“The Winged Scorpions MC pledges their guns to your cause,” announced the vicious, limber biker who had received the severed finger – the proof of the cartel prisoner’s validity.
The next representative – a portly, balding biker of considerable age – approached and avowed: “The Moonlight Riders MC pledges their guns to your cause.”
And then, a younger but scarred and clearly experienced biker: “The Black Knights MC pledges their guns to your cause.”
Followed by the tallest, broadest one in the crowd: “The Twin Spears MC pledges their guns to your cause.”
But when it came for the final club representative, I felt my breath catch in my lungs.
The world began to spin, and I felt a couple of the Devil’s Dragons near me grab onto me, holding me upright out of concern. I steadied myself and shrugged them off, but offering a look of gratitude towards them before facing the ghost from my past.
He was close enough that I could spot the emblem on his leathers – the same strange one from long before, including the word President stitched across the bottom.
That emblem belonged to a face that looked like it had barely aged in eight years. However, it was marked with various new scars now, set deep into his face and adding a layer of darkness to his penetrating gaze.
I never thought I’d see that face again…
And, judging by the way that Hunter stiffened when he saw that face as well, it was as much a surprise to him as to me.
“You know, it’s kind of funny,” the haggard biker president chuckled loudly. “I remember the last time I saw you… you were just some little scamp at the big boy table for the first time. Back in a strip club in Phoenix – do you remember that night?”
Hunter remained rigid. “I do.”
“I lost a third of my men that night…” His face turned to stare directly across at me. “Now that I think about it, that was the last night that I saw her, too…”
Every biker in the area hardened up, listening to his words and turning from Hunter to me. Even the bikers closest to me tensed up.
The air filled with mounting dread.
“That woman had nothing to do with it,” Hunter insisted, turning to me. “She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Is that so?” He murmured in response.
“That’s so,” Hunter insisted.
In a gasp, I was forced back to that fateful night in a whirl of memories. I distinctly remembered the look on that biker president’s face, seated in the center of the private table, when I inadvertently crashed his meeting.
In the back of a strip club so long ago, the look in his eyes was so striking… a look of amusement and surprise.
Standing before us now, he still looked amused, but that surprise was gone. It was now replaced with something far more akin to hushed, veiled anger.
“For a man known for his word in several states, you are quite the liar in person,” the president replied offhandedly, a wicked smile starting to cross his lips.
“Those are dangerous words to speak to me,” Hunter warned. “Better keep that tongue in check…”
“Oh?” The president murmured, raising his voice to address the entire assembly. “I think the rest of us – your own men included – would like to know who your esteemed guest really is…”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scowled. “Do I have your allegiance against our mutual enemy, or not?”
“That little cartel might be your enemy,” he chuckled before turning to me, “but my enemy is standing right there.”
Every biker present turned towards me.
The flames of panic flickered at my soul, and I felt them turn to burning, searing hatred… Hunter had asked me to remain silent, but things were spinning wildly out of control.
I had to do something, but it was already too late.
The president grimly replied. “Because your guest here is the daughter of the sheriff who attacked and destroyed both of our clubs.”
15
Silence fell over the entire assembly, and all eyes focused on me. Even the Devil’s Dragons surrounding me shifted uncomfortably, staring at the two of us with renewed eyes.
Underneath the burning spotlight of the sun, I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but the harsh desert air had sapped the moisture from my throat.
Or was it fear instead?
“Is this true?” One of the older bikers in my midst asked. I recognized him now from that night as one of the bikers standing behind the seated conference table.
“Yes,” I answered before Hunter could dare to dig himself deeper. “The police force that attacked your headquarters was led by my father.”