Page 1 of Cross’s Reckoning

CHAPTER 1

LOLA

Perdition has never been a quiet club. Too many men, bikes and arguments fill the clubhouse, and even on a bad night somebody is laughing at the bar or swearing over a pool table. Tonight, the noise feels wrong.

It doesn't disappear completely. Conversations lose momentum whenever my father crosses the room, then pick up when he's gone. Men who usually have opinions about everything become fascinated by their beers, and even Raze the VP is quieter than normal. He stands near the bar with one arm close to his side, hiding how much his ribs still hurt after yesterday's confrontation with Kingdom Come. My father is Cyrus, Perdition MC's president, and he either hasn't noticed or doesn't care. Probably the second one.

"We should've finished it there," Cyrus says, which is some version of what he's been saying since they came back.

Nobody answers him. I sit at the end of the bar with a glass I stopped drinking from twenty minutes ago and watch Chains pretend he's always belonged here. He's wearing Perdition colors now, fresh patches sewn onto old leather, his name sitting above them as though the cut grew that way instead of being handed to him after he betrayed the club he'd worn for years. When one of the brothers says something near him, Chains laughs too loudly. Nobody joins him, but my father does and that tells me more than anything else.

"If Kingdom Come wants to hide behind its fucking gates, let them," Cyrus says. "Sooner or later Kane has to come out."

Raze turns his bottle between his fingers. "Or we stop handing him reasons to keep this going."

The room doesn't fall silent, but it comes close enough that my father's attention snaps toward him. "What did you say?"

Raze doesn't straighten. Maybe his ribs won't let him, or maybe he doesn't feel like performing for Cyrus tonight. "I said we took a beating yesterday. Granger's shoulder is fucked, two bikes are still over there waiting to be picked up, and I've got three men who shouldn't be riding anywhere for a week." He tips his bottle toward Chains. "We got what we came for."

Chains's smile disappears.

My father glances at him before looking back at Raze. "We didn't get what we came for."

"We got him."

"We got a traitor Kane should've put in the ground himself."

Chains looks like he can't decide whether he's just been insulted or praised, and I almost enjoy watching him struggle with it.

Raze rubs a hand over his jaw. "Then what's the next move?"

"Kane pays."

There it is again. Not Kingdom Come. Kane, their club president, the man my father has become fixated on ever since Kane's father, Kingdom Come's old president, died. Raze hears the distinction too. I can tell by the slight narrowing of his eyes before he looks down at his beer, but he doesn't challenge Cyrus again.

Across the room, Cross hasn't moved. Of course he hasn't. He could probably watch the clubhouse burn and still look mildly inconvenienced. He's leaning beside the hallway, arms folded, black Perdition cut open over a dark T-shirt. Yesterday left a split knuckle and a bruise high on his cheekbone, and it irritates me that the bruise suits him. Mostly because I noticed. Infuriatingly, I always notice Cross. It's a habit I should've broken years ago. He catches me staring, so I pick up my glass just to have something else to do. Arrogant asshole.

He hasn't said much since they returned. He followed orders yesterday and fought beside the rest of them, yet he came back quieter and colder, as though some part of him never made it through the gates.

My father starts talking again, laying out all the ways Kane has insulted him, King and apparently the entire history of local motorcycle clubs. Cross listens for another minute before pushing away from the wall and walking toward the hallway without saying where he's going. I follow him with my eyes until he disappears.

"Where's he going?"

My father's question pulls my attention back. I shrug. "How would I know?"

His stare lingers because apparently I've spent too many years arguing with Cross for anyone not to notice that we keep track of each other. "Find out."

Chains shifts as though he might volunteer to come with me, but one look from me stops him. Whatever else is wrong tonight, I'm not wandering around the compound with him. My father might have welcomed him in, but I still don't fully trust him. The hallway is empty. Cross's room stands open and dark, so I check outside. Missouri humidity makes my hair cling to my neck as I cross the yard past bikes lined beneath the security lights. Cross's is still there. A scrape of metal against wood comes from the garage.

The door is only half open, and when I walk around it, I find Cross at one of the workbenches with his back to me. His cut lies flat in front of him and there's a small knife in his hand. For a second, I don't understand what I'm seeing and then I see the patch lying beside him.

PERDITION MC.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He doesn't jump or spin around. He finishes cutting the last thread before he looks at me. "Looks pretty obvious."

The bottom rocker and large back patch are already off, folded neatly beside each other. Somehow, that makes it worse. This isn't a tantrum. He's removing Perdition from his leather with the same care another man would use sewing it on. Only one patch remains.