The dying Black Reaper's final words refused to leave my thoughts and by the time the convoy returned to the clubhouse every member of Devil's Hollow understood that Razor had been building something far more dangerous than another motorcycle club.
The clubhouse still carried scars from the recent attack because several walls remained blackened from smoke, temporary plywood covered shattered windows and the smell of fresh timber mixed with burned wiring while members continued repairing what they could.
Nobody complained and rebuilding had become another part of survival. Church gathered almost immediately after everyone returned.
Knox sat at the head of the table despite the fresh bandages beneath his shirt and although the doctor had ordered him to rest nobody believed he would listen
