Page 11 of Empire of Savages

Above the couch was the Dead Wall—the space we saved for any defectors or rival club members’ cuts once they were stripped of them. There were only three—all hanging upside down to show them the ultimate disrespect. One had belonged to a Hunt member called Harold Prince, who had been excommunicated from Church, then killed for talking to the cops about club business. The other two were the cuts from members of the Devil’s Chaos that had been taken over a decade before.

On the opposite side of the room was the bar, the shelves behind it stocked with premium liquor while the fridges beneath held beer. Gunnar was standing behind it, cracking open two beers and placing one onto the scarred countertop. He held up the other one and tilted it in my direction.

“The party will be later tonight, but a man should have a beer after getting out of prison.”

Giving the mutt a wide berth as I passed him, I took the bottle and emptied it in three gulps. Fuck, I’d missed alcohol. Gunnar smirked at me over the lip of his bottle as he took one sip, then placed it back onto the counter.

“Where’s Rixon?” I asked.

“In his office. Waiting for you.”

Through the door at the back of the room, I entered another long hallway. Going left would take me to my room, and all the other rooms of the single members of the MC. Going right, however, would take me to Rixon’s office and to Church.

I found my club’s president sitting behind his desk, round glasses perched on his nose. He’d gone a little grayer since I was away, making him look like he was in his mid-fifties rather than mid-forties.

“Son,” he said, standing and rounding the desk. Holding out his hand to me, he pulled me into his body and smacked me on the shoulder. The embrace lasted less than three seconds, but for me, it was a lifetime. Rixon had become a father figure to me since my own father had defected back to Russia when D and I were only ten.

“It’s good to have you back home again.”

“It’s good to be back.”

He held me at arm’s length by the shoulders, his chunky, gold rings filling all his fingers now. His wife, Molly, gave him a new one for each anniversary they shared. “Did Styles do right by you?”

“He did, but the motherfucker threatened to stop being so attentive in the future if he wasn’t paid more.”

“That motherfucking cunt,” Rixon muttered. “I’ll take care of that. Did he do anything to help get you out for your brother’s funeral?”

Had he? I didn’t know. I’d fucking blanked out after I was told.

“I am sorry about Dimitri, son,” Rixon said, taking my silence as all the answer he needed. “We all attended his funeral. Molly arranged everything. Made sure he was put to rest right.”

I nodded, any words I may have wanted to say suddenly getting locked in my throat like a vise.

“Gunnar wanted to have a party for you tonight, but tomorrow, we’re going to start chasing down who did this to him.”

His words made hope flare behind my sternum. “You have a lead?”

Rixon frowned. “Gunnar didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Prez sighed, and for the first time, I noticed how tired he sounded. “We haven’t been able to find anything. By all accounts, it looks like a random attack.”

If that were true, then D had been on the receiving end of some random fucking luck.

“You knew your brother better. Did he have any enemies?”

“No.” My voice sounded hollow. “He was a med school student. What kind of enemies could he possibly have?”

“He was targeted for a reason. At least, that’s what makes the most sense.” Rixon seemed to be deep in thought for a moment. “You were identical twins. Could it have been a case of mistaken identity?”

“The thought had entered my mind, but I hadn’t wanted to give it any credence.”

He sat back in his chair, his cut creaking with the movement. I stared at the “President” patch on the right side of his chest. Rixon had been president for the last decade. The role was starting to show. Under the previous president—when I was still a prospect—the Hunt had been involved in the manufacturingand distribution of heroin. Rixon had wanted the Hunt out of narcotics, and when the old president had been killed in a road accident, he took over, cleaning up the club’s image and getting out of the hardcore drug production and into more legal ventures like restaurants and construction.

“Gunnar has taken the lead on this. You two will work together.”

I nodded. Having Gunnar by my side was good. There was no other man or club brother I trusted more.

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