“She won’t take any money. I tried.”
When they were assured she was safely in her car, they turned toward the men who had filled the parking lot.
“Why are The Last Riders here?” Reaper kept his attention on Viper, having been unable to see some of The Last Riders since his captivity. “I thought it was going to be the nine of us?”
Viper reached into his jacket pocket and took out a gun, handing it to him. “I thought so, too. I didn’t tell them you were getting out today. But the others figured it out when I scheduled us off for the day. They were already on their bikes when I got to the parking lot. How could I tell them no?”
“You’ve never had trouble saying no in your life.” Tucking the gun in the small of his back, he strode toward his motorcycle.
Viper sat down on the bike next to his and put his key in the ignition.
Reaper slung his leg over the seat to start his own. “They know we’re coming?”
“Pretty sure they’ve been expecting it since your escape.”
“Good.”
Four miles away from the Road Demons clubhouse, they stopped at a gas station to refuel. After each tank was filled, they moved to the side to the parking lot for the original members to look at the house blueprint that Jonas had made. Hammer gave brief, concise instructions to each person’s responsibility in the attack. Reaper didn’t pay attention to any of it, his blood getting colder and colder as Hammer pointed to different areas of the house.
Seeing the blueprint of his chamber of horrors, where each boxed-off square held more memories of his debasement than he could count, was a macabre reminder of the torture he withstood.
The sun was beginning to set when Hammer folded up the blueprint. “There aren’t going to be many there,” Hammer told him. “Most of them ran like fleas when you got away. The cowards didn’t even bother going back to the club to get their shit. Jonas has been tracking them down for us. So far, we’ve managed to find Raff and Ink.”
Reaper never expected any of the ones he wanted to be there, just the drugged-out hangers-on that had nowhere else to go. Hammer took his phone out, giving him a considering look, only handing it to him when Viper nodded at him.
Reaper looked down at the picture of the man on the phone, aware of Killyama coming around his shoulder. She had been standing toward the back of the van Train had been driving, staying back as the men talked.
“That’s the one I took out on the way out.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the picture. “That’s Chain.”
“Not anymore,” Killyama said proudly.
“Scroll to the side. Those are the others we took out.”
Reaper slid his thumb to the side. He didn’t recognize any of the others. None of the pictures invoked any memories of seeing them during his captivity.
He could understand how Slate had gotten away with keeping him for so long. He had limited his contacts to ones he trusted the most within the club. From what Viper had told him, the ones who had taken part in his tortures were those that Slate had met online and who paid to be there.
Sliding his thumb over again, he saw a face he did recognize. “That was Brewer.”
Reaper received no satisfaction at seeing the bullet-ridden biker. He would have rather him be on the run with the others.
Handing the phone back to Hammer, he asked the question that had been burning like a wildfire in his brain. “Have you found Slate?”
“Not yet. Jonas and I are close, but so far, he’s been jumping between hideouts.”
“You can stop looking.” Getting on his bike, Reaper put his riding gloves back on. “I’m going to be the one to track him down. He’s mine.”
Viper took the lead as they pulled out of the gas station. A mile away from the club, they stopped on a dirt road. Parking his bike, Reaper went to the van to get his weapon. Train handed it to him. Reaper held his baby in his hands, feeling the familiar weight as if he had just held it the day before.
“Need some help?” Viper spoke next to him.
The brothers shared a glance, remembering all the times they had fought alongside each other, so familiar with each other’s habits that they wouldn’t have to say a word.
Reaper handed him his modified flamethrower, so he could take off the leather jacket he’d asked Peyton to buy for him before leaving the treatment facility. Placing the jacket in the back of the van, he started to take the flamethrower from Viper.
“Don’t forget this.” Rider jumped down from the van and handed him a box.
Opening the box, Reaper’s hand trembled as he looked at Viper. “I thought you cut it up.”