Page 142 of Parrish

“You started this fucking war, but we’re ending it,” Scout continues. “As of this moment, the Ice Riders MC are gone. History. Every single one of your brothers is dead or dying, and when we walk outta here, we’ll flip that switch. You and your fucking clubhouse will be nothing but fucking dust.”

I flinch at his words.

Then through the madness of my broken mind, I remind myself we survived.

We’re still breathing.

Heart.

It’s what separates men like us from the carnage surrounding us.

“Your precious club will be nothing but a cautionary tale as to why you don’t fuck with the Charons or the Satan’s Knights…we always fucking win,” Scout finishes.

Amen.

With a growl, he releases his hold on Chains and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Let’s roll out,” he says. “We’ve wasted enough time on these fucking fools.”

His men follow him out the front door while me and mine surround him. Stretching my hand in front of him, I press my thumb to the motherfucker’s forehead and draw the sign of the cross.

Then I spit in his face like the devil I am.

Listening to Chains wail, we clear out of the clubhouse and make our way back to our bikes. Our engines sing in perfect harmony as Pipe flips the switch and tosses the detonator towards the building. With a twirl of his finger in the air, Wolf signals for everyone to burn rubber. As the last bike rolls out of the compound, the explosion goes off lighting up the clear blue sky in hues of orange.

The crow descends, flying right into the flames.

It’s a cold and broken hallelujah and the final act in the script of Jack Parrish’s run with the Satan’s Knights.

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