Page 11 of Savage Angels

“Roger that, Dane.” Bear nods.

“Listen up,” I say, leaning in close and lowering my voice. “We have to stand together as one. Loyalty and unity… that’s what this club’s about. We don’t back down, no matter what. These are hard times, but we’ll come out on top if we stick together.”

“Damn right, Prez,” Dirt says, a fire in his eyes. “Savage Angels till the day we die.”

“Fuck yeah,” the others echo, pounding their fists on the table.

“Good,” I say, clapping my hands once more. “Let’s get to work. Time’s a tickin’, boys.”

As they disperse, heads full of plans and determination, I’m left alone with my thoughts—Kat and the kids hidden away in Hawaii. God, I wish they were safer. But these men, these brothers, they’d take a bullet for me and mine. And I’d do the same for them any day. That’s family.

***

Dirt’s knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the road ahead. Occasionally, he rubs his shoulder, wincing at the movement.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, shifting in his seat.

“You all right?”

“Yeah, Prez. I’m not sure you should be with me on this buy.”

“You’re injured,” I state. “We’re going to need all the firepower we can get.”

“I know, but if things go sideways, I’m not sure I can protect you.”

Chuckling, I say, “I’m here to protect you, brother.”

Dirt glances at me, then fixes his gaze back on the road. “It’s not like I haven’t dealt with these people before, but you never know.”

“Not my first rodeo, Dirt.”

He nods, his lips in a hard, thin line as he stares straight ahead.

We are in the warehouse district—not a lot of people and many abandoned buildings. Dirt pulls into one of them, a car flashes its lights, and Dirt navigates toward it.

“Stay sharp, Prez.”

He stops the car and puts it in park but leaves the engine running. Dirt opens his door, glances at me, and exits. I open my door, and we walk to the other car. A man gets out and walks to the front of his van and leans against it.

“Dirt! Good to see you.” He cocks his head to the side. “Well, shit, if it isn’t Dane Reynolds, Kat Saunders’ husband.”

“Great, he’s a fan,” I whisper to Dirt.

Dirt shakes his head but continues to walk toward the man and extends his arm. “Rocco, it’s been a while.”

He shakes Dirt’s hand but keeps staring at me. “Thought you lot were going straight?”

“We are,” I state.

Rocco barks out a laugh and walks around the van, opening the back. “Everything you asked for.”

Dirt points at the car. “Money’s in the trunk.”

“It’s not a stolen car, is it?”

“It’s clean,” I answer.

“Hey, you couldn’t get me tickets to The Grinders next show in Chicago, can you?”

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