I snorted. “Locke is a Crow.”

  “Is he?”

  Embry’s voice made Nash fade out.

  I twisted to face him. Tilted my head so he’d elaborate.

  Embry leaned on the glass and threaded his arms across his chest. “I just told Locke and Folk that Rocco’s dead. Turns out Rocco and Folk were closer than we thought. They’ve been best mates since they were little kids. It’s gonna take him a minute to get his head straight, but when he does, he’ll ride with us. Locke’s solid too. Has been from the start.”

  “You want to test that on a dark road in the middle of the night? When the rest of those fuckers come home?”

  The wildness Embry’s good heart tried to contain flared in his stormy blues. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “The Crow who shanked you is already dead.”

  Because I shot him in the face, and I still want to kill him a thousand times more.

  Cam cleared his throat.

  I turned back to the table. “I don’t trust any fucker who ever wore a Crow patch. What if they think it’s our fault Rocco got done?”

  “They won’t,” Nash said. “Least Locke won’t. Can’t say I speak to Folk much.”

  “Saint does.” As Embry said his name, Saint’s bike growled to life and he left the compound with an angry roar.

  Cam sighed. “Anyone know for sure how he’d vote? I’ve got no fucking clue.”

  “He don’t either,” I said. “If he did, he’d have found a way to let you know.”

  “What about you?” Cam questioned. “You don’t seem in the mood to raise chaos, but I’ve been wrong about that—about you—in the past.”

  Embry was the one with the piercing stare. Saint and Alexei with their sixth sense about the whole fucking world. But Cam had a stare of his own. A deep, penetrating gaze that was a heartbeat away from seeing the best and worst parts of me.

  I swallowed hard. Felt rather than saw Embry return to his seat and press his leg against mine as if he’d never been gone. I’m here, even though he probably knew I was about to disagree with him. “We should wait. Let Lorenzo bring the fight to us. I’d fucking love it if Alexei popped him, but what’s the point if they might all kill each other first?”

  Cam grinned a little. “That’s very reasonable of you. Who are you and where’s the real Mateo?”

  “Same place as the Cam you were two years ago. I don’t want to lose no one, boss.”

  Cam nodded and surveyed the rest of the table. Embry was spoiling for a righteous fight and Alexei wanted to kill everyone. Cam and Rubi stood together, and Nash was on the fence. With Saint’s opinion unknown, for once in my life I was the voice of reason.

  Did it feel good?

  Nah. Being a nasty bastard kept me alive and I didn’t like the quiet unless Embry was sleeping beside me. Didn’t trust it. But my demons were old, man. I’d been fighting them longer than I’d sat at this table. If Cam wasn’t ready to fight and it kept Embry safe, I’d sheath my fucking sword forever.

  “We can’t vote without Saint,” Cam said eventually. “And if he’s in a mood, can’t say when he’ll be back, so maybe it’s best we sleep on it a while anyway.”

  “What about the haulage runs?” Nash stretched his arms, cracking his neck. “Unless Viktor’s playing us all, we know Sidorov might not hold Lorenzo to his uncle’s word, but he doesn’t. And I don’t think there’s enough leftover Crows to come at us on our home turf. But we’re vulnerable on the roads. It’s where I’d hit us if I was gonna.”

  “Me too,” Cam agreed. “Most of their nomads are still up north, right?”

  Nash nodded.

  Cam rubbed his jaw. “Then that’s where they’ll hit first. Test our metal away from where we have the most charters to call on.”

  “So we need to travel mob handed—”

  “While still protecting what we have down here. So we’re gonna need Crows of our own. Tell Folk and Locke to pack a bag. If they do us right in whatever comes our way, we’ll offer them a patch when you get back,” Cam finished.

  Nash shook his head. “If I’m gone, I want Locke on Orla’s detail.”

  Cam’s dark brows disappeared into his hairline. “I’ve got one officer thinks these Crows can’t shit straight and my VP wants them guarding my sister. Explain that to me, brother.”

  Nash held Cam’s gaze. “Do I need to?”

