Page 7 of Total Carnage
I ran a hand through my sweat-slicked hair, my mind still reeling. "Wish I knew, darlin'. Seems like I've got more lives than a damn cat."
A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad you showed up when you did."
I nodded, the weight of what just happened settling on my shoulders like Atlas holding the world. My fingers absently traced the spot where the bullet should've torn through my flesh. Nothing but smooth skin beneath my torn shirt. I wasn’t craving brains, so I wasn’t a zombie. I was craving a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Before I could say anything else, the distant rumble of engines cut through the humid air. Sadie's head snapped up, her body tensing.
"Shit," she muttered. "That'll be Jameson."
The roar grew louder, and a pack of bikes soon rounded the corner. At the lead was a hulking figure on a blacked-out Harley, his presence commanding even from a distance. As they pulled up, the lead rider dismounted with a fluid grace that belied his size. His eyes, sharp as hawk's, took in the scene—the unconscious bodies, the scattered weapons, and finally, me.
"Who the fuck are you?" he drawled, his voice a gravelly rumble. “What the fuck happened, Sadie?”
I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. This was Jameson, the big bad wolf of the Royal Bastards MC. I’d heard of him. Anyone and everyone associated with an MC had heard of him. Some good things, some bad things. And I had a feeling things were about to get interesting. In a heartbeat, Jameson's hand flew to his waistband. The glint of steel caught my eye as he leveled a .45 at my chest. Would he be as shocked as the Scorpions when the bullet hit me and dropped to the ground?
"Who the fuck are you?" he growled, eyes narrowed to slits. "And what the hell happened here?"
My muscles coiled, ready to spring. But before I could make a move, Sadie stepped between us, her hands raised. "Jameson, wait," she said, her voice steady but urgent. "This man just savedmy ass. Those assholes cornered me, looking for trouble. He stepped in, took 'em all down single-handedly."
Jameson's eyes flickered to Sadie, then back to me. The gun didn't waver. "That right?"
I shrugged, keeping my voice casual. "Just passing through, saw a lady in need. Couldn't very well ride on by."
Sadie shot me a look, then turned back to Jameson. "Babe, I'm telling you, he's something else. One of 'em even shot him point-blank, and he didn't even flinch."
That got Jameson's attention. His eyebrows shot up, and he gave me a slow once-over. I could see the gears turning in his head. After a long moment, he lowered the gun. "Alright, mystery man. You've got my attention. What's your name?" He spied the bullet hole in my shirt. Then his eyes landed on my kutte, recognition crossing his face.
"Vin," I replied, watching him carefully. "Vin Reed."
Jameson nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. It wasn't exactly friendly, more like a shark sizing up potential prey—or, hopefully, an ally. I wasn’t sure how many more bullets I could take to the chest without re-dying.
"Well, Vin Reed," he said, holstering his weapon. "Seems like you've got some useful skills.” He nodded to his other club members, and they walked away. They spoke in private for several minutes before returning. “Hell’s Justice,” he said.
“That’s right,” I said, holding my ground, the bikers surrounding me. A black van pulled into the rest area and two Prospects jumped out.
“You headed to Kentucky?” Jameson asked.
What the fuck? How did he know? “Yeah, I am.”
“Don’t look so fucking surprised,” he said. “It’s my job to know what goes on with other clubs, even if they’re no longer around.” He nodded at me. “You going after Stansfield?”
“How the fuck?” I said.
“I know what happened to Hell’s Justice. I know what Stansfield did. He’s got the ear of a Louisiana senator looking to get rid of the Royal Bastards.” He nodded at Sadie and she returned to her Lexus. “Wait here,” he told me and walked away with his members again. Two of the bikers followed Sadie when she pulled from the rest stop.
I walked over to a picnic table close by and sat on the table, waiting to see what my future held. Yeah, I could hop on my bike and ride away, but shit would follow me, and I didn’t need that. I needed Raven, knowing when I fell again, she would be the only one capable of catching me.
After nearly twenty minutes, Jameson came back, the other bikers remaining by the bikes. “You got skills,” he said. “How'd you like to put 'em to good use?"
I raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."
Jameson stepped closer, his voice dropping. "We've got a problem that needs solving in Lexington. I’m looking to set up a chapter of the Royal Bastards there, so we can control the shit moving up and down Interstate 75. Some local bigshot with ties to Stansfield is running roughshod over our territory. Stansfield’s horse farm—a fucking fortified stronghold—sits just off the Interstate."
My blood ran cold, but I kept my face neutral. "Might've heard something about his shitty connections to some unsavory opportunities."
"How'd you like to head up there, whip those boys into shape?" Jameson's eyes glittered with something dangerous. "Show 'em what a real outlaw can do?"
I felt my jaw tighten, memories flooding back like a damn tidal wave. The roar of engines, the clash of fists, the burn of whiskey. Brotherhood and blood. Betrayal that cut deeper than any knife.
"Been a while since I ran with a club," I muttered, running a hand through my sweat-slicked hair. My chest ached where the bullet had struck, a phantom pain that went deeper than flesh.
