Page 65 of Red's Peril: Part 1

“Vegas is tight with Brick.” My statement contradicts his words. Rainman has been mourned, and now buried, without any admonishment for the orders that got him killed. Or, not in my hearing.

“Vegas has been on this path before, remember, Brother? Brick had to pull it back together. Who’d admit the man who gave them purpose in the club was losing his touch?”

My eyes narrow as I consider his words. Could it be that an outsider could see what was happening better than those looking from the inside?

“I tried to warn him—”

“I’m sure you did.” Wraith pauses to raise his hand in greeting to one of the Colorado brothers who’s walking past.

Rainman, a VP of the Satan’s Devils, has had his funeral with full honours. As a prior forces’ member, the Patriot Riders were also out in full force, as was representation from all our chapters.

He was a good man, he will be missed.But why hadn’t he stood up to Brick?I’d seen doubt in his eyes that night and his blind obedience had led to his death.

“Red!”

This gruff voice I certainly recognise. “Drummer.” We clasp hands, but the man hug is shorter than that from Wraith.

“Bad fuckin’ business.” My old prez stands with his arms folded across his chest, shaking his head.

Spilling my thoughts to my old prospecting partner is one thing, being critical of my present prez in front of Drummer wouldn’t do me any favours, so I restrict myself to a simple response. “It sure is.”

“Prez? Brick wants a meet. Hey, Red.”

“Lefty,” I greet him, going through the handhold back slap thing all over again. “Good to see you.”

“And you, Brother. But I’ve gotta pull this one away.”

This one, namely Drummer, narrows his steel-grey eyes clearly messaging he’ll be following Lefty in his own sweet time and only if it suits his purposes. But, nevertheless, he follows his VP away.

“I better be sociable.” Wraith’s staring at the members from the other clubs, in particular my brothers wearing the Vegas patch. “Offer my respects and all that.” He goes to move off, then turns. “Any word on who I should suck up to? Who’s going to replace him?”

“Truth, Bro? We haven’t yet discussed it.” In my head, I’m reckoning Twister or Crash will step up, the sergeant-at-arms being my best bet. I catch sight of someone. “Hey, who’s that wearing your colours?”

“That?” He turns to look. “Oh, that’s Adam. He’s newly patched in. And with him are Mouse and Heart. Best day ever when we came across Mouse.”

Translating Mouse as the man I knew as Tse, and Heart as Dale, I nod my head. “Yeah, Keys has been singing Mouse’s praises.” Mouse apparently knows his way around a computer like no one else in our chapters.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” Wraith lays a hand on my shoulder again, then walks off.

I raise my chin, feeling easier now I’ve caught up with my old Tucson brother. My brow creases as I ponder what he’d said earlier, about people seeing Brick wasn’t at his best. That cough of his? Could it be something serious?

With Rainman’s death and Rosa’s preoccupation with organising his send off, I’d never had a chance to speak to her about encouraging her old man to see a doc. Fuck, if Brick was incapacitated, what would that mean for the club? Sooner we get a new VP voted in to be a strong second just in case, the better. If nothing else, Brick might need to rest up for a bit.

In my opinion, Rosa’s an amazing asset for the Vegas club, or would be in any club for that matter. Since I’ve been here, it’s easy to see how she balances out Brick, tempering his impulses and calming him when needed. She keeps the club running, makes sure we’re fed, takes on the mantle of preparing for events such as this funeral, keeps the girls in line, and directs the prospects who do her bidding without complaining.

She’s a quiet presence, always in the background. The relationship between her and Brick is sound, and both adore their kids. Looking at them at times, I’m envious. This is what I would have wanted, a strong woman by my side, one who’d complete me, and would take no shit while doing it.

Knowing today’s not the time to broach the conversation with Rosa, I concentrate on raising my glass and sharing stories of our dead brother. Of course, most here have ridden beside him much longer than I, so my role is more of a listener, and to laugh in the right places.

Rainman was thirty-eight, far too young to die.

The day grows dark. Tables previously laden with food have been emptied, drinks flow freely, and more than one brother has passed out while those still capable of thought start talking revenge.

I’m tempted to join them but remember vengeance has already been taken. Ringo and his crew are dead. I’m also wary, for some reason, of fingers being pointed in the right direction. It would destroy the club were it to openly be acknowledged that Brick sent a man to his death, and that if it hadn’t been for parts of the plan that had gone right—us having snipers in place—me, Cobra, Rope and Cuff could well be in our coffins lying alongside him.

“Kevlar.” A familiar voice breaks into my reverie.

“Blade, Brother.” I turn fast. After I’ve properly greeted him, I raise my eyebrows.

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