Page 112 of Lost Lyrebird
I didn’t stab the knife or dish out the beating, but I might as well have.
Cap pats the Road Captain patch on my cut and nods once.“This means you look out for others.Doesn’t mean just for the club.”
I nod and the tight band constricting my chest relaxes a little at his words.
“But Edge, man.Fuck.”
“We’re gonna get Edge the help he needs on the inside.We’ll make it right in the end, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I murmur.It’s a promise, and one I plan to keep.
Cap makes his way to his bike.He thumps Dozer on the back of the head as he passes.Dozer grumbles and tries to swipe at his old man, but Cap evades him.The usual banter between the guys feels forced today, like we’re all just trying to keep the nerves at bay.
Bodie catches my eye.He lifts his chin in acknowledgement.I do the same.My gaze travels over the group assembled.I take a mental picture of this moment and store it away before throwing my leg over my bike and turning the ignition.
The familiar rumble that used to be a balm to my soul has my head pounding, but I fight through it as I yank my neck gaiter up to cover the lower half of my face.It’s black and white, faded, half stars and stripes, half skeleton with sharp canines on the top.I strap on my helmet and then gun the throttle a few times before pulling up behind Cap and Dozer, ready to lead the way for the others.
We jump onto Highway 85 and head south.It’s a long, empty stretch of road.No signs of life except the occasional car and a few tumbleweeds blowing across the asphalt.The horizon is a wavering line, distorted by heat, and in the distance are red jagged plains.
The sun burns hotter as we go.I sweat like mad under the layers, and the Kevlar makes it ten times worse.It’s the kind of heat that feels insufficient to your lungs, leaves you with cracked lips, and makes you desperate for a tall glass of water.
The landscape changes as we take a narrow one-lane road toward our destination.The ground beneath us turns rougher, more uneven, cracked from years of neglect.The air is thick with dust, like a suffocating blanket, and I can feel the grit collecting on my skin and coating my mouth despite the neck gaiter.
When we finally reach the wide, open stretch of desert, there’s nothing except endless sun-scorched earth.Which is a blessing and a curse—few places to hide if things go south, but few places for our enemies to run as well.
I stay on high alert, scanning the area for any sign of movement.Every shadow feels like a threat, every ripple in the heat a warning.The closer we get to the meet-up point, the tighter my chest feels, the sense of wrongness coiling.
We have one goal in this meetup, and that’s to put the truce back in place long enough to get Edge out.Making temporary peace is not what we want to do, but it’s the only way we can buy the time we need to make that happen.
Antonio and his people arrive ten minutes late.Their rides consist of two trucks, and twosouped-up SUV’s.They gleam with fancy paint jobs and chrome rims that catch in the sunlight.
I clock fifteen 13Ds, including two that stay in the SUV.There’s a vast difference between Antonio’s men and Veno’s, mainly in dress and posture.Antonio’s are dressed in designer labels, nice button shirts, and slacks, where Veno’s are in T-shirts, plaid, jeans, and one big motherfucker has no shirt at all.He’s covered in dark tattoos.They cover his chest, face, and bald head.It’s not the sight of him that has us moving with caution as we get closer; it’s the amount of hardware the 13Ds are flaunting, ARs and handguns.
I analyze everything I can through the fog of dulled pain.Their stances, where their trigger fingers are, how they hold the weapons, and where each man stands.I need to know who the primary threats are going to be if bullets start flying.
Antonio is standing cool and collected in front of a midnight Escalade, radiating arrogance, chin lifted, like he already knows how this is going to play out.He exudes wealth and power—navy suit, crisp white shirt, a few pieces of gold jewelry, and shiny shoes.Visible tattoos everywhere except for the left side of his face.
Taz, always the loose cannon, is the first to break the silence.“What?No welcome wagon and hellos?”he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.He’s grinning like a madman, like he’s hoping shit goes sideways.
“Lock it up, T,” Mav growls.
Taz just laughs, that manic sound that lets everyone know exactly where his head’s at.“Just saying… these fuckers don’t quite look ready to kiss and make up.”
Dozer is shaking his head.“This already looks like it’s gonna go to hell in a handbasket, no need to send it downriver.”
Cap throws Taz a look that could cut steel as he swings off his bike.“Don’t start something I’ll have to finish.”
Using the gun in his hand, Taz salutes him with it like an asshole, a grin still firmly in place.
Cap turns to Antonio, his voice low and calm.“Thought this was to be a peaceful meetup to discuss new terms.”
Cap follows Veno’s glare to me, and our gazes connect.I nod at him because I know he’s got to do or say whatever he needs to make peace.
I have no problem towing the line today, but the way Veno is eyeing me gives me the impression that’s the opposite of what he wants.He’s wearing a white T-shirt and dark jeans, and a blue bandana is tied around his head.His Glock is currently pointed down and resting next to his thigh.
He may be letting his brother do the talking, but by the looks of it, he has plenty to say.
Dozer moves with Cap as he strolls forward, standing at his right side in case he needs to become his shield.The rest of the HOCs spread out.
