

We’d tangled with 'em once, years back. Lost two brothers.

I didn’t like coincidences. Especially not with Birdie still tryin’ to come to terms with what she’d seen and the shift I knew was simmerin’ beneath her skin from my damn bite.

We mounted back up and rolled slow, cautious, eyes everywhere.

That’s when it happened.

The trees exploded.

I saw the first Molotov arc through the air, flames burstin’ bright against the asphalt.

“Ambush!” I roared.

Figures burst from the tree line, leathers we didn’t recognize, some masked, some painted with bone symbols that made my skin crawl. At least ten of ‘em.

The fight was on.

I yanked my blade free and caught the first bastard mid-charge. Slashed across his chest and kicked him back toward the brush.

Smokey was holdin’ his own, swingin’ a length of chain like a man possessed. TNT already had blood on his hands and a look in his eyes that meant trouble for anyone crossin’ him.

Flint…

I looked for him, instinct pricklin’.

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