2. Trick

The ride over to the clubhouse is quicker than usual, the roads dead at this time of the morning before rush hour starts. There are a few bikes parked on the street as I pull into a free space, and one of our newest recruits, a kid we’ve been calling Freedom, pops his head out the door as I climb off.

“Yo,” he says as I approach.

Fucking ‘Yo’? These kids.

I’m not gonna break his balls over it. I don’t have the authority to tell anyone shit anymore, but I give him a roll of my eyes as I pass.

I was young once, dumb and inexperienced. I thought I was invincible, that things would always go my way, but I was wrong. There were days when the agony of guilt ate me alive. Now, I’ve learned to numb myself to it. It’s the only way to survive.

As expected, the common room is empty when I step through the doors, so I busy myself cleaning the room and restocking the bar until brothers arrive at a more reasonable hour.

There is a pang in my chest when Blackjack enters with Hawk. Howler gave Hawk my road captain seat, and as much as I want to have hard feelings about that, I can’t. Hawk’s a good brother, loyal, and he didn’t go off the deep end after the Pioneers killed Jade, a girl he saw as a daughter.

The camaraderie between them all makes my chest feel heavy. I’m no longer seen as one of them. They don’t trust me, and I can’t blame them for that.

Especially Rage.

His gaze narrows on me the moment he enters the room. He doesn’t hide his hatred for me. I shouldn’t have been allowed back into the club, considering what I did.

I glance down at the glass I’m cleaning, an ugly loathing spreading through me.

You attacked a pregnant woman, you piece of shit.

I did, and at the time, I hadn’t thought about anything but destroying Skye Richardson. Her father is the reason my wife is dead and my daughter doesn’t have a mother. The blind rage I’d felt when Heidi told me Skye Richardson was in our clubhouse was indescribable. I wanted Desmond to suffer the way I had. I wanted him to lose something important to him. If Rage hadn’t been there, I would have killed Skye. There is no doubt about that in my mind. All I could think about was avenging my wife, and the red-hot anger that throbbed through me couldn’t be reasoned with.

That time of my life feels like a fever dream. I don’t recognise the man I’d become in those months I was away. Skye’s frightened eyes had peered up at me as if I was a monster. In that moment, I was.

Shame crawls over my skin. I’ve never hurt a woman in my entire fucking life until Skye, and I swear on my daughter that I’ll never do it again. Rage beating the fuck out of me paled in comparison to the disgust I felt for myself.

“Hey.” Blackjack’s voice has my head lifting.

“Morning,” I reply.

He looks tired, but everyone does lately. Although Richardson’s soldiers have been quiet, it’s only a matter of time before they strike again. Until then, all we can do is keep our wits about us and carry on as normal.

“I need a word.”

I put down the glass and towel, coming around the end of the bar to follow him into the room we use for church—the meetings held between the officers of our club’s chapter.

I ignore the looks directed at me as I pass men who once trusted me to have their backs. Now, they don’t even want me in the same room as them.

Emptying my pockets into the box outside church, I feel nervous. Until now, the only punishment I’ve received is losing my patches and my position, and as bad as that is, I deserve more, and I know there is far worse that can happen to me.

Howler could have kicked me out. I don’t know why he hasn’t, but maybe today is when that happens. My club brothers aren’t getting past what I did. They still don’t trust me, and trust is the only thing that matters in a club.

When we step into the room, Howler is already sitting at the head of the table, a stack of paperwork in front of him. He stops what he’s doing and gestures for me to take the seat Terror usually occupies.

I glance at the chair that used to be mine before I sit. Regret churns my gut, turning it inside out. In this room, my sins feel so much worse. I’d sworn vows, made promises to uphold my club’s bylaws, and I had not done that.

“How are things?” Howler asks once Blackjack is seated on the opposite side of the table from me.

It’s not what I expect Prez to ask, so I don’t have a prepared answer.

“As good as can be expected.”

“That’s vague,” Blackjack mutters, but Howler says nothing.

Does he think I deserve the pushback I’m getting?

I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and I hate how hard my president is to read. Did I always struggle? Or is it that my brothers are closed off from me, hiding because they are suspect of my motives?

