Chapter 2: The Man Who Doesn't Lose

REAPER I had two problems. The first was Widowmaker, a blonde woman with a sharp tongue, a dangerous smile, and no respect for my authority. The second was that I found her irritatingly entertaining, which was unacceptable before breakfast. I watched the Blackwidows ride away, their engines fading into traffic while Widow remained firmly in my thoughts. She had insulted my face and refused to surrender a road she had no intention of giving up. I'd spent three years trying to identify the person behind the Blackwidows' reputation. I expected a ruthless bastard, not a blonde who could turn every conversation into an insult. "You're staring." Griffin observed. "I'm thinking." I said. "Your thinking face looks suspiciously like your staring face." He said. "Do you want to keep talking?" I asked as I turned toward my vice president. "Not particularly, but I enjoy living dangerously." He said. Diesel climbed onto his motorcycle, grinning. "For a man who threatened another club's president, you looked remarkably distracted." Diesel said. "I wasn't distracted." I said. "Of course not. You were conducting a detailed assessment of her facial expressions." Griffin agreed. "I could have you both cleaning the garage with toothbrushes." I said. "Sounds like a threat from a man who lost an argument to a woman at a gas station." Diesel said. "I didn't lose anything." I said. "Except the argument." Griffin added. I gave him a look that had silenced grown men during fights, but he merely smiled. "We should head back before you threaten the furniture." He said as he checked his watch. I mounted my motorcycle, deciding that killing them would create unnecessary paperwork. I needed them alive to help deal with Widowmaker, who had refused my demand and left me torn between respecting her nerve and throttling her. Possibly both. We rode back to Raven's Blood, and Diesel wisely kept quiet as my mood worsened. Unfortunately, the clubhouse offered fresh entertainment. Two women were arguing in the lounge. "You're wearing my shirt!" One yelled. "It's a shirt, not a family heirloom." The other one yelled. "It's mine!" The first yelled. "Then keep better track of it." The second one said. I stopped in the doorway. Tessa stood beside the couch wearing a Raven's Blood shirt while Brooke looked ready to declare war over the cotton. "What's going on?" I asked as I rubbed my face. "She stole my shirt." Brooke announced. "I borrowed it." Tessa countered. "Without asking." Brooke said. "Does clothing require a formal application?" Tessa asked. "Enough. Tessa, return the shirt. Brooke, find something more important to fight about." I said as I pointed upstairs. "You always take her side." Brooke said as she crossed her arms. "I take the side that lets me drink my coffee in peace." I said. "Happy?" Tessa asked as she tossed the shirt at Brooke. "Ecstatic." Brooke muttered. "If you start another laundry war, you'll both be doing everyone's washing." I said. They stormed off, still arguing. "Inspiring leadership." Griffin said as he leaned against the wall. "Thank you." I said. "I was sarcastic." He said. "So was I." I said. The women around our clubhouse knew the arrangement. I made no promises, expected no commitment, and never pretended casual nights meant anything more. Some stayed for drinks, others left before sunrise, and a few returned when our paths crossed again. Everyone was free to choose. Occasionally, someone wanted more, but I wouldn't apologize for feelings I hadn't encouraged. I had a club to run, territory to protect, and enemies ready to put a bullet in my back. Romance wasn't a priority, and Widowmaker certainly wasn't changing that. "Prez. We have a problem." Diesel called from the hallway, his voice suddenly serious. I followed him into the garage, where Grease inspected a motorcycle with a damaged front wheel. While we noticed that there was another bike missing from the garage. "Someone bent the wheel and cut the brake line. And one bike is missing." He said. "Whose bike?" I asked as my irritation vanished. "Cal's. He missed his north patrol check-in." Diesel answered. "Has anyone heard from him?" I asked. "His phone goes straight to voicemail." Griffin shook his head. "Get two riders ready. We're finding him." I said. "If he rode with that brake line damaged, he could be dead." Grease frowned. "Let's hope he noticed." I said. "Nobody rides alone, and nobody starts a fight without knowing the target. Watch every road leading north." I ordered as I faced the assembled men. The jokes stopped. When one of our own disappeared, Raven's Blood took it seriously. I grabbed my jacket, checked my weapon, and followed Griffin outside. "You think it's Crow?" He asked. "Crow's been pushing into our territory, and now Cal's missing." I said. "That's not an answer." He said. "It's the only one I've got." I said. We rode north through the industrial district, passing warehouses and repair shops. Two mechanics had recently complained about Savage Saints riders threatening them for servicing our motorcycles. Crow was testing us, hoping anger would make us careless. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. We found Cal's motorcycle abandoned behind a row of warehouses, its front tire flat and skid marks cutting across the gravel. "Cal!" Diesel yelled as he killed his engine. A groan came from behind some wooden pallets. We rushed over and found Cal slumped against the wall, blood running down his face and one hand pressed to his ribs. "Who did this?" I demanded. "Three Savage Saints. They blocked the road and attacked before I could dismount." He gasped. "Did you recognize them?" I asked. "Crow's lieutenant was one. The others wore his colors." Cal said. "Why didn't you call?" I asked as my jaw tightened. "They took my phone. Crow wanted you to know the corridor isn't yours to control." Cal winced. Anger settled into something colder. Crow had chosen violence to deliver his message, and one of my men had paid the price. "Get him to the clubhouse. Grease can bring the truck. Someone stays with Cal." I ordered. Griffin helped him stand while Diesel retrieved the motorcycle. I studied the tire tracks, but I wasn't chasing anyone blindly. Crow wanted a reaction. He could wait for one. Griffin joined me as we prepared to leave. "This changes things." Griffin said. "It changes nothing about our claim to the corridor." I said. "What about Widowmaker? The Savage Saints threatened Frank's business, too. The Blackwidows are already involved." He said. I'd noticed how Widow's humor vanished when Frank admitted he was frightened. Beneath her sharp tongue, she took care of her people. That didn't mean I trusted her, but I wouldn't underestimate her. "We'll handle Crow." I said. "And the Blackwidows?" He asked. "They'll decide for themselves." I said. Griffin looked unconvinced, but I started my engine. Crow thought violence would drive Raven's Blood away, and I intended to prove him wrong. Yet Widowmaker kept returning to my thoughts. She'd stood against me without hesitation, backed by twelve women who'd probably follow her into hell and complain about the temperature. I respected loyalty and courage, but I had more important problems than a woman who refused to leave my thoughts. By the time I reached the clubhouse, I'd decided on my next move. I would find out exactly what Crow was planning, protect my territory, and keep Raven's Blood out of a war we hadn't chosen. And if Widowmaker got in my way, I'd deal with her myself. Preferably without noticing how good she looked doing it.