Page 95 of The Oath We Take

I run my tongue over my teeth. “You don’t think to bring it to me?”

Wraith shakes his head. “Took it to Butcher because I didn’t think he’d react this way.”

It relieves me to hear Wraith say that.

But there are still so many emotions running through me.

The obvious one is rage that someone has walked into our clubhouse to spy on us with the intent of harming us.

The second is annoyance that someone is seemingly setting me up for a fall, but that emotion doesn’t help me at all.

And the third, the one that kills me inside, is the hurt that the man I once thought of as a second father thinks I’m capable of this.

As I’m forming my thoughts, some of the other core members arrive. Even Grudge, moving like an old man.

“It’s going to be indelibly inked through my bones forever that at a moment like this, Butcher, you chose to believe the very worst in me. And that is unforgivable.”

“If I’m wrong, then tell me why you were the first on the scene at the fire of Whiskey Fever, and didn’t get those two fuckers in the truck.”

29

EMBER

Atom should have messaged by now.

The thought has been on repeat since he left an hour ago. It’s five a.m. and the birds are starting to greet the morning. But I’m listening for gunshots or similar in the distance.

I have tried to call Atom. I’ve tried to call my father.

I even called Wraith.

No one is answering their phone, and I feel sick to my stomach.

I keep thinking they must be in church, the one place phones aren’t allowed.

The keys to Atom’s truck hang on a hook by the wall, and I contemplate them as I sip the coffee I brewed. It’s dark and bitter and does little to ease the anxiety that has settled in my chest.

I know Atom would want me to stay here, but if my father found out about the two of us, then I should be there to help Atom defend us.

Because if this relationship is going to be the one of my dreams, we’ll tackle big problems together.

We’ll never leave the other to hang in the wind.

I turn the coffee pot off, leave my cup on the counter, and snatch the keys off the wall.

Five minutes later, I pull up outside the club and can see all the bikes in a line.

In some way, the sight of them makes me feel better.

But there’s an ominous air when I step toward the clubhouse.

Catfish, the most amiable of all the bikers, is looking on edge when he stops me from entering.

“Where is he?” I ask, knowing Catfish will understand who I mean.

Catfish shakes his head. “Can’t let you in. Been sent out to stop you.”

I glance over his shoulder, but the door to the clubhouse is closed.

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