Page 90 of Riot’s Revenge

At some point I realized Riot had disappeared. I found him outside behind the clubhouse. The sounds of conversation drifted faintly through the walls behind him, but he sat alone on the bottom step of the fire escape, a beer balanced loosely between his hands. He hadn’t taken a sip.

Slowly, I crossed the yard and sat beside him. He didn’t look up. Eventually Riot exhaled heavily and stared out across the empty yard. “He was supposed to be here for this.”

I followed his gaze. Workers had already started measuring the damaged section of wall. Lumber sat stacked nearby waiting to be used. “He should’ve been telling everybody what they were doing wrong.”

A sad smile touched my lips.

Riot’s fingers tightened around the beer bottle. “He always knew what to do.”

The rawness in his voice made my chest ache, because Shadow’s death wasn’t just about losing a President. Riot had lost one of the people he was closest to.

I reached for his hand and his fingers immediately closed around mine. “He was proud of you.”

Riot stared at the ground for several seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “I hope so.”

I shifted closer and rested my head against his shoulder. For a while neither of us said anything. We sat together while the afternoon slowly slipped away around us, silently supporting the other in their grief.

36

RIOT

I hated walking into church without Shadow. He’d taken me in when my parents had been killed in the crossfire by a rival MC when I was sixteen. For twenty years I’d never given it much thought. Church had simply been church. Shadow would already be there, sitting at the head of the table with a coffee in one hand and paperwork spread out in front of him while he waited for the rest of us to arrive. If he wasn’t there first, he was usually the last one through the door, grumbling about prospects, traffic or whatever fresh headache somebody had handed him that day.

The room had always seemed to revolve around him, now it didn’t, and the silence felt wrong.

I crossed the room and lowered myself into my usual seat beside the President’s chair. The leather creaked beneath my weight and for a moment I found myself staring at the empty space beside me. I couldn’t remember the last time that chair had been empty during church.

A knot tightened in my chest.

Brothers began filtering into the room over the next few minutes, greeting one another quietly as they took their seats. The atmosphere was subdued in a way I’d never experienced before. Even after funerals, church usually carried a certain energy. There were always conversations happening. Jokes being exchanged. Somebody arguing with somebody else. That day there was none of that.

My gaze drifted toward the far end of the table. Tiny’s chair sat empty. So did Ripper’s.

A week ago, Tiny had been making inappropriate comments about Brandi while Ripper threatened to throw him through a wall if he didn’t shut up. Now Brandi was dead, and the two men she’d spent most of her time with were sitting in separate prison cells.

Life could change faster than anyone ever expected.

Ghost and Reaper arrived together a few minutes later. Ghost had barely left Reaper’s side since the hospital, because that’s what family did. They showed up.

Reaper dropped into his usual seat and rubbed a hand across his jaw while Ghost sat down beside him. Neither spoke. Neither looked particularly interested in conversation.

The last week had aged them both. Reaper especially, the grief was written all over him. I’d seen him angry before. I’d seen him drunk, reckless and determined. I’d seen him throw punches that have landed people in hospital, but I’d never seen him look that tired.

Church eventually started.

For the first hour we dealt with practical matters. Repairs to the clubhouse. Legal updates. Money. Security. Everything that needed doing now that the dust had settled. I answered questions when people asked them and contributed where necessary, but my concentration drifted more often than not. Every time my gaze landed on the chair beside me, I found myself remembering something different.

Shadow laughing, yelling, threatening to staple Spider’s mouth shut. Shadow giving me advice I hadn’t wanted to hear but needed anyway. The memories came without warning and hit harder than I expected.

By the time the conversation finally shifted toward the Presidency, I felt exhausted.

The room fell quiet almost immediately, nobody wanted to be the first person to bring it up, because that would mean speaking out loud that Shadow was gone. Nobody had done that since the day of his funeral.

It should have been me who brought up the presidency, but I couldn’t face it. Eventually Spider spoke up. “We need to decide how we’re moving forward.”

Brothers spoke up, handing out names, but mostly mine and Reaper’s. When the show of hands went up, Reaper was the clear choice.

My eyes found Reaper, he was staring at the table.