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“No, I want to do something first.” Looking up at me again, she asks, “Can you get a hold of Delaney’s bag? I saw him with one a few times—it’s a leather messenger bag. I want to have a look inside; it might have something important in there.”

Chapter 21

Beth

Striker goes off to look for Delaney’s messenger bag. I stay behind, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

The fight is over, and I’m glad of it. I’ve seen things tonight that I never thought even existed in our quiet little town. Seeing grown men locked in mortal combat earlier, killing each other changes a person. I’m not the same woman I was before my abduction. I’m more knowledgeable about the ways of the world, particularly the darker side of life.

Knowing that I was slated to be killed and that the only thing that foiled the plan was the Sons of Rage and their brother club riding to the rescue is humbling on so many levels. These men put their lives on the line, and we’ll be very lucky if none of them dies. You don’t realize what a noble sacrifice that is until you see the broken, bullet-riddled bodies bleeding out on the ground.

The aftermath of a battle like this is chilling. Several medics from both clubs are roaming around. They’re moving from body to body, seeing to the injured. One club medic is on his knees over one of the Vultures, with the same overstuffed pack open beside him. He’s giving chest compressions, with a steady torrent of obscenities coming out of his mouth. I tear up when I realize he’s begging his club brother, “Don’t you fuckin’ die on me, Deuce. Don’t you dare.”

Two brothers are holding down a third who took a bullet to the shoulder, so he doesn’t get up before he’s seen by one of the medics. These scenes are repeated all around the room. Brothers helping brothers survive the wounds they took to save two women, one of whom they barely knew.

Then there are the men who won’t ever get up again. I see them too. Granted, they are mostly what Striker and his brothers would call our enemies. But they’re still human beings—people who got caught up in the criminal underworld, followed the wrong Pied Piper, and were killed because of him.

No one is happy or celebrating. It’s because they see the same thing I do, the tragedy of having to fight and kill to save innocent lives. None of this senseless violence had to happen.

Queenie is the one bright, shining light in the awful situation. She’s surrounded by her family: her husband and four grown boys. They are taking turns hugging her, reassuring themselves that she’s alive and well. The warm feeling of family is spoiled a little when I realize Delaney’s dead body is lying nearby, a brutal reminder that he ruined so many lives in his quest for money and power. There is no telling how far he would have gone if the brothers hadn’t checked his power. A brother walks by and grabs the body by one foot and drags him away. It’s shocking to see the casual disregard for a dead body.

Then again, these men are probably hardened to violence and death. They see him as nothing more than an enemy who got their club brothers injured. I need to remember that piece moving forward.

I overhear a brother by the name of Flint telling them, “Get the dead bodies in the van. Slate will drop them off at the Home Depot.” They just nod and get started on their grisly task. I’m thoroughly confused until I realize that they’re not talking about the national hardware store chain. It must be a tongue-in-cheek reference to an actual location where they put the dead bodies. Another chill crawls up my spine because of course this would be necessary. It’s just another element to resolving situations like this.

Striker walks up to me with the messenger bag I asked him to find in one hand. The other comes up to rest against my shoulder. “Are you okay? I know this has been a hard last few days, but I saw the color drain from your face.”

“They’re taking the bodies to the Home Depot,” I say quietly, still watching the two men carting off bodies. “Is that a real place?”

“Yeah,” he responds, not volunteering more information. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”

“Have… have you been there?”

He nods. His expression is unreadable. “I went there with Jinx once. Only club officers know the location.”

“You mean only the club officers and you, right?” I don’t know why I’m even asking about this, much less grilling him.

After a brief pause, he comes clean. “Yeah, about that. I’m the club’s IT specialist. Even though I’m not a club officer, I’m in the know about everything that happens in this club.”

I glance away, trying to come to terms with everything I’m witnessing today.

“Look, darlin’. I’m not gonna lie to you about what I am. Our club faces situations like this from time to time. As you can see, we don’t start fights, we finish them. And having a place for the dead to rest is part of it. It’s not like whatever you’re thinkin’. We don’t throw them down a ravine somewhere. They get buried. It’s the best we can do in situations like this. This is what I am. If you want to walk away again after tonight, I’ll understand it.”

I gesture to the throng of men on their knees across the room. Rock and Jasper are standing in front of them. I can’t hear what they’re saying from this distance, but it must be something of great importance. Rock points at them and then makes a slashing motion with one hand, causing several of them to flinch.

Glancing over at Striker, I ask, “Do you know what’s going to happen to those men? Are they going to the Home Depot too?”

“No,” he says quickly. “We’re not murderers. Rock is telling them they have twenty-four hours to get out of town and that if he ever sees them in our town again, they’re dead meat.”

The knot in my stomach relaxes a bit. “Really?”

“They’re our enemies. When something like this goes down and the guys at the top wind up dead, suddenly all the little guys get delusions of grandeur. Rock’s not gonna let them step into the void Delaney left behind. You have to know that wouldn’t be good for our town or our club.”

I nod because I really do understand why exiling them is the right move. A little voice in the back of my head whispers, They lost the battle. That means they don’t inherit the throne.

When I don’t ask any more questions, he lifts the messenger bag. “Is this the bag you wanted?” he asks.

“Yes. I saw him with it a few times. He seemed protective of it, like it had something important inside.”