Page 40 of Resurfaced Passion

“You need anythin’?” The prez asked and Reaper shook his head, “okay, go, brother.”

He was gone in seconds, out of the church, through the club and found his bike parked up with the others.

He might not admit it to anyone but himself, but Paige washis girl.

And he’d fight all her battles until there was no one left to ever hurt her.

The wheels on his bike screeched as he roared off at neck breaking speeds.

* * *

“What’s the ghost’s problem?” Arson inquired once they’d all watched Reaper exit the church, almost yanking the locked door off its hinges.

Rider knew the answer, he’d always known, but that was Reaper’s private business and had nothing to do with the club unless Reaper himself shared it.

“He’s fine. You got anythin’ to say, or gonna sit sulking?” Rider turned to his father. It wasn’t easy having him around, having him back inside the clubhouse. It was downright fucking hard at times to even acknowledge his father was in Armado Springs at all.

“Don’t fuckin’ push it, son.”

That was their problem. It had always been push and pull between them. Habits were hard to break, and Rider wanted to push his buttons. He took a swallow of coffee, caught Hawk’s eye, his stern face appeared to say for Rider to reel it in and get on with shit.

“I think Reaper’s idea could work. I don’t just wanna kill Rex. I wanna take everythin’ from him. Every last piece of real estate he has. I wanna buckle all his businesses so even his grandkids can’t pay for shoes. I want every fuckin’ cent before I destroy him.”

“Here fucking here,” rippled around the table, punctured with knuckle knocks on the table.

Mad-dog didn’t say a word. Rider was much like his old man, though it pained him to admit it. It was dog who’d taught Rider never to show emotion.

“If we need a reminder of what my fuckin’ uncle has done…”

“He tried to use Gia, gave her up to the Russians.” Preacher supplied and Hawk hissed so loud Rider switched his head to the right to warn Hawk to calm down and not go wrecking ball inside the church.

“The fact he’s working with the Russian’s at all. Lousy fucker.” Sneered Arson. “Man, there’s no family loyalty anymore.”

The boys listed all of Rex’s crimes and they were plenty going back years.

And then. “He’s trying to kill my son.” The tenor of dog’s voice was so corroded in anger that Rider barely heard him at first. His father hadn’t moved an inch, his salt and pepper head still bent over his hands. But when he raised that head and Rider saw his own blue eyes staring back at him, it was evident how pissed Ajax was.

Really. Fucking. Pissed.

Rider felt something crack in his chest, and heat poured in to mingle with his own anger. He was so done with this Rex shit, he wanted to take the old fucker to his knees and have him know it was his own nephew who wrecked his life before putting him in the ground.

His predominant worry had been his father. Would he go behind Rider’s back and side with his elder brother after all?

But looking at him, really looking, Rider saw clearly … and maybe for the first time since Rider was a boy, they were both on the same page, same sentence, same fucking exclamation point.

They’d work together. Take down Rex any way they could.

Rider’s jaw tightened and he nodded at his father who jutted his chin. He didn’t care about an acrimonious father-son relationship at this point. He just wanted to clean up this family ball-ache and go on with life.

“So we’re agreed?” He asked his table of men.

He got a lot of grunted agreement.

“Right. Capone, you wanna go grab Juicy? Let’s see what the southern kid has to say about being Rex’s little bitch boy.”

The plan would be dangerous, for Juicy most of all.

The kid wanted the patch.

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