Page 43 of Sypher

“Well, that’s new.” Bailey chuckled. “Didn’t think those assholes were smart enough for something like that.”

“They are going after everyone who helped us,” I said.

“Where are Sunny and Sandman?” Ravage asked.

Shortly after Sunny woke from her accident and the club learned that Scar, a brother in the Satan’s Angels, was responsible for her accident, Sandman discovered that the Satan’s Angels put a kill order out on his woman and didn’t waste any time before taking his wife and daughter away from the club. For weeks, they zig-zagged across the country, only staying a few nights in clubhouses that opened their doors to them. Yet, something changed, because the last I knew, Sunny was in Vegas with Valhalla and the Wraith Warriors.

“Sunny is in Vegas with the Nyght Nymphs MC along with the Wraith Warriors MC.”

“What about Sandman?” Digger asked.

“I’m looking, but I don’t see him,” I said, clicking into the Nyght Nymphs security feed, scouring the multitude of cameras, looking for my brother.

“Soleil and Jax?” Whiskey asked.

“Not there either,” I muttered right when a news alert popped up on my screen. Quickly scanning it, I gasped.

“That isn’t good, Ravage,” Bailey whispered.

“Holy shit. Sandman’s gone off the reservation. He slaughtered a group of Satan’s Angels south of Vegas. The FEDs are all over the scene. Sandman is hunting.”

“Dammit,” Ravage cursed. “Send out the alert. Warn all the clubs to be on the lookout for him. Tell them not to approach.”

“Slaughter finished the three to the south. He’s moving east now,” I informed.

“Well, I ain’t just gonna sit here and let him have all the fun,” Digger said, cocking his shotgun. “Let’s show these fuckers how us Tennessee boys like to play.”

Nodding, Whiskey opened the front doors, and I watched as my cousins rushed out, firing at will.

For the next hour, I sat idly behind my screens, the chaotic sounds of gunfire and explosions a stark contrast to the quiet hum of my computer, watching Satan’s Angels wreak havoc. Consumed by a fierce longing—a desperate ache to be with them, to fight alongside them, to defend our home, clawed at my insides.

All I could do was offer what little help I could, praying that when the chaos subsided, everyone I loved would be safe and sound. One screen after another, a relentless barrage of violence unfolded before me, depicting Satan’s Angels wreaking havoc on every club I’d supported. The repetitive scenes left me with a nauseating sense of dread. In that moment, sitting still, a crushing feeling of being both helpless and entirely useless consumed me.

I noticed yet another alert and though I hesitated, almost too afraid to click for fear of what I might find, curiosity compelled me to look, and when I realized it concerned Storm’s baby momma, I abruptly sat up, utterly engrossed in the task of understanding the information presented before me.

It was impossible.

No fucking way.

“Danny, why do you have pictures of me at the Trick Pony on your computer?”

Snapping around, I found Dante frozen in place behind me, his horrified gaze fixed on my laptop. He couldn’t look away as the screen filled with a barrage of sickening and brutal images, each one more graphic than the last, each one punctuated by a disturbing ping.

Oh shit.

My algorithm broke into another file.

His.

Slowly getting to my feet, I whispered, my voice barely audible above the pinging of another photo, “Dante, it’s not what you think.”

“You promised me,” he breathed, his face ashen, eyes wide with disbelief while he stared at the countless photos still displayed on my screen, each one a painful reminder. With a quiet click, I closed my laptop, the soft whirring of the hard drive fading as his gaze met mine. “You lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t. You asked me not to investigate, and I told you I couldn’t promise you that. I’m sorry, Dante, but after what you told me and what I’ve learned since then, I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re investigating the place?”

“I was ordered to.”

---