Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I don’t understand anything that’s happening. We were in public in the middle of the day in a popular area. Who would do something like that?
As he rides into the lower part of the city on the other side of the river, chic, fashionable neighborhoods bleed into downtown, and then eventually into poor, working class homes and apartment buildings that remind me more of where I grew up. Some of the businesses are boarded up, but others are thriving in spite of the death of the factories that used to keep this area alive. A far cry from my current apartment, but it feels strangely like coming home.
We slow as we ride through an intersection. Off to the right, a church rises behind a brick wall. I don’t pay much attention to it until we get close to the gate and I realize it’s being guarded by a pair of bikers.
I don’t know what I’d expected an MC clubhouse to look like. A run down frat house maybe? With bikes on the lawn and a beer keg on the porch. Women in bikinis hanging from the windows?
I can’t imagine Priest, Sinner, and Colt in a place like that, though. Beer and women maybe, motorcycles definitely, but they’re way too organized to live in a ridiculous caricature of a bad guy hideout.
But still, a church?
The men at the gate wave us through, and I get my first look at what feels like a fortress in the middle of the city. This isn’t a handful of misfits in leather, smoking, drinking and causing trouble. These men are professionals and this is their kingdom.
Sinner pulls around behind the church and into a courtyard where a bunch of other motorcycles are lined up. There’s an old school along the back that looks like it’s been converted into some sort of barracks for the members. There are two houses. One to the side of the church and one behind. Both look like they’ve been split into multiple apartments. A massive metal garage that was probably built later is open on one side with loud music blasting out the open airplane hangar sized doors.
I get off the bike, wide-eyed as I try to take it all in. Sinner pulls out his phone and makes a call.
“Not what you expected?” he asks with a grin after hanging up. In the sun, his hair shines like golden honey.
“Not exactly, no. I was picturing something more like an old frat house.”
He laughs. “We’re a bit more of an operation than that, Demon.”
I believe it.
My gut says they aren’t involved, but should I be suspicious? That the day they showed up was when strange things started happening? It could all be an elaborate setup.
What’s the priority for escaping a kidnapping attempt?
Get to safety. Check. This seems pretty safe for the moment.
I should get in touch with Erika. And call my mom? That can wait. The police? Someone has to report it, right? I don’t want Sinner getting in trouble.
For maybe killing a person.
Sinner starts towards the church. He looks over his shoulder. “Coming? Or are you going to stand out here and gawk?”
I hurry after him.
Inside the church stops me in my tracks. Sunlight filters through the stained glass windows, scattering splashes of color over the massive space. Most of the pews are gone, aside from a few pushed along the walls. They’ve been replaced with couch groups and a pool table where a couple of big guys are hanging out with bottles of beer resting on the edge.
They give me a once over when we walk by, more curious than hostile. I stick close to Sinner, who puts his arm over my shoulder, and they go back to their game, clearly not bothered so long as I’m with him.
The altar is still in place, and sitting on it like a king on his throne is a massive biker with long, black hair. He’s leaning on one arm and talking to a scowling biker with muscular arms crossed over his chest.
Behind them, where the crucifix generally hangs, is a solitary leather vest bearing the name “General”, with a banner underneath displaying the logo of the Outlaw Sons. The walls on either side are also dotted with motorcycle vests, hanging to proudly display the names of the bikers who wore them.
Memorials maybe?
A handful of condom packets litter the bottom of the marble baptismal font.
The long-haired guy sounds agitated. “I don’t give a shit, Grimm. We got plenty of space in the barracks. You left, asshole. It was fine when it was temporary, but you can’t just move back and get your own fucking apartment.”
“I saved your damn life,” the other guy grumbles.
“You and half the men in here. Pack your shit.”
“Are we interrupting something, ladies?” Sinner calls out.
The man on the altar flips him off. “Who’s your friend?”