Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"Lazarus," he says. "Lazarus Kane. But you can call me Laz, if ya want. We are, after all, brothers."
Brothers.
Lazarus.
A dead man who came back.
Not a host of demons like me.
Which sounds like a step up at first glance. But there ain't nothin' right about a man who comes back. Not even when it's the Savior Himself who commands it.
This feels like an ending for me. Like we just cut to black and open up somewhere else. But that's not how life works. Life isn't a script made up of scenes.
Life is continuous. There ain't no breaks. There isn't no fade to black. You live every fucking millisecond of it.
So there's nothing on the other end of 'brothers' but… silence.
Diesel takes over. "So what brings ya here today, June? Because I gotta say, rollin' up heavy with fifty-seven patched members of SOD isn't what I call a friendly visit."
June sucks in a breath and lets it out just as fast. A sigh. Resignation. "Well, Diesel. Aside from the fact that you two assholes owe me a fuckin' drink for not showin' up after Havoc…" She sucks in another breath.
And this is when I know it's all gonna be OK.
I don't know anything else, but I do know that.
This isn't an ambush. I don't know why this club is here. Why their president, who calls himself my brother and appears to be my age, chose this time to make himself known.
But I do know why June came.
She wants to be sad. And she wants to do that with us.
I walk up to her bike with my arms out and pull her in tight. June isn't the kind of woman who collapses. She's not stiff either. She leans in and hugs me back just fine.
And when she does this, I feel the grief leave her.
Not all of it.
Just the part that I can take. Because I was his friend. I was his brother. And we were in this together.
I lean down and whisper, "Why don't you and your boys come inside. I'll get you that drink."
Steeling herself with another inhale, she pulls back. Then she slides her sunglasses down her nose a bit. Just enough for me to see her bloodshot eyes. I don't know what I'm expecting. I don't know what's on her mind other than grief.
And she doesn't grant me access. Doesn't say anything to me at all. Just turns her head to Bruiser and nods.
I miss the signal that must come from Laz because I'm still lookin' at Bruiser. Clocking the pain in his eyes too, as he studies his grown daughter.
But that signal comes with or without the three of us because every bike screams to life in the same moment.
The sound of thunder bounces off the canyon walls on either side of our gate as I turn and walk back up the driveway as a rumble of bikes crawls behind me like a cape of demons straight out of hell itself.
As the men slot their bikes into empty spaces next to ours, I catch sight of women climbin' off the back, smooth and practiced. Old ladies. Not many—five, maybe six—but enough to shift the whole fuckin' picture.
My shoulders tighten, radar prickin' at the back of my neck.
This lineup tells me three distinct things.
One. They're not here to cause trouble. Sons don't bring their women to bloodbaths. That's a rule older than the clubs themselves.
Two. This is gonna be a party. Some kind of peace offerin' or celebration. The kind where cups get filled, and stories get told, and alliances get forged in whiskey and smoke.
And three... they're not afraid of us. Not one fuckin' bit. These men got their women perched behind them like badges of honor, not like shields needin' protection.
I'm not sure if this last one is good or not. They should be afraid of us. We just cut through half our club like nothin'. Left bodies on the ground, put men in the dirt. Something they surely know since June is one of theirs.
Which leads me to believe that there's a fourth thing to note about the Sons of Dust arrival. Something that makes my stomach go hollow.
It comes with news. The kind that changes everything, shifts the ground under your boots when you're already standin' on the edge.
Laz catches my eye as he drapes his helmet over the handlebars. He lifts his chin to me like we're old friends or somethin'.
Familiar. Too fuckin' familiar.
I don't respond. Don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
I keep my face blank. I don't know what this is. Don't understand the angle of it. Don't know why he's here actin' like we got history worth acknowledgin' when I didn't even know he existed until five minutes ago.
Which is an interesting point all its own. Because he knew about me. June knew about both of us. Hell, by the way Diesel said, Oh shit, when the Sons rolled up, he knew too.