The Last Riders had two hard and fast rules. When you left the club, you lost your bike and your jacket was cut to shreds, essentially cutting any ties to the club.
“Brother, you know I’m a tight-ass. If I cut up a jacket every time you got pissed at me, it would have cost me a fucking fortune to replace them all.” Viper handed Rider the flamethrower when Reaper hesitated to put his cut on. Then, taking the jacket out of the box, he turned it so that Reaper could slide his arms inside.
He took a step forward, turning around and putting his arms inside as Viper held it. With a hard smack on his shoulder, Viper moved to face him.
“It still fits,” Reaper said gruffly.
“If you gain any more muscle in your shoulders, it’ll be too tight.” Viper took the flamethrower from Rider to give it back to him.
Taking it, he slid the strap onto his shoulder next to a button by the collar. Reaper used his other hand to flip a slender flap over the strap. Once in place, he could swing the thrower over his shoulder and let it ride on his back until he was ready to use it.
Silently, The Last Riders got back on their motorcycles.
They didn’t plan a sneak attack on the Road Demons; they rode up the long driveway, two by two, with the vans going last.
Reaper and Viper stopped a few feet from the door, saving enough room for both the tactical vans to park sideways, giving cover to the Riders from any bullets coming from inside the house. There weren’t any.
Reaper let Viper get off first, then it was his turn. Lucky was next, and then … one by one, The Last Riders got off their bikes according to their rank. Only one Last Rider was missing from the exodus that stormed the house.
Shade, who had been waiting for their arrival, was perched high in one of the surrounding trees, waiting to kill anyone who ran out.
It was a wasted effort. The only ones they found inside were fourteen hangers-on. Nine of them were women.
Moon, Train, and Killyama herded them outside as the rest searched the house for anyone hiding. Reaper stood in the living room, waiting until Hammer and Viper returned. He saw from the ashen expression on his brother’s face that Viper had gone into the bedroom and down into the basement.
“It’s …” Viper had to clear his throat before continuing, “clear.”
Reaper nodded grimly at Hammer. “Get everyone out.”
Hammer barked out, “Pull back!”
When it was just the three of them, Hammer nodded that the house was empty, leaving him and Viper alone.
“Get out.” Reaper had waited and built his fury to a boiling point. He wanted Viper out of harm’s way.
“Let me do it.”
Reaper couldn’t look at his brother. He didn’t want to see Viper’s anguish. He was too consumed with hatred for the Road Demons and for himself to deal with Viper’s reaction at seeing the place where he’d had years stolen from him. There was nothing that Viper or any of The Last Riders could say that would make it right about what had happened to him.
“No.” Reaching behind his back, Reaper pulled his flamethrower around to his chest. “Get out.”
Viper remained still. Reaper could read the indecision on his face.
“Don’t worry; I didn’t live through Hell to make this place my graveyard.” It was hard to do, but he gave Viper what he needed. “Go outside. I have no intention of torching myself.”
His fears eased, Viper strode outside, leaving him alone.
Putting his finger on the trigger, Reaper walked around the club, room by room, using his thrower to spray the clear liquid onto each object. He could hear the sounds of his boots as he walked on the floorboards, each sound echoing through the empty house.
Reaching the bedroom, he made sure to soak the bed until the liquid dripped down to the floor. Then he stepped into the bathroom and sprayed the room in a wide arch before going down the basement steps.
In his mind’s eye, the ghost of captive him waited for him at the bottom, moving back to the wall as he had done when one of the Road Demons had come to get him.
The ghost against the wall wasn’t drug-induced; it was the him who had waited for years to be rescued. The him that, each time that fucking door opened, had hoped it was someone to set him free.
He had been so out of his head when Train and Shade had come down that he hadn’t been able to enjoy the triumph or joy that he had waited so long for.
Standing in the middle of the room, he sprayed the room in a circle a couple of times, leaving one thing untouched.
When he was finished, he watched his ghost walk across the floor and lay down on the cot. When his imaginary wraith turned his head toward him, Reaper used the last of his spray to douse it from end to end.