Page 90 of The Ghost of Rage's War

“I’ll call it in. Gather your brothers. We are gonna hold here until we’re freed up,” Chance said, pulling the radio.

When Jailbait walked away, Chance called in the dead and injured.

Frank was shocked at how many they’d lost but was grateful so many were alive. He informed Chance that Hawthorne’s had been heavily hit, too. Chance signed off and stared at the blue sky.

So many gone, and for what? One asshole who thought he was better than everyone else. Was the cost of life worth it to Fury? Chance wondered. Didhe even give a shit men were dying by the hundreds? And just so Fury could claim something he’d no right to? Somehow, Chance doubted it. Fury had lost his marbles a long time ago, and this was evidence of it. The senseless loss of life.

Chapter Twenty-Two -

Satan’s Warriors MC and Devil’s Scythe MC.

Satan’s Warriors = Tiger, Crunch, Skull, Grill, Tornado, Jackal, Misfit, Bullet, Mammoth, Marvel, Slider, Throttle, Blake, Bow, Hammer, and Hazard.

Devil’s Scythe = Scythe, Tinker, Gutbuster aka Buster, Wanderlust, Bishop, Spawn, Rachet, Nash, Saint, Winch, Renegade, and Narcissus.

Tiger

His MC was watching a little used route into RapidCity. They didn’t expect anyone to try to enter this way, which was why the Fangs probably thought they could.

Tiger scowled as he saw a band of riders heading for them. To his surprise, there were only roughly thirty. He’d been hearing reports of far bigger parties.

“What a fuckin’ insult,” Crunch moaned.

“Yeah, considering the others are being attacked by at least a hundred, and we only get thirty? What the hell?” Skull demanded.

“This sucks,” Tiger complained.

“Still better radio it in,” Crunch said.

“Fuck my life, we’ll be the laughingstock,” Tiger snapped. “Yo! Tiger from zone five checking in,” he called on the radio.

“Go ahead, Tiger,” a cultured tone came back.

“Who’s this?” Tiger asked, confused. It should have been Irish, Slick’s woman.

“This is Earl Kenna, a friend of Sinclair’s. Your friend Irish had some business to take care of,” Earl answered.

“You have to be joking. Irish is getting some action, and we’re not?” Crunch bitched.

Tiger decided shit couldn’t get much worse. “Earl, we’ve got riders heading our way. Please be aware.”

“Good hunting, my man. Get those motherfuckers,” Earl said, and Tiger blinked.

“Dude, motherfucker does not sound right with your educated rich guy accent,” he replied.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. Oh well, kill those rapscallion bastards!” Earl declared, and Tigerlaughed.

“That’s better. See you on the dark side.” Tiger put the radio back in his pocket and peered over the car he was hiding behind. The junkyard had made bank on the cars that were being used as barricades.

Tiger frowned as he stared at the bikers, who’d stopped about half a mile away. “Fuck it,” he muttered. He grabbed a megaphone. “This is Tiger, President of Satan’s Warriors. My club and I are deputised to defend this city. Either turn around or die,” he warned.

A man stepped forward and began walking towards him. As he got closer, he held his hands up and shouted something. Tiger frowned at Crunch. “What did he say?”

“Dunno. Should I kill him?” Crunch asked.

“Do ya wanna?” Tiger replied.

“Seems a bit unsporting, he is holding his hands up,” Slider called over.

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