Page 25 of Sweet Anarchy

Blake

It's eerily quiet when I enter the clubhouse. The usual music has been shut off and there's even less people here than last time.

Even though it's late in the evening, usually it would be busy as hell right now. It's obvious that the recent attack back home has sent a ricocheting effect through clubs everywhere. The Norsemen are growing in size, chapters banding together to achieve hostile takeovers. No one is safe.

Our clubhouse is only about an hour's drive from the house, maybe an hour and a half tops with traffic during the day. When Zayn and I took off as teens, we wanted to go far enough that we were out of the clutches of our father, but still near enough to keep an eye on things. We were never really far away, even though I'm sure it felt like it.

Sometimes, I used to drive back and watch Asher play football from out of view. Zayn and I even attended his high school graduation – Asher just never knew it.

He gets on my nerves like any normal sibling, but family has always been important to me. We made a harsh decision for our freedom, the grief of our mother's death too much for testosterone fuelled boys to handle. I don't regret leaving – I found confidence and a second family, and it gave Asher a chance to shine on his own.

Not that he ever needed that assistance.

Fetch looks up from one of the green torn chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It's the first time I've ever seen him look his actual age. Frown lines have appeared, etching into his skin, and it looks like he hasn't slept much lately.

That makes two of us.

"Blake," he greets warmly, jumping up from his chair and heading over to me. "What are you doing here? It's late, buddy."

"Hey, Fetch," I say. "I know. I just wanted to come and check on everyone. It's been a rough few days."

Fetch takes a swig of his drink, his eyebrows shooting up. "Not fucking wrong." He motions to Phal to grab me a drink before looking behind me. "Where's Zayn?"

"Back home with Rylee," I answer. "We're not keen on letting her out of our sight right now."

Fetch nods. "Understandable. Was she caught up in the recent shooting?"

My face pulls up in anguish, before I quickly control it, giving him a small nod. "Yeah, she was there at the time. But she's okay, thankfully."

"Shit," Fetch breathes out. "I'm glad to hear that. We heard about the dead."

Phal walks over, handing me what appears to be a strong bourbon and ice. "You look like you need a strong one, B."

"Thanks, Phal," I nod, taking it from him. "Strong is good. Yeah, lots of Rebels from the Brightmore chapter were killed."

Fetch looks down, sadness washing over his face. "I still have good buddies back there. It's been a real mood here since it happened."

"I bet," I mutter, giving him a tight, sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Fetch."

He nods, taking another swig of his drink. "Never thought those Norsemen had it in them. I guess we underestimated them."

"I guess so," I mumble, looking over as Bill's door opens and the man himself strolls out. He catches my eye immediately, signalling for me to follow him into his office. I say goodbye to Fetch and Phal, before heading to the other side of the room and slipping inside the dark green office.

"I'm not surprised to see you," Bill says sternly, sitting in his chair. "I heard you saw some of the Rebels after the attack."

"Yes, at the hospital," I answer in a monotone voice as I sit down, doing my best not to remember the sheer fear and panic I felt when I heard Rylee had been taken to the hospital.

Bill sighs, rubbing his temple. "This is getting out of hand. I thought this had been dealt with. Clearly, we were wrong."

"I don't think any of us could have predicted this," I say. "It's unprecedented for the Norsemen."

"Unprecedented or not, we should have been more prepared," Bill snaps quietly, frustration in his voice.

I pause, watching as his face twitches with uncharacteristic emotion. "There's nothing we could have done, Bill. We can't hold that guilt."

Bill looks over at me, before pushing a piece of paper on the desk towards me.

"What's this?" I ask, picking it up to read. My eyes scan the paper, looking at the list of names. Some familiar ones jump out, a feeling of dread sinking in my stomach.

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