Page 53 of Dash

She gave him a brief side hug as though they were old acquaintances. “You doing okay?” she whispered.

“I’m all right.” He looked her up and down, noting she could pull off black. Damn, she looked good. “Thanks, I’m sure this is awkward.”

“I’ve been to a few before.” She shrugged. “Professional hazard.”

After the service, Monty’s whistle silenced the low hum of conversation. “Out of respect for our fallen brother, Bowie, the men of Odin’s Fury are going to give him one last rev.”

Turning to Gingersnap, Dash kissed her forehead. “I have to do a thing. I’ll text you later.”

She peered at him with her brows furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t have time to explain it. She didn’t protest, nor did she try to talk him out of it. Instead, she schooled her features and nodded. Not that he needed permission, but there was something about her lack of questions about his biker traditions that sat well with him.

As he turned to head to his bike, he saw them. They were off to the side, appearing to be on the fringe of the group. To anyone who didn’t know, they would have looked like they belonged. Only the members of Odin’s Fury would know how wrong their presence was, and only Dash, Romeo, Clark, and Monty knew just how wrong.

Jerking his head toward the crowd, he scanned for Romeo or Clark to make sure they saw them too. He could be seeing things at this point. Who the fuck knew. His chapter president came into view, and Dash darted toward him, grabbing his arm. After tugging his sleeve and pointing, the leader of the Ohio chapter looked toward the uninvited guests.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed, balling his fists.

“A lot of fucking balls to show up at the funeral,” Dash echoed the sentiment as the two gave death glares to Tut and Jackal wearing their Roughneck Rider cuts at Bowie’s funeral.

“We can’t do a fucking thing now. We need a prospect to tail them.” Clark’s attention switched to the group. “Find one.”

“Consider it done.” Dash jogged through the group until he found one, pointed, and assigned him the task of following but not being obvious about it.

Though, they had to know it was coming. As stupid as they were to start their club up again, and to try to go against Odin’s Fury, they weren’t dumb. So, Dash was sure to remind the prospect to be careful and not be seen.

It’d only taken a few seconds, but he had to join his brothers as the men returned to their bikes, standing beside them, and all eyes went to Bowie’s Road Captain. He started his bike, revved his engine twice before the rest of the Odin’s Fury joined in. They each did five revs, causing a thunderous rumble to roll through the normally quiet cemetery. With the last rev fading out, it got quiet, save for the slight growl of the bikes.

The men mounted their bikes, put their helmets on, and as quietly as possible, the brothers of Odin’s Fury left the cemetery. Of all the funeral traditions bikers had, Dash was fond of the final rev. For him, it was the most appropriate way to send a brother off and say goodbye, the louder, the better, to make his arrival into the afterlife known.

It’s a shame he couldn’t enjoy it. They had a vote coming, and with their presence at the cemetery; it was long overdue. Nástrond may be too good for them. They would beg for it by the time he and his brothers were done with them. The level of disrespect couldn’t go ignored any longer.

Chapter 27

Dash

The last engine hadn’t been cut, bikes were still rumbling, when Clark leaped off his own, ripped the helmet from his head, and barked out to the men, “Church, fucking now.” The wild look returned to his eye. His tone, his expression, and his prompt turn to storm into the clubhouse left no room for protest or even a question.

The men of Odin’s Fury would not be enjoying the food at Bowie’s house after the funeral. There’d be no more mingling with citizens at the repast for them. Club business took precedent. They all knew this when they accepted the patch.

It didn’t stop a few of the brothers from grumbling. Any near Dash received a glare. Sure, they didn’t know the specifics, but they knew what they signed up for. The club came first.

He followed their president into the clubhouse and headed immediately toward the room they used for church. Dropping his stocky frame into the chair, caddy-corner to the right of Clark, he watched the men file in.

Brothers of the chapter took their seats. Visiting brothers lined the walls. Monty, the national president, dragged a seat beside Clark, so the two of them were at the head of the table. It was a sign of solidarity. Despite the meeting, the chapter being Clark’s, Monty was still the president over everyone, so he had a spot at the head of the table.

Once the door closed, and the room couldn’t accommodate another man in leather, Clark slammed the gavel down. Eyes that weren’t normally beady, but appeared so that day, shifted around the room. “I’m cutting right to the chase. Former brothers have broken the code and the Oath to Odin’s Fury. They betrayed all of us. This shit will not stand. I know some of you are newer to the Odin’s Fury patch, but you voted on it. You accepted the patch over.” He paused. Again his gaze panned the room as though measuring the reactions of the men at his table.

Dash took the time to do the same. Most wore blank expressions. They’d be intimidating fucks if he wasn’t one of them. They waited for their president to continue.

“Tut and Jackal have left our club, our table, and our brotherhood. They’ve disrespected us. They were recruiting for their own club while wearing the same patch as we do. They’ve revived the Roughneck Riders and want our territory. We cannot let this stand. I know some of you have ridden with them for years, but to do this is a big ass, fuck you to your loyalty.” Clark balled his fists and cracked his knuckles.

Another pause. While taking the temperature of the room, Dash noted the discomfort spreading around the remaining long-term members who had just lost their president. He supposed these were the men who had called Tut and Jackal their brothers far longer than they’d called Clark their president.

“A vote to send someone to Nástrond is never to be taken lightly.” Monty’s measured voice interrupted the silence. The stark contrast to the rage-filled tone Clark had used couldn’t be missed. “There is a lot to consider, and the one that weighs heaviest on me is the risk to the club.” Monty lifted his chin to eye each man as he spoke. “We survive and can do what we do because of loyalty to the brotherhood. We put the club first. That is what all of you vowed when you accepted your patch. There is more risk to our club, to your loyal brothers, by allowing these men to continue to breathe. They have disrespected you. Make no mistake, they knew that when they did it. We all know what it means and what will happen if we go against our club. When you vote today, men, know that. They knew it would come to this. They knew it would mean their lives.”

Monty turned ever so slightly to give Clark a nod of approval.

Clark cleared his throat and lifted the gavel. “I put forth to you, my brothers, the vote to send Jackal to Nástrond.”

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