Page 4 of The Chase

The men around the table hissed their disapproval.

Colt shrugged. “President’s privilege, it’s written into the charter. No dead body? Means Blue’s not dead.”

“Well, we are tightening the purse strings. Blue is dead to us from this point forward. I don’t want to spend any more time or grief thinking or talking about Blue. Anyone fucking breathes the word Blue, and they’ll pay. Cutting off Blue’s share. Re-writing the charter. No more cut for little miss Blue.”

Colt reeled. “That’s fucked up-” he began.

“Now, where you come in is that we are on the cusp of a big deal. Huge. Fucking good thing for the club, we’ll be fucking rolling in it-”

“What deal?”

“Guardians of Purity, your old friends-”

Colt growled.

“They wanted us to start delivering materials for them to make bombs…”

“Bombs? What the fuck, Cleaver-”

“But they want you out of the picture, they fear retribution, they were the ones who ratted on you in that gun sale five years ago. You sought vengeance on them for what had happened to Blue, they knew you were coming for them. So they played you first, they ratted on you-”

“The fucking dirty little shits!”

“Yeah, so, they won’t do the deal until you’re dead. I tried to kill you off in prison but that didn’t fucking work.”

Colt sniffed. No wonder he’d spent a large percentage of the last five years either in solitary confinement, in the ‘beast’ wing or in the hospital ward.

“As per the charter, you’re excommunicated. You run. We chase. We chase you until we catch you and we kill you.”

Colt took a breath and gulped, but kept his gaze steady, unflinching.

“Dirty bombs for a white hate group? Man, that’s not Black Coyotes, you shit face! That’s not what we do!”

It all fucking hurt like he’d been stabbed, but he wouldn’t show them that.

Cleaver smiled leerily, obviously very pleased with how this was all working out, the drama, the theatricality. “Yes, you know what that means, Colt, you’re a wanted man now, your time is up. Anyone who brings you back, dead or alive, gets a reward. You got twenty-four hours head start and then every member of the Black Coyotes can hunt you down, Colt. And believe me, I’m clearing our schedules so that they are all free to go out and fucking chase you to the edge of the earth. I want that deal with the GUP. I’m only not killing you now ‘cos we voted on it earlier, the guys want to uphold the charter, excommunicate you and give you a chance to run.”

“How fucking kind of you,” Colt spat. He stood. He shrugged off his jacket. Grabbed a flip knife from the table. He cut off the President patch on the leather jacket. Hell. Fuck it, he’d go all the way. He cut off all the patches while everyone watched on in stony silence. His leather jacket, his cut, his pride and joy. Now hard, dark, gaping spots where the leather underneath was clean and fresh. Each cut of thread was a cut on his heart strings. But he did it without blinking. Then, he took the cigarette out of his mouth. He pushed up his long-sleeved shirt sleeve. A tattoo at the top of his bicep. The Black Coyotes. He had a bigger one on his back. He’d deal with that one later. He took the cigarette and stubbed it out on the Black Coyotes tattoo on his arm. He did his best not to grimace as the butt burnt his skin. It fucking hurt, though. It burned. He kept the cigarette there until he could smell his burning flesh. A few of the guys around the table looked considerably paler than before. One of them gagged.

“See ya later,” Colt said, and went to turn on his heels.

“Whoa fella, not so fast. You have colors on your back, too, am I right?” Cleaver asked with a cruel smile and a glint in his eye.

Fuck.

“We can burn them off for you now, too. Hold him down boys,” Cleaver yelled.

Colt struggled but there were arms and hands everywhere, pinning him down, tearing off his long sleeved T-shirt, so he was bare chested. So much for his bravado. So much for his devil-may-care exit.

“Wait, what are you going to do to him?” The woman’s voice piped up now. He was surprised. He looked up, and saw her looking on, looking terrified, disheveled but determined. In this light he could see dried tear streaks on her cheeks. He hadn’t seen that in the bar.

Cleaver cleared his throat. “Ahh, little miss Blue, I forgot to introduce you. April Rodgers. Yes, that’s right, you might as well witness this because this is what will happen to you if you don’t cooperate, too.”

“What the-” Colt’s gaze snapped back to her. This was Blue’s daughter. April. Fuck. He thought he’d recognized her. A thousand memories suddenly pounced on him, drowned him. He didn’t need any of the MC members to pin him down, he was paralyzed with the sea of the past crashing down on him.

“Oh yes, and April, sweetie, meet Colt, your stalker, your guard dog, poor bastard followed you, panted after you for years…”

She stared back at Colt. The likes of her and him didn’t mix, their paths never crossed, and that’s something he’d learned to live with. But now their paths had crossed. Here she was, plucked from whatever high end night out in her glamorous life. Kidnapped, roughed up a bit, but unharmed. And not only did she still glow with that warmth Colt had felt years ago, she had some fight in her, too. Some spirit, a sense of indignation. That lusty once over in the bar earlier, he hadn’t imagined that. And she was looking at him again now.

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