The sound of raised voices outside cut through the silence in the truck. It was time. “Stay here until I call for you. Don’t come out before then . . . please,” I insisted. Without looking back at Harmony, I opened the door and got out of the truck.

With my hands held in the air, I moved around to the front of the truck. Light after light came on, lightbulb after lightbulb flaring beyond the compound walls to reveal my presence. I winced at the brightness of the spotlight I was thrust under.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.”

I recognized that voice. My stomach sank as I saw my former best friend. My road brother, the only true friend I ever had in this club.

Smiler.

I stepped to the side, moving from a direct beam of light so I could look up and clearly see his face. Smiler was staring down at me, mouth gaping. When I caught his gaze, I saw a flash of pure sadness flicker over his face. “Smiler,” I said, loud enough for him to hear. My voice seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had found himself in, and his expression morphed into one of untapped anger.

Smiler leaned over the tower’s guardrail and shouted across the compound, “Get the fuckin’ prez. Now!” He turned back to me again. “Scratch that! Get everyone! Every single brother out here! We got a huge fuckin’ problem!”

“There’s no problem,” I said calmly. Smiler’s head snapped to face me. He drew his gun, aimed it at my head, then searched the road behind him. “What the fuck is this, man? Ain’t y’all pricks already done enough to this fuckin’ club? You got more cult freaks comin’? Tryin’ to steal the fuckin’ bitches again like a bunch of desperate fucks?”

The viciousness in his voice cut through me, but I shook my head. “No. It’s just me. I’m not here for trouble.”

Smiler scoffed, then danced on his feet, his head constantly craning around the bend of the road, searching expectantly for more of my people . . . my former people.

The sound of feet pounding on asphalt came thundering from behind the iron gates. “What the fuck is happenin’?” a voice shouted. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Ky.

Shit.

I closed my eyes for a moment, that forgotten fear coming back in full force, eradicating the calmness I had embraced on the ride here.

“The fuckin’ second comin’!” Smiler shouted back. “Open the gates!” My heart began slamming against my chest as the iron gates began grinding open.

I tried to suck in a breath, but the air was too humid and thick. That or my damn chest was refusing to function. Sweat dripped down my neck. I watched with alert eyes as the shadow of multiple feet danced impatiently behind the opening gates. I pushed my hands higher into the air, just as the gates cleared enough for my former brothers to slip through.

The sound of safety catches being clicked off guns echoed off the surrounding trees. Then, like a perfectly organized and fucking ruthless stampede, the Hangmen appeared, a united front.

They stopped dead in front of me.

My eyes tracked over each of my former brothers’ faces. Every one stared at me with a look of utter shock, quickly followed by pure hatred. Ky was the first to burst from the line. “What the fuck is he doing here?” he hissed. His blue eyes speared through mine, and he moved to run at me, but Styx grabbed Ky by the collar of his cut and dragged him back.

“What the fuck!” Ky spat, knocking Styx’s arm from his neck. One of the brothers broke rank and began searching down the road, gun held high. AK, the ex-sniper, checking for any nearby threats.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill the pissant fuck!” A familiar guttural, acidic roar ripped through the night. The next thing I knew, I was knocked onto my back, my spine slamming against the ground. Two fists came raining down on me like fucking steel sledgehammers, and my vision swam. “You tried to take her from me, you fuckin’ cocksuckin’ cunt! You and your kiddie-rapin’ fuck of a brother!”

Hands wrapped around my neck and squeezed like a vise. There was enough time for me to look up and see Flame’s black-as-death eyes. I didn’t fight back. There was no point.

Suddenly Flame was kicked off me, and I heard his bloodcurdling roar as he tried to charge back. “Flame, brother. Calm the fuck down.” I didn’t need to see Viking to recognize his loud voice coming from behind his best friend.

I staggered to my feet and held up my hands again. I saw Tank and Bull with their guns aimed at me. Then a huge guy I didn’t know—a guy littered with Nazi tattoos—glared at me, the barrel of his gun aimed right at my head. I saw another two members I didn’t know, a mixed-race brother with bright blue eyes and a blonde beside him with a Stetson on his head. Both regarded me like I was the devil himself.