Page 1 of Enforcing the Rules

CHAPTER ONE

Utah—

The clubhouse door burst open, banging against the wall. Everyone at the poker table jumped to their feet, myself included. Chairs knocked over. Hands reached for weapons.

My gun was out, and I moved in front of Rock without even thinking about it. After years as the Enforcer for the Royal Bastards Durango Chapter, protecting my president was second nature to me.

The smoky air in the room hung heavy as the beam of sunlight backlit the man standing in the doorway. He was tall and breathing heavy, his eyes wide.

We all froze, recognition that it was Night Train standing there, sinking in.

It took a split second for me to notice the growing red stain on the front of his shirt. He dropped to his knees with a boom that shook the rafters, and then fell to his face.

Chairs scraped across the plank floor as we shoved them out of the way, and men scrambled toward him.

Rock’s hand landed on my shoulder, and he pushed me aside. I turned to see him pulling the cigar from his mouth, staring at Night Train in stunned silence. Then he was all action, sweeping a hand over the table, sending beer bottles, cards and poker chips to the floor.

“Set him here,” he snapped.

Men carried Night Train to the table and lay him on top of it.

Darko pulled his cut apart and ripped the t-shirt underneath open, exposing a two-inch knife wound. The men who’d gathered around stepped back a few inches at the sight of the ugly stab mark oozing blood.

Breaths sucked in; muttered curses hung in the air.

“Call Doc. Get him over here now,” Rock snapped to Trez, who pulled his phone out and stepped away.

Darko looked toward a prospect at the bar. “Bring me a clean towel. Quick.”

A moment later, the prospect shoved a rag into his hand, and he pressed it against the wound, stanching the flow.

I patted Night Train’s jaw. “Wake up, brother. Wake up.”

Baja came forward with some smelling salts and waved them under Night Train’s nose. He came around, jerking, but his face was ashen. His hand reached for mine, and I clutched it in a firm grip, leaning closer to hear his soft words.

“Son of a bitch stole from us,” he wheezed. “He stabbed Hondo. He’s out in the truck. Gotta… get him… to the vet…”

“Who?” I stared into his eyes. “Who did this to you, Night Train?”

“The Dude. He got the jump on me.” Night Train paused to wheeze in and out, and I saw bubbles in the blood. That wasn’t good. I knew that much. Night Train squeezed my hand, his eyes boring into mine. “Hondo attacked, but he hurt him bad. You can’t let my dog die.”

I met the eyes of my President and VP.

Rock and Darko exchanged a look.

Rock lifted a chin to me. “Utah, you and Memphis get over there. Find out what the fuck’s going down. Baja, Trez, get the dog to the vet. Move.”

I let go of Night Train’s hand. We’ve been brothers for years, and I hated to leave his side, but I knew Rock would make sure he was seen to.

Memphis and I headed out to our bikes. Baja and Trez followed on our heels, dashing to Night Train’s beat-up old pickup. The driver door was open. I caught a glimpse of his pit bull laying on the blood-covered bench seat. I hoped he made it. He was a sweet dog, and had been by Night Train’s side since he’d lost his ‘ol lady to cancer last year.

I looked over at Utah. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. We knew what our job was and where we were headed.

I fired up my bike, and we roared out of the parking lot.

The Cherry Bomb sat on the edge of town. The club had invested in the strip joint last year. A neon sign on a pole by the two-lane highway flashed a pair of red cherries, making them look like they were swinging.

The lot was gravel but large enough for the semi-tractor trailers that were enticed off the interstate exit a mile down the road by a big billboard promising Colorado’s Most Beautiful Women.

---