Page 2 of Taming the Demon

Fitz shook his head and walked into the kitchen to find more whiskey.

The detective was an alcoholic piece of shit.

But in many ways it was far better than being a rat.

And a lifetime better than being target-number-one for SOFRAW.

“Fuck,” Fitz called out.

Right now, he would drink himself into oblivion and sleep for as long as his body needed.

Then… he would have to find a way to survive.

The epic story of Sins of Fire Real Anarchy West rages on.

Chapter One

Don’t Be a Dick on the Road, Man

Cyrus turned his head, offering one last look at the hospital where Priest remained in a coma. Chances of him coming out of the coma were not in his favor. And even if he did awaken, doctors and nurses kept warning of permanent damage. Leave it to Custer to chuckle and laugh and say that Priest couldn’t possibly be anymore brain damaged. That at least got a two second laugh out of everyone.

Riding directly behind Cyrus was Slade and Monte. They had come to the hospital to retrieve the President ofSOFRAW. Cyrus spent every possible second in the hospital. Pacing the halls. Adding whiskey to shitty cups of coffee. Talking to nurses and doctors. Sitting at Priest’s bedside.

In his mind, it all swirled like a tornado about to touch down. So much heat had been on the club lately. A fucking rat right under their nose.

Fitz.

Just the thought of that name sent Cyrus spiraling. He throttled his motorcycle, darted into the oncoming lane to pass an ugly yellow car, customized with dark tinted windows, fat tires, and the body low to the ground. As Cyrus began to pass, the car’s engine and muffler screeched like a guy who just gotkicked in the balls by someone with razors glued to the tips of their shoes.

“Oh, fuck,” Slade muttered to himself as he began to speed up too.

Monte cut to the right as far as he could and then he shook his head, knowing this… this wasn’t going to be a good thing.

The President of Sins of Fire Real Anarchy West was beginning to go insane.

Cyrus threw his helmet at Slade’s face. Slade managed to punch it away.

“Go fucking get him!” Cyrus roared. “I want him in the fucking garage in the next twenty minutes or I’m ripping your fucking patches off!”

Cyrus scooped up his helmet. Slade looked at Monte, who was already on the phone, calling for Virus and Dolph.

“Call Bram too,” Slade said. “I’m going ahead. Catch up.”

Cyrus’s motorcycle bellowed like a pissed off monster as he sped away toward the clubhouse.

“This is fucked up,” Monte said.

“Shut the fuck up and do what he wants,” Slade said.

Slade got back onto his motorcycle, well aware of how fucked up this entire thing was.

Cyrus had tried passing the yellow car and the yellow car sped up. The two went back and forth. All the yellow car needed to do was ease back a second and let the outlaws pass. But the person driving wanted to be a hero. He kept speeding up. Then he lowered his window and showed a gun.

End of the day, you do not threaten the President ofSOFRAWwith a gun.

It took the outlaws fifteen minutes to find the yellow car and the driver, parked outside of a gas station convenience store. He was leaning against the hood of his car, trying to look like a badass with his skinny arms folded and his gun showing as it was tucked into the front of his white, baggy pants.

Slade took the gun. Virus punched the guy in the face.

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