  Heavy silence blanketed the room. Orla was everything to Nash. It made no sense that he trusted Locke enough to watch her, unless he knew something we didn’t. Something Cam would want to know before he left a stray Crow guarding the life of his only sister.

  “Find me later,” Cam rumbled. “I ain’t agreeing to anything until you explain yourself.”

  Nash broke their stare down with a shrug and addressed the rest of the table. “This run’s gonna take four days. Me and Rubes will take the front load. Saint and Mateo the back. Be quicker if we split up, but I don’t want to leave brothers isolated.”

  I only heard the first part. Four days without Embry.

  Four days.

  Fuck that noise. My fluctuating mood settled on grumpy. I tuned out the conversation and focused on how shit it was gonna be being trapped in an HGV with the wrong brother. With any brother who wasn’t the lithe streak of crazy sitting next to me, jiggling his knee against mine. It was work. Club business and non-negotiable, but fuck, I wished it was him and me hitting the open road with nothing ahead but each other.

  Oh yeah? Then what? You’d leave him at a Burger King while you fucked off into the sunset every month?

  Hopelessness hit me, sudden and cold, a familiar emotion I mostly tempered with anger and booze, but I’d literally just signed on to being Mr Reasonable for at least the next ten minutes, so I had to fucking swallow it.

  Still shook me, though.

  Embry’s hand slid over my thigh, and he squeezed hard enough to let me know my face was betraying my state of mind. I met his gaze and the confusion and concern in his eyes nearly broke me.

  I searched my whiplash-inducing brain for something, anything, that would make him smile. “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

  “Sun Tzu? Really?”

  “I like that book.”

  “Only because it’s short.”

  “I like short things, chaparrito.”

  Embry didn’t smile. But his softening frown belied his amusement. “If you can give me another verbatim quote, I’ll consider your argument valid.”

  “You should not,” Alexei said.

  Goddamn, I’d forgotten there was anyone else in the room.

  I forced my gaze to the moody Russian. “Why not? It’s been a minute since he made me read it, but I swear down, it says you win the biggest wars without fighting.”

  “It also preaches that an army’s greatest vulnerability comes from hesitation, so if you are to take The Art of War as gospel, enforcer, you must believe that too.”

  “Never said it was the fucking bible, mate.”

  Beside me, Embry laughed, while Cam looked on as if every brother at the table had sprouted fucking wings. “Bollocks to this.” He stood. “I need a drink. Mateo, come with me.”

  Embry was still holding my leg. Detaching myself was the last thing on earth I wanted to do. But Cam’s request felt like an order.

  I made myself follow him out of the chapel, across the yard, and into the bar. Decoy saw us coming and lined up beer with chasers of Cam’s favourite rum. I was more of a Jack Daniels bloke, but I didn’t care enough to argue.

  Decoy eyed us, wiping the already spotless bar with the rag from his back pocket. “Which way did it go?”

  “Sure you wanna know?” My question was fair. Decoy was as legit as he could be. Need to know. And I respected that. Protected it any moment I could.

  Still, Decoy was his own man. He glanced around. The bar was quiet, by MC standards at least. Then leaned forward. “I want to know if it’s safe for my kid around here and if I need to worry about my brothers getting killed. That’s all, your honour.”

  I grinned and necked my rum. “It didn’t go either way. Saint bailed before we could vote.”

  “Just as well,” Cam grunted. “Embry’s on a mad one.”

  “He never said he wanted to fight, boss. Just that your plan was stupid.”

  Cam tipped beer down his throat and reached for his rum. “The plan you backed. That mean he’s gonna call you stupid too?”

  “He’s called me worse.”

  “No, he ain’t. You ever seen that kid if someone talks shit about you?”

  Couldn’t say I had. No one talked shit to my face, and I didn’t much care what went on behind my back.

  Embry, though? Yeah. I was curious.

  Knowing it, Cam smirked over the rim of his glass.

  Then the smug twat put me on hold while he talked to Decoy. “Whatever the plan turns out to be, chances are these cunts are gonna hit the haulage runs. Don’t want you coming home to Ivy with a fighting face, so I’m pulling you off the road till this dies down.”

