Page 89 of Riot’s Revenge

Take care of the club, take care of Reaper and keep everyone together. I looked down at the patch on my chest and felt the weight of it settle a little heavier across my shoulders.

The world hadn’t stopped turning. The hospital still buzzed with quiet activity. People still walked past the waiting room. Life continued, but, for us, nothing would ever be the same again.

35

MARIA

The church was already overflowing by the time Riot and I arrived.

Motorcycles lined both sides of the road for what felt like miles, stretching beyond the cemetery gates and disappearing around the bend. Men and women gathered in small groups across the grounds, their voices low as they greeted old friends and paid their respects. It was strange seeing so many bikers speaking quietly. Every event I’d attended with the Dead Knights had been loud, chaotic and full of life.

That day was different. A heavy gray sky hung over the cemetery, threatening rain, while hundreds of people slowly filtered toward the rows of seats arranged beneath a white canopy. Some wore kuttes covered in patches from chapters I’d never seen before. Others wore black suits that looked uncomfortable on men more accustomed to boots and denim.

I hadn’t realized quite how many people Shadow had known or how many people had loved him.

Riot rested a hand against the small of my back as we moved through the crowd. Every few steps, someone stopped him to shake his hand or offer condolences. Most conversations were brief. Nobody seemed to have much energy for talking.

My eyes found Riot repeatedly as we made our way toward the front. He looked exactly as he had every day since the shooting, calm, composed and completely in control. Brothers stopped him constantly with questions and problems, and he answered each one without hesitation, already carrying responsibilities that had once belonged to Shadow.

To anyone else, he probably looked fine, but I’d started noticing the small things. The shadows beneath his eyes, the tension permanently lodged in his shoulders. The way his gaze kept drifting toward Reaper before he forced himself to focus elsewhere. He was grieving too, he just didn’t seem to know how to stop long enough to feel it.

Eventually, we reached our seats, and my eyes immediately found Reaper. He stood several yards away speaking to one of the older members from another chapter, but it was obvious his attention wasn’t on the conversation. His expression was distant, his shoulders rigid beneath his kutte, and there was a tiredness about him that seemed to reach far deeper than simple exhaustion.

Ghost wasn’t far away. Neither was Spider, they didn’t seem willing to let Reaper out of their sight for long.

The service began shortly afterwards. A minister spoke first, followed by several brothers who shared stories about Shadow’s life. Some of them made people laugh. Others brought tears to eyes that had probably spent decades pretending they didn’t know how to cry.

I listened quietly, learning things about Shadow I hadn’t known before. The stories painted a picture of a man who had been many things to many people. He had been a father, a brother, a president, a mentor and, judging by some of the laughter that occasionally rippled through the crowd, a frequent source of trouble. At one point, a man from another chapter told a story involving a stolen police horse and an entire weekend spent hiding from law enforcement. Even Reaper smiled at that. The smile didn’t last long, but it was enough to make my chest ache and tears fell freely down my cheeks.

As the service continued, I found my attention drifting less toward the speeches and more toward the people listening to them. Men who looked as though they hadn’t slept in days stared at the coffin with red-rimmed eyes. Women clutched tissues in trembling hands. Brothers sat shoulder to shoulder, offering silent support simply through their presence.

Nobody wanted to say goodbye. That was the feeling that lingered strongest throughout the morning. As though everyone gathered there was still struggling to accept that Shadow was really gone.

When the service ended, people lined up to pay their respects. Some rested a hand on the coffin before moving on. Others lingered for several moments, their heads bowed as though sharing one final conversation.

I watched Reaper stand beside his father’s coffin and greet each person who approached. Handshake after handshake. Condolence after condolence and by the end, he looked utterly drained.

Later, while people gathered in small groups around the cemetery, I found myself standing beneath one of the large oak trees with Ghost. We stood in silence, watching Reaper. He was still accepting condolences, still shaking hands, still thanking people for coming, but there was something painfully mechanical about it.

Ghost followed his every movement.

“You should go to him.”

Ghost glanced at me, then he looked back toward Reaper and sighed. “He’s gonna tell me to fuck off.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips. “Probably.”

“Definitely.” Ghost drained the last of his beer, kissed me on the head and pushed away from the tree. A few steps later, Reaper spotted him approaching and I saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Ghost didn’t say anything when he reached him, he just stepped beside his best friend and stayed there.

Watching them together, I realized that sometimes love wasn’t found in grand gestures or comforting words. Sometimes it was simply refusing to let someone carry their grief alone.

Now that the police had released the clubhouse as a crime scene, the reception afterwards was held there, or at least the parts of it that were still usable. The damage from the attack remained visible everywhere. Boarded windows, temporary walls and the smell of a strong disinfectant served as constant reminders of what had happened only days earlier.

Yet despite the scars, the clubhouse was full. Brothers shared stories over untouched plates of food. Old photographs appeared from somewhere and were passed around the room. Every memory seemed to lead to another.

Shadow became larger with every story, not because people were exaggerating, but because grief has a way of making you realize exactly how much space someone occupied in your life.