Page 2 of The Silence of Hell

Chapter One.

August 2023 – Chatter (four months after the war).

The roads were slick, so Chatter took it easy. Rain fell in thick sheets as he made his way home. He’d taken a few days out and headed to Phoe’s Camden house to relax. Everything around the clubhouse felt different now.

Chance was much happier, but so many things had changed in the last four months that Chatter had been feeling uneasy. The war had brought a ton of changes, some good, some bad. The shocking losses that allies like Hawthornes, RCPD, and Unwanted Bastards had suffered had knocked them all. He shook his head to try and stop his thought process, but it happened anyway.

Only three Unwanted Bastards remained. Their grief had been immense, and the other clubs had rallied around them. Chatter knew Chance, Drake, and Onyx had offered Inglorious, Chill, and Razor a place in their MCs and had been turned down. Too many had died. Inglorious was unavailable at the moment. The last three Unwanted Bastards had withdrawn from everyone.

Jailbait and Zoom hadn’t recovered from losing Zippy, a man whose death had been widely mourned. Zoom seemed a mere shadow of his former self. Onyx and his men had been on a two-week bender to mourn their dead before moving forward slowly.

The funerals had taken several weeks. And they were etched into Chatter’s brain. Especially the loss by Rage. That girl had stood at church and paid homage to everyone who came to give respects to her fallen man. Chatter recognised the strength and courage she’d needed to do that. And then she had fled.

Chatter knew Fanatic had been in touch with her, but it had slowly faded. He wondered how long it would take the prospect to go after her, but decided it wasn’t his business. He wanted to reach out and comfort everyone, but he didn’t have the words.

Ever since his own loss, Chatter hadn’t been verbose. Phoe made him talk more often, but Chatter was happy with grunts, and funny enough, his club family understood him.

There was also the chaos of his brothers falling in love and claiming old ladies. Not a single damn woman arrived without drama. And Chatter didn’t envy them one little bit. And several of his brothers had fucked up big time and were lucky to even still have their women. Pyro and Banshee immediately sprang to mind.

And the children. Chatter loved the kids, even though they were Holy Terrors and rivalled the Rage Hellions. But they were multiplying at a rate Chatter couldn’t comprehend. Apart from Clio, all the old ladies were at various stages of pregnancy. Chatter shook his head. Within the next six months, the clubhouse was about to become one massive nursery. Chatter didn’t mind, but it was so overwhelming.

He was someone who loved solitude and quietness, and the clubhouse had always lacked that. The war was done, things should settle down, but there was a restlessness inside Chatter he hadn’t been able to squash.

He could have taken himself off to the cabin he shared with Levi, but the fucker had decided to go walkabout and had disappeared with Madisen.

Chatter understood Levi needed his alone time—he was the same after all—but did Levi have to do it when Chatter was in desperate need? Luckily, Phoe had lent him her Camden home. It was too big for him, but it offered the solitude he craved.

Chatter had checked in with Warden, the Royal Bastard president whose club was the dominant one in Camden, Maine. He’d spent a night sharing a few beers with them and avoiding the persistent whores. Chatter had no intention of taking a woman to bed who’d slept with most of the men in an MC. Who knows what diseases they carried. Chatter was particular about where he put his cock.

He’d loved and lost once; he didn’t want an old lady. And he tended to have relationships lasting no more than four or five months, which he insisted on being exclusive. Chatter always ensured that the women knew it was short term and nothing permanent would come from it. One or two had disagreed with his thought process, but that was their problem. Chatter had never intentionally deluded anyone.

His eyes caught a set of beams, and he slowed further as he saw a white car struggling in the weather. Honestly, Chatter should have pulled over the moment the storm hit, but he’d kept going because home wasn’t far.

The roads were dangerous, so he’d been riding slowly, but the car in front was moving even slower.

Chatter stayed back as the vehicle skidded. He frowned, distracted from his thoughts. The driver was having issues with the steering. Although the streets were slick, there shouldn’t be much of a problem. He slowed as, once again, the vehicle slid out of control. Chatter couldn’t see inside; the sky was too dark, and the rain too thick. But he definitely heard a female scream when, seconds later, the car hydroplaned across the road and into the opposite lanes.

The screaming continued as the driver attempted to control the car, which headed down a steep embankment and hit a tree.

“Shit!” Chatter cried and pulled over. He pushed his earpiece and dialled for the police and an ambulance. Once confirmed they were coming, Chatter checked for oncoming traffic and ran across the road. His boots slipped as he tried to reach the wreck, and he ended up sliding all the way and hitting the trunk.

Shaking off the collision, he headed around the rear of the car, rubbed his hip, and opened the driver’s door.

An air bag had deployed, and Chatter stabbed it, making it deflate. A woman’s face came into view with blood trickling down her forehead and her eyes closed.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?” Chatter asked, scanning the interior. He didn’t spot anyone else present, so concentrated on the driver.

She remained unresponsive, and Chatter checked her pulse. Relieved it was steady, he grabbed some tissues from a box inside and cleaned up the blood as best as he could. Chatter was glad to see it was a cut only, but it would leave her with a scar. At least she was alive.

Chatter heard thunder crashing around him and jumped before trying to wake her again. This time, her eyes blinked open, and she stared at him in confusion.

“Huh,” she muttered.

“You’ve had an accident. You’ve injured your head, and I’m not sure about any other injuries. Stay still and wait for the paramedics. Does anything hurt?”

“My head and my leg. I think it’s trapped,” she replied after a few seconds of taking stock. She tried pulling her ankle free and gasped.

“What’s your name?” he asked. Chatter needed to keep her talking.

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