Page 27 of Striker’s Rebel

I stare at the closed door across from me.

Met the woman a few hours ago and I’m already putting men on the people she loves.

It’s fast, but I don’t give a fuck.

My phone buzzes again.

Grim.

Alive?

Barely.

That bad?

I look at the chair.

Chair’s got a mean streak.

Three dots appear.

Where the fuck are you?

Watching a woman’s door.

A pause.

You don’t watch doors for strangers.

Son of a bitch.

Fuck off.

Thought so.

I shake my head.

Grim knows me too well.

Has for a long damn time.

Long before Damned Sinners cuts and clubhouses. Before Roseburn Falls. Before either of us had to figure out what came after the military.

Back then Grim gave the orders and I stood at his right hand making sure they got carried out.

Second-in-command.

I trusted his calls. He trusted me to finish them.

Then one mission went to hell.

Command told Grim to pull back. He refused because pulling out meant leaving men behind.

I backed him.

Afterward, the brass needed somebody to bleed for it. Grim was convenient, so they came for him first.

Then me.