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My ass had barely met the saddle of my Harley when a rough voice caught my attention.
“Where are we headed, pres?”
I turned my head, staring at Raven. My best fucking friend. I’d kept my secrets from him, too.
“I need to ride out alone.”
“Not gonna happen.” His arms crossed over his chest as he frowned. “Something is up. My crow is agitated. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I received a note,” I admitted.
“A fucking note?”
“A threat,” I clarified.
His brows shot upward in surprise. “Who? What the fuck do they want?”
“They don’t want anything. At least, nothing I can offer.”
That was the fucking truth. None of my children would be pawns in Undertaker’s sick games.
“Where are you going, pres? Riding out alone won’t solve shit. Let me come with you.”
I shook my head.
“Then, Hawk. Or Talon. Shit, take Cuckoo or Carrion.”
I snorted. “No. I’ve got to do this alone. It’s fucking crucial.”
Raven’s arms dropped. “Rook,” he pleaded, using my road name. He rarely did that.
It hit me in the chest like a punch to the heart. Should I send him to retrieve Abigail? No. She had to hear the truth from me first. I fucked this up enough without adding more shit to the pile.
“There’s no other choice.” None that I could see. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He swallowed. I didn’t think he’d give up so fast, and he didn’t. “How about I ride in the distance? Keep watch in case shit goes down. No one has to know, but it’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better.”
I couldn’t do that. Not yet.
“No,” I growled. “Not this time.”
A panicked look briefly crossed his features. “This doesn’t feel right.”
He wasn’t wrong. None of this was fucking right from the beginning, and the blame originated from me. One stupid, reckless night. Too much liquor. Not enough caution.
I never saw Fang until he ran the red light at 2 a.m. Drunk, I didn’t have the reflexes or the clarity to stop or swerve my bike. We collided on the dark asphalt.
Fang was thrown from his bike and hit a pole, crushing his skull on impact. He didn’t suffer. But that didn’t matter to Undertaker. From the moment of his only son’s death, he blamed me. Swore vengeance. I waited every day for the last fifteen years for him to come.
He never had.
I’d often wondered why he let me and my son live. Why wait all this time for revenge?
It wasn’t until I saw the property taxes on his land that I thought of a bargain to end our feud. I’d paid them before he could, earning the deed and stashing it away at The Roost.
That was my ace. Undertaker didn’t own his property anymore or the clubhouse for the Dirty Death MC. I did.
But I didn’t want to keep it. This was my chance to secure Abigail and Crow’s safety. I wouldn’t sell it. Just a trade. The deed for their lives. Seemed reasonable to me. Undertaker only won in this deal. I hoped he would see it that way.
