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ONE

The wind blew off the sea as the three Harleysturns and hit the straight stretch on Highway 1 running parallel to the ocean The night ell under way, a fact that Savva "Reaper" Pajari ell aware of He had to report to the president of his club, Czar, the moment they arrived back in Caspar, but time didn't matter for that Even if Czar was at his home in Sea Haven, tucked in close to his wife, Reaper'd just hit the roof and clih the bedroomHe'd done it more than once

He lived for two things: riding free and fighting He needed to feel solidhis body, tapping into that well of ice that covered every emotion That swift explosion of violence and sweet pain as fists connected was his life, and had been his life since he was five Now, he needed to stay sharp somehow, in this new bullshit direction the club had taken

He rode along the highway, aware of the others on either side of him Brothers, some for over thirty years Men he counted on Men he called family Still, he was apart from them and he knew it, even if they didn't He turned his head toward the ocean Waves sprayed up into the air, rushing over rocks and battering at the cliffs So him away, little by little

His soul had been gone so long ago that he couldn't re There wasn't a place on his body without a scar He had another to add from this last trip He also would have to have Ink tat his back, threein the roots of the tree on his back

Viktor Prakenskii, the man known as Czar, was the best man he knew Reaper's job was to stand in front of Czar, his self-appointed task fro now, he didn't know any other way of life He stood in front of all his brothers and sisters--in Torpedo Ink, his club He was proud to wear the club colors He'd die for those colors and still detested any mission he ran if he had to take them off

They turned off theto the town of Caspar, where they'd set up honed their coing co on the building, turning it into their clubhouse It housedroom--known as the chapel--and a kitchen They shared bathroo room Czar had insisted each of them purchase a home nearby He wanted those roots put down deep

Reaper didn't give a da as he could defend his club and their president, he was fine The coht now, he needed one He was forty-eight hours without sleep He'd stitched up the wound in his side hi a piss-poor job of it too, but all he'd had was a little whiskey to disinfect it, and that had burned like hell It still did

They rode up to the compound, and Storm and Keys parked their bikes while he scanned the lot Either Czar was home or at the bar Reaper was fairly certain he'd be at the bar waiting for a report He didn't like to disturb his wife, Blythe, or their four adopted children Reaper didn't shut his bike down and waited for the others to turn to him

"Goin' to find Czar," he said, unnecessarily, but they were looking at hi He didn't like stupid shit, like the formalities that seemed so important to others He didn't care if people liked him; in fact, he preferred they stay the hell away, except for his brothers, who understood him and made it clear they expected him to at least talk once in a while

"I can report in," Keys offered "You could use the downtime"

Reaper shook his head "Won't be able to sleep right away I have to check on him anyway You kno I am"

"Want company?" Storm asked

He shook his head "Not necessary Savage will be with him, probably a few others Get soe" Pajari was his birth brother Like Reaper, he acted as sergeant at ar Czar at all times Between the two men, they had their president covered whether he liked it or not around the clock "I already texted Czar ere comin' in ere an hour out"