Page 3 of Riot’s Revenge

Shadow grabbed the shotgun from beneath the table, checking the chamber in one smooth movement as chairs scraped violently across the floor. Brothers surged to their feet around us while girls scattered to the back rooms and side halls. Prospects scrambled for helmets and weapons, adrenaline flooding the clubhouse almost instantly.

“Move your fucking asses,” Shadow barked.

I shoved my arms into my kutte and grabbed the knife from the booth table, rage sitting heavy in my chest. Reaper was a reckless little shit, but he was ours. Ghost too. Nobody touched our people and walked away from it.

Tiny staggered backwards against the bar, and Hawk caught him just before he hit the floor.

“How many?” I asked.

“Five . . . maybe six.” Tiny spat blood onto the floor. “They came outta nowhere.”

Shadow’s face went cold, and that was always worse than when he yelled. “Nobody touches my son and walks away breathing.”

A dark chorus of agreement echoed through the clubhouse. Outside, engines roared to life one after another. I mounted my bike beside Shadow. Nobody wanted to be standing between our President and his kid.

2

RIOT

We found them in the garage lot behind Miller’s, and the Kings didn’t run when they heard us rolling in. Stupid fucking mistake. The roar of our bikes swallowed the alley whole, engines growling off the concrete walls while headlights carved a path through the dark. Rain from earlier still clung to the pavement, turning the oil slicks rainbow beneath our tires. And then I saw them.

Ghost sat slumped against the wall like somebody had cut his strings. Blood streamed from his temple in a dark line down his cheek, dripping from his jaw onto his kutte. One arm hung limp at his side, fingers twitching weakly against the concrete.

My stomach dropped so fast, it felt like hitting black ice.

Reaper was still on his feet. Barely. One of the Kings staggered backward clutching his throat, while Reaper swayed where he stood, blood pouring from the corner of his mouth. He looked feral, wild-eyed and grinning through split lips, right up until another King swung a crowbar hard into his ribs. The crack echoed through the lot, and Reaper folded for half a second, choking on the hit.

Something inside me snapped, and I barely remember crossing the distance. One second, I was beside my bike. The next, I had one of the Kings by the throat, slamming his skull into the hood of a rusted sedan hard enough to dent the metal. Pain exploded through my knuckles, but adrenaline drowned it instantly. The bastard dropped to the ground hard.

Shadow moved past me like a storm breaking loose. I’d seen him angry before. Seen him brutal. Cold. Violent. But this was different. There was a sound coming out of him, low and rough, almost animal-like as he closed in on the King holding the crowbar. The guy barely had time to lift his hands before Shadow drove the shotgun stock into his face. Bone cracked and blood sprayed across the concrete and windshield beside them.

Reaper staggered backward, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Took you fuckers long enough,” he rasped.

I grabbed the back of his kutte before his knees gave out completely. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed, then immediately sucked in a sharp breath when the movement pulled at his ribs.

Behind us, Ghost groaned. I dropped beside him, crouching in the grime and shattered glass. Up close, he looked worse. Blood matted his dark hair at the temple, and his skin had gone pale beneath the streaks of dirt and sweat.

“Ghost.” I tapped his cheek lightly. “Hey, stay with me.”

His eyes cracked open for half a second, unfocused grays meeting mine before rolling shut again.

Fuck. Cold panic crawled into my chest. Behind me, metal slammed hard enough to rattle the cars. Shadow had one of the Kings pinned against a window by his throat. The glass spiderwebbed behind the bastard’s head while Shadow leaned in close enough to make the man shake.

“Who ordered it?” he snarled.

“Fuck You.”

Wrong fucking answer.

Shadow slammed his head against the window again, and the glass cracked louder that time.

Police sirens screamed somewhere in the distance, faint, but getting closer.

“Pres,” Spider called sharply, “we need to move.”

For a second Shadow didn’t react. He just stood there breathing hard, fingers locked around the guy’s throat while rage rolled off him so violently it felt physical. Then he finally let the King collapse to the ground.