Death Reapers MC: Angels to Ash

xiii.

Angel
"I don't believe in anything. I'm just here for the violence."
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(warning: gore/torture)
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Aspen was kissing my neck. I tried shrugging her away, but she really didn't get the fucking message. Dallas came around the bar and shoved her off of me, spitting at her.

A text dinged on my phone from the twins, asking if we could fuck again soon. I'd given in at a moment of weakness last night. I ignored it moodily. I looked at the ten unanswered texts I sent Riley. Who says I love you then bails? I was going insane. She was making me insane.

"The tracker on Riley's car has her somewhere interesting." Wolf mentioned, sucking down a beer at the bar next to me and Trace. The other brothers were watching TV, blaring music, drinking, smoking, and grilling. It had almost returned to normal since Red's death. Something I refused to think about or the guilt had me reaching for the bottle.

Trace glanced over warily, messing with some papers he'd been studying, silent.

"And where's that?" I bit. I was practically salivating, wanting to know where she was. Dallas frowned at us, taking out her phone and texting on it.

"Shooter's house." I let out a heavy breath, dread making my body feel like it was ice cold.

"Jesus... FUCK!" Trace bolted from the bar. He was out of the clubhouse doors and on his bike in the blink of an eye, taking off. Just like that.

Wolf, Dallas, and I all gaped at each other. London cut the music. Everyone else was staring at us.

"The fuck just happened?" Twitch had a knife out and was pacing.

"We'll find out," Wolf nodded to me. Wes and Diablo stood by the door, looking anxious.

"I'll call you if I find him and we need backup." Wolf slapped Wes on the back and Diablo glared at me.

"You lock shit down with Riley and maybe we wouldn't be on the verge of war, brother," Diablo stepped up close to me, his eyes dark but concerned. He was softening towards me, I could tell. "Everything she has with them she can have here with us. The job. The man. Fucking do something." He started nodding, backing away, looking unhinged.

I had no words but I tilted my head in acknowledgement. Wolf jumped on his bike and I grabbed a club truck. He led, his phone in his hand, checking either Riley or Trace's locations. I wasn't sure. One would lead to the other.

We drove for two long fucking hours. Wolf had finally caught up with Trace on his bike. Trace ignored Wolf's efforts to get his attention. I stayed as close to them as I could, but they were flying.

We ripped through a suburban neighborhood. I wouldn't take Shooter as living somewhere so domesticated. I spotted Riley's jeep parked in a cul-de-sac. Trace and Wolf parked behind her, checked the vehicle, then were sprinting off through the woods towards a large, looming house.

I followed, placing my hand on the hood of Riley's jeep. It was ice cold. She'd been here a while. I caught up to the guys, huffing and puffing with the effort.

They had both stopped in the tree-line, dead still and quiet, eyes on the lit up house. There was one man at the front door, talking on a cell phone. He didn't seem alert to the fact that he was being watched.

"Backup?" I nudged Wolf. He looked at Trace who was squinting in the darkness at the trees around the driveway. He shook his head no in response.

Trace nodded his head to the back of the house, pointing to our boots. All three of us tiptoed like little kids through the fallen leaves.