“How’re things with Heidi?” Howler asks.

This question is safer ground. “She’s done a hell of a job with Sophia. My daughter is happy and healthy. I owe her everything.”

Neither of them contradict my words. Heidi gave up her life for the last year to take care of a child that isn’t hers, even though we failed her.

My greatest regret is that after Crow died, we didn’t do enough. She pulled away from the club, her grief morphing into anger and blame. We shouldn’t have let her go. We owed our brother so much better. And Heidi? She was once a key part of this family, and we let her down.

“Your living arrangement’s working?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Where the hell is this going?

“What’s the long-term plan here?”

I frown, not sure what he means. “Long-term plan?”

“At some point, Heidi is going to want her life back, Trick, and you’re going to have a baby to take care of. Do you have any plans for how you’re gonna manage that alongside your duties in the club?”

I haven’t thought further ahead than the day I’m existing in, but I haven’t considered Heidi might want to leave us. The thought has my fingers curling into fists under the table.

“I don’t know,” I admit. There’s no point lying about it.

“Maybe just something to keep in mind,” Howler says.

I nod, though I don’t have a solution other than to make her stay. “Sure.”

“How are things between you and the guys? Are you keeping your head down?”

I grimace. “I’m not going to do anything that might jeopardise my place here,” I assure them both. “I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m grateful to have it. I’m not going to push for a third one.”

Silence follows my pledge and concern swirls in my gut that Howler’s next move might be to strip me of my kutte entirely.

My breath feels lodged in my chest as he leans back in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop. Howler is a young president, but he’s a fucking good one. I’ve always found him fair and decent, so whatever he decides, I’ll take.

When he set up the Manchester chapter, there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to serve under him, and I’ve been at his side for so long that I saw him as more than a friend. Howler is blood to me—Blackjack too—and it guts me to know I’ve broken that bond between us.

“Rage is still struggling with me.” I wince.

“You hurt his girl,” Blackjack says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I love you, brother, but if you’d done that to Elyse, I would’ve buried you.”

He’s right, and although I don’t know Rage well, I know guys like him. He wants his moment, and right now Prez and Blackjack are preventing that from happening. Sometimes, brothers just have to settle things the old-fashioned way—with fists.

“I know. I’m not looking for him to go easy on me, and I deserve his hate, but if we’re ever gonna get past this, he needs to feel like he’s had justice.”

Howler’s gaze locks onto mine like a heat-seeking missile. “Go on.”

I don’t pause before I speak, knowing if I do, he’ll think I don’t want it. “I’ll take a club beatdown.”

His eyes are hard and unyielding as he tries to assess why I would do this. “Why?”

I understand why he needs clarification. A club beatdown is a harsh punishment, and it’s one that is rarely used. I’ve heard it was done once before in London, but that’s the only time I know of.

“Because it’s needed.”

“You’d put yourself through that?” Blackjack leans forward on the table, interlacing his fingers. “You want to stand there while every single member of this club takes a swing at you?”

I don’t relish the thought of the pain, but I don’t see what else can be done to show I’m serious about fixing things. It’s designed to make a man think twice about stepping out of line again. Every patched member gets one hit, and those hits are not fucking pulled. They’re meant to hurt. The only upside is once it’s done, all ill feelings are meant to be buried. It won’t fix everything, but I’m hopeful it will go some way to repairing the damage I’ve caused.

“Yeah,” I say, “I would.”

“Why?” Howler repeats.

“Skye is terrified of me. Rage can’t look at me without wanting to wrap his hands around my neck. The other old ladies are wary, and my club brothers think I’m a dangerous liability. What the fuck place do I have here if I can’t fix things?”

This club is my life, and when I came out of my incensed anger, I realised how much I need it. The thought of losing my wife and my club is almost too much to bear, but that choice might not be mine.

Howler glances at Blackjack, who just shifts his shoulders.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

I nod at Prez. “I want to show I’m serious about regaining my brothers’ trust.”

Blackjack blows out a breath, his brows raising. “I think you’re crazy.”