  Decoy nodded, pissed off but accepting. “You’ll have to send Saint in my place. No one else who isn’t already going has an HGV licence.”

  Cam grimaced. He knew. And perhaps he was feeling the same pain I was, cos there was no doubt in my heart that he loved Saint as much as I loved Embry. Difference was, he’d found a way to live that fucking life. To own it even though it had taken the world smashing them both to smithereens to get there.

  I blew out a sigh.

  Sensing a brood, Decoy refilled the shot glasses and left us to it.

  I nursed my beer, eyeing Cam. We didn’t spend much time alone together, so I figured he had something to say.

  Or something to ask.

  Holy hell, I lived in fear of moments like these. Of when he’d finally fix me in place with his unyielding glare and demand my fucking truth.

  It’s been four years. Why would he ask you now?

  Maybe I’d slipped.

  What happened to Embry.

  To Saint.

  Grief, anger, and love had been my motivation for more than a decade, but what if the overload of the last six months had made me careless? Cam had Alexei now, and that dude was laser.

  What if he’d seen something?

  What if he’d followed me on that crazy fast bike of his and I had no fucking idea?

  Cam’s palm landed on my arm. It was as warm as Embry’s but twice the size. “I wanted to thank you.”

  My brain quieted. “The fuck for?”

  “For stepping up. I’ve leaned on you hard these last six months. We all have. I just wanted you to know it ain’t gone unnoticed.”

  “Just doing my job, boss.”

  “It’s not your job to work eighteen-hour days seven days a week—”

  “Nash’s been doing it too—”

  “Or to put up with me bitching you out when I’m spoiling for a fight and I know you’re the one cunt in the room who might pop me one.”

  “Never have, though, have I?”

  “There’s still time.” Cam grinned for a second before sobering again. “Have you thought about buying a house?”

  “A what?”

  Cam pushed my rum towards me. “A house, Mats. I like having you on site when I’m not around. Em and Nash too. But you can’t bunk up here forever. You need roots, man. And you need to spend some money before the tax man comes for you.”

  I didn’t have any money. Everything I earned, legitimately or otherwise, was squirrelled away. Vaulted and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Besides. “What do I need a house for? You want me to spend money? I’ll buy another hog.”

  “You always say that, and yet you ride that shit heap Dyna around like it’s a fucking fashion statement.”

  “You ride a Dyna, boss.”

  “I got three houses too.”

  “Good for you.”

  “It is. Means I’ve got somewhere to go when I need to get away from all this. And somewhere to take Saint and Alexei when they need that too.”

  “Saint’s van too small for a three-way?”

  “Watch your mouth.” Cam thumped my arm. “But because it’s you, I’ll tell you it’s a rare day Saint wants to fuck in this building, and I haven’t ever seen Embry bring anyone back here either.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. “You think I should buy a house so me and Embry can bang? Right. Thanks for that, pres. I’ll let him know.”

  “Come on, mate. Don’t simplify my cracking financial advice to that.”

  “I ain’t simplifying nothing.”

  “Clearly.”

  “You telling Embry to buy a house too?”

  “You think he would?”

  “Nope.” No chance. Embry hated things. Apart from books, he owned less than me, donated money to prison reform charities, and probably kept what was left under his mattress. Besides, I could buy all the fucking houses in the world, wouldn’t change the fact that screwing him to sleep, then passing out with my arms tight around him was never gonna happen.

  I was lucky he let me hang off the edge of that shitty bed upstairs.

  “All right.” Cam finished his drinks. “I’m done playing mother for the night, but think about what I said, okay? Bit of responsibility won’t fucking kill you. Or do it for him if not yourself.”

  “He ain’t—”

  Cam held up his hand. “Just think about it, brother. That’s all I ask. I love you, and I want you to be happy.”

  Happy. Fuck. As Cam clapped my shoulder and strode away, it dawned on me that I had no idea what that word meant. I’d felt joy in my life. Peace, even, in those rare moments of perfection.

