Page 84 of True Bastard
Ravage, ever the silent predator, moved with a fluid grace, his machete a blur of silver in the dim light as he advanced on the downed men, making an example out of them, one Skinner would never forget. Indigo, his presence a dark, brooding shadow, remained a silent observer, his drawn piece a dark promise against the remaining Death Dogs who dared to stir. This wasn’t just about freeing Kyllian and Banshee anymore.
This was a declaration of war.
A brutal, bloody message delivered with cold, hard steel and unforgiving bullets.
This was the Brotherhood of Bastards, and they always collected their debts.
“Finish it, Firestride,” Eros shouted. “They’re coming in!”
Without blinking, I raised my gun, pointed it at the dead fucker and fired just as the doors to the Tumbleweed kicked open and in walked Morpheus, King and Zeus, and several others.
Chapter Forty-Six
Firestride
I stood holding Kyllian close as Morpheus strode over to me, and I heard King shout, “Jesus fuck! Patch, get the fuck over here.”
Looking at my woman from head to toe, Morpheus nodded before he turned and looked around the bar, his eyes searching for his son, who stood near the exit, blood marring his face and clothes.
Neither man said a fucking word as they stared at each other, until Ravage smirked and then ducked out of the building. Moments later, I heard his bike rev before it faded into the distance.
Zeus stood next to Eros, talking quietly amongst themselves, while a few of my brothers helped the Silver Shadows remove the dead bodies lining the floor of the Tumbleweed. As a brother tended to Banshee, we all heard a dying laugh.
Everyone stopped and slowly turned to see one of the Death Dogs lying at Indigo’s feet, coughing up blood, a grin on his face. “You think you’ve won. You played right into his hand. The Death Dogs always get their man.”
King made a move, but Morpheus got to the fucker faster. Grabbing the fucker by the scruff of his dirty shirt, Morpheus sneered, “What man?”
The fucker coughed again, blood spewing from his mouth. “It was a trap. A way to get you all away, and you fell for it. Skinnerknew you wouldn’t keep your end of the bargain. So he wanted me to pass along a message.” The fucker coughed again, his eyes slowly closing as he whispered his last words. “A life for a life.”
The dying man’s words hung in the air, a chilling prophecy of doom. Morpheus’ face contorted with a fury I’d never witnessed before, his obsidian eyes blazing like twin infernos. The carefully constructed façade of control he’d maintained throughout the night shattered, revealing the raw, unadulterated rage of a cornered animal. Dropping the dead man, Morpheus looked at King, then at Zeus. “He’s attacking the clubhouses!”
King’s roar, “Zero! Burn the fucking bodies,” was a guttural command that reverberated through the room, a primal call to arms.
“Heretic, go with him,” Morpheus ordered.
Heretic, his face a grim mask, nodded, his own eyes reflecting the grim determination to handle what needed to be handled, no matter how vile. Then Morpheus’ bellow, “Bastards, to your bikes!” echoed through the clubhouse, a thunderous command that sent a jolt of adrenaline through me.
The party was over.
This was no longer a game of posturing and power plays.
This was war.
We spilled out of the Tumbleweed, the cold Wyoming air a stark contrast to the inferno that had raged within. The Death Dogs’ trap had been sprung, and now, the Brotherhood of Bastards had to deal with the fallout. My gaze found Kyllian’s as we mounted my bike, her turquoise eyes wide, mirroring the terror I felt churning in my gut.
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
I nodded and peeled out of the parking lot, my brothers with me.
The roar of our engines was a guttural symphony of fury as we tore through the Wyoming landscape, the dust kicked up byour bikes a testament to the storm we were about to unleash as we headed for home. Kyllian’s arms were a tight anchor around my waist, her presence a constant reminder of what was at stake. She had seen the brutality firsthand, the raw, unvarnished truth of the Brotherhood, and yet she had fought, had stood her ground. That fire in her eyes, the one I’d tried to extinguish, now burned brighter than ever, a beacon in the encroaching darkness. Skinner had made his move, a desperate gambit that had backfired spectacularly, and now he would pay the price. The Tumbleweed had been the stage for his downfall, and now, the entire Death Dogs club would become the spectacle of our vengeance.
Morpheus, a shadow in my side mirror, rode beside me, his face a mask of grim determination. He knew the stakes. He knew what this meant. The war had begun, and it wasn’t just about club business anymore. It was about blood, about loyalty, about the woman who had somehow woven herself into the very fabric of my existence. Skinner had made a fatal mistake in threatening Kyllian, by daring to challenge the Brotherhood’s claim. He had ignited a fire, not just in me, but in every single brother riding behind us. And that fire, fueled by a righteous fury, would burn until there was nothing left but ash.
As we sped toward Deadwood, a unnerving realization settled in my gut. This wasn’t just about vengeance for Kyllian; it was about sending a message to every other club in the Federation. The Brotherhood of Bastards had always collected their debts, and tonight, Skinner would learn the true meaning of that promise. He had tangled with the wrong woman, threatened the wrong man, and now, he would face the full, unadulterated wrath of the Brotherhood. The rumble of our engines was a war cry, a promise of the bloody reckoning that awaited those who dared to cross us. We were coming for them,and we wouldn’t stop until every last one of them had paid for their transgressions.
Roaring through Deadwood, we split up into pairs, each destination the same.
The Brotherhood of Bastards’ clubhouse.