“So do I,” Howler adds, “but if you want to do it, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“I do,” I say.

“Okay. I’ll set it up.”

Blackjack leans forward, his arms resting on the table. “I know you feel you need to bleed to make this shit right, but don’t bleed to death trying to show how fuckin’ sorry you are.”

His words remind me of the ones Heidi delivered to me earlier, but hers had been soft, filled with a mix of anger toward the club for continuing to punish me and concern that I’m allowing them to.

Is this what I’m doing?

Am I bleeding to death on the sacrificial altar? Heidi will lose her shit if she finds out I’m doing this, but I know in my soul this is the right choice.

“I’m not,” I say finally.

Howler stares at me for a beat before he lifts his chin toward the door. “Get going.”

I stand, pushing my chair back. I shouldn’t say anything. I don’t have the right to ask anything of my club, but I do it anyway, because I have to know if I stop killing, stop seeking revenge, that my wife’s murder will be handled.

“Just promise me…” I break off, grimacing. “Just promise me you’ll make those fuckers pay for killing my wife, Howler.”

Prez runs his finger over his bottom lip as he stares at me. That unmoveable, unreadable expression is again in place, and I fucking hate it.

“I promise you,” he says finally. “It might not happen how you want it to or as fast as you want it to, but I will burn every single member of that shitty fucking gang to ashes, Trick. For you, for Hawk, for Wren, for Rage, and for Skye. I won’t leave a single Pioneer breathing.”

It’s a threat to continue a war that we didn’t start. It’s a promise to get justice for every single person affected by their fucking antics.

And for now, it’s enough.

“Thanks,” I rasp, suddenly choked by emotion. My club shouldn’t have my back with this, but I’m grateful they do.

“I would’ve done that from the start, Trick,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s broken my balls for failing to trust him to handle this, but for some reason, this one cuts the deepest.

“I know,” I say, “but she was my wife.”

I leave the room, shutting the doors behind me, my chest so tight, every breath hurts. Blood pumps in my ears and that need to kill feels as if it alights every synapse in my body.

My hands shaking, I retrieve my things from the box outside the room, and as I turn, I catch a flicker of movement a second before I’m shoved bodily against the wall behind me.

My back cracks as it hits the plasterwork, and the air is forced from my lungs. Instinct has me fighting back as a forearm is pressed against my throat.

Rage’s furious gaze locks onto mine, and I drop my arms to my sides.

“Fight me, you prick,” he growls in my face, but I shake my head. “Fuckin’ coward.”

I am, so I don’t disagree, but this shit between us needs to end.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am sorry, Rage. I shouldn’t have laid hands on her, and there are no excuses I can make, but I promise you it’ll never happen again. Your woman is safe around me.”

His lips curl into a snarl as his arm presses harder against my throat. My fight response urges me to push him back so I can drag air fully into my lungs, but I don’t move. Rage didn’t earn that name without cause, and I don’t want to make this already inflamed situation any worse.

“Your promises don’t mean shit to me. You might’ve fooled everyone else, but I see you for what you are. I know I can’t do jack about you being back, not without riskin’ my place here. I just got to a good position, so I ain’t gonna fuck that up, but you stay the hell away from my old lady and from me. You got that?” He steps back, releasing his grasp on my throat, and the air floods my aching lungs.

I suck in a breath, trying to get oxygen flowing around my body again as my throat burns.

“I’m not your enemy.”

“Aren’t you? The only reason you’re still breathin’ is because Howler forbid me from slitting your fuckin’ throat, and unlike you, my patch and my oath mean something.”

I flinch. I would have rather he’d stabbed me than hit me with those words. But he’s right, which makes it worse. My oath and my patch hadn’t been in my mind when I took justice into my own hands.

Rage jabs a finger into my chest hard enough to bruise. “Stay away from Skye, or I’ll forget my promise to Prez and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

He walks away, and I sag back against the wall, my head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is no coming back from this. Maybe I’m just cooked. I can take all the beatdowns, all the punishments in the world, but unless my brothers trust and accept me, it doesn’t matter.

And that thought scares the fuck out of me.