Page 16 of Serpentine
I hover over his right side, looking down at him—a power skitters through me at how it feels to be the President of the Cobras.
He nods frantically. “But I have a board to go through, and I have...”
A shot rings out, and blood leaks from the side of Mr. Smith’s head onto the conveyor below him.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sully!” I scold.
He shrugs, putting his gun back, and signs, “He has bosses, just like I do. You know what bosses don’t listen to? Peons. You know what they listen to? Action. That,” he points at the dead general manager on the conveyer belt before me, “is action. That’s a message.”
I stand back, looking down at the manager, his blood now slipping over the black rubber of the conveyor to the concrete below. “Leave our calling card behind, too. Let them know who the fuck has their eyes on them.”
Sully pulls out his wallet, pulling out a card with a Cobra signet. There’s nothing else on it. Nothing needs to be on it. He slips it into the front pocket of the man’s vest, in clear view for the board and all who touch this man’s body to find.
We used to have to worry about the cops, but we no longer do when dealing with corrupt companies. Companies like this won’t involve the cops; they’ll deal with this internally.
“Give them a week,” I sign, moving outside to get my bike. I turn back, finding Sully stroking the man’s face absently, looking down at him with a glint in his eye. “Don’t do anything weird to his body.”
He looks back at me, lifting his hands to sign, “You got it, Pres.”
Sully is an odd duck. When he found us, he begged for a spot in our chapter. He’s an outsider, but he felt like family from day one. He’s my age but has always acted older, but he’s far more fucked-up than any of us ever realized before he got his full patch into the club.
A fucking head doctor should study the things we’ve caught him doing with bodies. But he’s the most logical in the bunch, somehow.
I text Blaze that we need to go into Portland tonight; I need to let loose. There’s no one here to do that with—none I haven’t sampled more than once.
Hey, Jackal territory tonight?
Who’s watching the princess?
Sully. He’s not suited for the public this evening.
Oh shit, what’s he done now?
Nothing. Just trust me. I’ll be back at the CH soon.
Ride safe.
Once I’ve got my helmet on, I let the chilly fingers of the night slip past as I dig into the throttle, shifting gears fluidly and turning corners widely. Riding a bike is the most free I ever feel. The sheer thrill of going as fast as possible, teetering on the edge of life and death. A long ride can clear your fucking mind and restore your soul.
When I was little, though, I’d been deathly afraid of riding. The first time I got on Dad’s ride to learn, I’d been too stiff, too panicked. I didn’t feel the bike and let it become an extension of my body. I crashed into a ditch, my body flung over the handlebars into a tree.
But I got right back on that bitch over and over, determined to become the victor.
I return to the house to ride out with the boys and look toward the clubhouse. Sully idles up to the bay, kicking his stand outward to lean his bike over. He looks over and nods in my direction. I’ve got it, the nod says.
Even though I want nothing more than to go in there and check on her, I don’t think my nerves can handle it. Death has a way of making my body ache for something alive. Something soft and plush to sink my cock into so I can come back to reality.
Nightfall isn’t far off, and I’m ready to ride when the others join me.
“She’s eaten?” I ask Blaze as he stops beside me, letting his feet touch the dirt below his bike.
He nods. “I told Sully to feed her in like an hour. You were right, though. He looks fucked-up.”
I nod as more Cobras join us.
Revving the bike, I set a good pace as we move across the gravel, back toward the asphalt we love to glide across.
The ride to Portland, into Jackal territory, will take us an hour. Every member stays in tight formation as we let the bikes roar through the Oregon night as dusk swallows us all.