  But happiness was someone else’s dream.

  Me?

  I just needed to survive.

  Four fucking days, man.

  13

  EMBRY

  The haulage run came up on us fast. I was bricklaying the day the convoy was due to leave, and I said goodbye to Mateo before sunrise.

  Kind of. I made him a coffee and gave it to him the moment he woke up.

  Then I left before he could say anything because four days without him was hard to contemplate.

  Pussy. Yup. But four days was a fucking age when I couldn’t remember ever being without him that long. That I’d lived most of my life without him seemed immaterial. Forgettable. What I did remember were the little things. The light and the dark. I remembered him squeezing my hand in the hospital. The fear in his eyes he’d hidden with a soft smile, whispering Spanish shit I’d never understand.

  I remembered the borrowed strength I’d latched onto, and somewhere along the line, I’d forgotten to let go.

  The site I was working on was Bristol way. I rode there at dawn, the wind and rain in my face, soaking my cement-stained jeans. I should’ve been on the van with the other guys, but fuck that. I needed the speed. The space to breathe, all the while trying not to think about the fact I’d left Mateo in my bed without even speaking to him.

  Kissing him.

  Touching him.

  Must be like sleeping with a fucking corpse.

  A cheerful thought that stayed with me all damn day, no matter how many bricks I slapped together.

  And it rained from dawn onwards.

  Living the dream.

  It was evening when Cam called.

  I was leaving the site, soaked to the skin and filthy, needing a shower, a hot dinner, and a benzo to make the long, lonely night pass faster. In truth, I didn’t feel much like talking or listening, not even to my president. But I took the call, throwing my leg over the Tiger, ignoring the grumpy twinge in my empty belly. “Hey.”

  “I need a favour.”

  “Okay.” I absorbed the urgency in his tone and booted the kickstand back. “As long as it isn’t cooking, I’m here for you.”

  “I need you to go on the haulage run.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I ain’t letting Saint go.”

  “He okay?”

  “No comment.” Cam’s voice pitched low and strained. “Can you get back by seven?”

  I pulled my phone from my face to check the time. I had an hour to reach the compound in rush hour traffic.

  Piece of piss. “I’ll be there. They know I’m coming?”

  “Not yet. Look, I’ve gotta go, but thanks, brother. I owe you.”

  He hung up before I could tell him he owed me nothing but to stay safe while we were gone.

  I shoved my phone in my pocket, jammed my helmet back on, and revved my engine, peeling off the Bristol site and into the evening traffic. In a van, I’d have stood no chance of making it back in time. On my bike, it was easy, and I flew home with only concern for Saint clouding the adrenaline in my veins.

  Fifty-nine minutes later, I tore through the gates and skidded to a stop.

  Locke met me, brows raised. “Something wrong?”

  Truthfully, I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to tell Locke that. I gave him my helmet and keys. “Got somewhere to be. Can you park up for me and give Orla the keys?”

  Locke nodded without question and let me go.

  I sprinted from my bike and into the clubhouse, hurdling the stairs. There was no time to shower the grime from my skin, but there was shit I needed with me if I was hitting the road. Non-negotiable shit like medication. A toothbrush, dry clothes, and the lemon oil Mateo had gifted me up on the roof.

  I threw it all in a bag and dashed back downstairs and across the compound. The newly acquired HGVs lived around the back of the timber yard. When I’d left that morning, they’d been lined up, ready for loading, four in total, in the order they’d be travelling on the road. Nash and Rubi first, then two teams of trusted brothers before Mateo and Saint brought up the rear, tail gunning, like they did on their hogs when we rode out as a club.

  Except, it wasn’t going to be Mateo and Saint this time.

  It was Mateo and me.

  I reached the convoy, the trucks facing the opposite direction from when I’d last seen them.

  They were idling. Nash stood beside the lead vehicle while he talked on the phone. He caught my eye and frowned, then nodded as the conversation he was having clearly explained my presence.

  I saw no one else, just the open passenger door of the truck at the rear and Mateo’s tattooed forearm as I hauled myself up.