Page 2 of The Biker Bodyguard
Mace barks the question first. “What the fuck happened?”
The prospect gasps for air. His chest heaves. Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth. When he finally forces words out they come broken and wet. “They got Odin.”
Tension explodes through the room. Brothers surge forward. Voices rise in raw anger. The air grows hotter. Thicker.
Odin. Not a patched member, but still a close friend. He drives for our operation. He was driving the lost shipment. It was supposed to be a simple run. Drive to Marathon, drop the package, and come back.
Easy.
“Where?” someone shouts.
“Sugarloaf Bridge.” The kid swallows hard. More blood trickles down his chin. “He’s dead.”
That single word drops like a hammer on concrete. Dead carries different meanings in our world. This one feels deliberate. Staged. A message written in rope and flesh.
My voice cuts through the growing noise. “How?”
The prospect meets my eyes. Pure terror swims in his gaze. “They fucking killed him. Hung him under the bridge.”
“Who?” I demand.
“Uh… not sure.”
Chaos erupts fully. Shouts rip raw from throats. Fists slam tables hard enough to rattle glasses. Chairs topple. Glass shatters somewhere near the bar. The sharp scent of spilled whiskey mixes with blood. Brothers surge like a wave ready to crash. Anger boils hot and violent.
I remain still at the center. No outward reaction. Inside my mind sharpens to a razor edge. This was no simple theft. Someone wanted us to find the body. Someone wanted the message clear. Blood and rope under a bridge. A warning carved into ourterritory. This touches more than product. It strikes at who we are. At the fear we inspire. At the control we maintain with iron fists.
The noise swirls around me. I let it build for several heartbeats. Then I speak again. My voice carries low and final through the storm of rage.
“Get my bike ready.”
The command cuts everything off. Prospects scatter fast. Engines roar to life outside. No arguments. No hesitation. They know what this means. The problem has evolved.
It’s no longer a problem to solve.
This is war.
I feel the shift in every man. The air crackles with it. Blood will flow tonight. Bones will break. Answers will come screaming from broken mouths. The Keys will remember who owns the dark roads and the blood soaked bridges. I’ll carve that reminder into anyone who dared touch what belongs to me.
My bike waits outside. Chrome still warm from the ride in. I swing onto it. The seat molds to my body. The engine rumbles back to life beneath me. Its growl matches the fury in my chest. Brothers fall in behind as I pull out. The compound gates open just long enough for us to roar through then slam shut again.
Night air whips against my face. Salt stings my eyes. The road stretches dark ahead. Sugarloaf Bridge waits somewhere in the blackness. A dead man hangs there as a message. I’ll read that message. Then I’ll send one back written in the blood of whoever thought they could challenge the Royal Bastards on our own ground.
The hunt begins now. This island belongs to me. These roads. These men. This life carved from violence and loyalty. No one takes from me without paying in kind.
The Harley eats the miles. My mind runs darker scenarios with every turn. The scent of blood still clings to my thoughts. The weight of the patch on my back feels heavier tonight. President means more than rank. It means I carry every death. Every lost shipment. Every challenge to our power.
By the time the bridge lights appear in the distance my blood runs ice cold with purpose. Odin will not be the last body found in the Keys. More will follow. I’ll make sure of it. But it’ll be our enemies’ blood spilled instead. Whoever started this dance will regret the day they stepped onto my territory.
War has come to the islands.
And I’m its king.
2
Kraken
The ride back from Sugarloaf Bridge stretches longer than the miles should allow. My mind narrows sharp after seeing what they left of Odin. Everything useless falls away. Only three things remain. Who did it? Why they did it. And how much time I’ve got before they start believing they got away clean.
