Fuel and Fire

CHAPTER 9

The heat from the burning warehouse slammed into us the second we ran outside and flames tore through the building hard enough to light the entire property bright orange against and dark sky.

Men shouted everywhere while motorcycles roared toward the back lot and thick smoke curled upward while pieces of metal snapped and collapsed inside the fire.

“Get water moving now.” Roman barked.

Torch and Bones sprinted toward the side garage dragging hoses behind them while Crow grabbed rifles from a truck bed automatically like he expected another attack any second.

He probably wasn’t wrong. Knox stood beside me scanning the treeline beyond the warehouse with terrifying focus and suddenly I realized this wasn’t just panic.

This was war. Then somebody screamed from near the loading dock.

“We got a body.” He yelled.

The entire atmosphere shifted instantly and nobody yelled after that. Nobody joked.

The clubhouse went dead silent except for crackling fire and boots pounding across gravel.

I followed Knox before anybody could stop me and the smell hit first.

Smoke, gasoline and burned flesh. My stomach twisted hard while two members dragged a body bag away from the side entrance.

I recognized the boots immediately.

Jesus Christ. The youngest prospect in the club. The kid who’d barely earned his partial patch a few hours ago.

Crow swore viciously beneath his breath while Bones looked ready to murder someone with his bare hands.

“No f*****g way.” Torch muttered quietly.

Pup stood near the trucks looking pale enough to collapse.

Knox’s jaw tightened hard while Roman crouched beside the body bag silently for a second before standing again.

“Black Reapers.” Roman said.

Nobody argued because everyone already knew.

I glanced toward Pup while his hands shook visibly beside the burned warehouse and suddenly the reality of this life hit harder than it had before.

People died here. Fast and violently.

And sometimes before they even got the chance to really live.

The next two days passed beneath heavy silence and cigarette smoke while Devil’s Hollow prepared for Crash’s funeral ride. And the clubhouse felt completely different without all the usual loud chaos.

Even Crow stayed quiet most of the time. I sat beside Marisol near the garage while members cleaned bikes carefully in the afternoon heat and she handed me a beer without looking up.

“You don’t gotta come tomorrow.” She said quietly.

“To the funeral?” I frowned.

“Yeah.” She said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked leaning back against the wall.

“Because funerals for club like this ain’t pretty.” She said.

I thought about Crash’s body being carried from the flames.

About the blood on the highway, about Knox sleeping with a pistol beneath his pillow now and then I shrugged.

“Neither is the rest of your lives.” I said.

Marisol studied me for a second before nodding slowly.

“You’re handling this s**t way too well.” She said.

“Probably something I should discuss in therapy.” I said.

That earned a small laugh from her. The funeral ride stretched nearly a mile long the next morning while motorcycles thundered down empty highways beneath gray skies and Devil’s Hollow rode in full colors with Crash’s bike carried in the center formation.

His helmet hung from the handlebars and nobody spoke much. They didn’t need to.

I rode behind Knox with my arms around his waist with cold wind whipped against us and something about the silence hit harder than screaming ever could.

This club loved hard and grieved even harder.

By the time we reached the cemetery outside of town several older members already looked like emotional wrecks.

Pup especially.

He stood beside Crash’s grave with red eyes and clenched fists while Roman rested a hand against the back of his neck briefly.

“You earn your patch and carry everyone we lose with you.” Roman rold him quietly.

Pup nodded hard while trying not to cry. And honestly, that almost broke me.

Knox stayed beside me throughout the service while his hand rested against my lower back constantly like he needed reminding that I was still there. I noticed the way other members kept glancing between us.

Like something had shifted and I belonged here now whether anybody admitted it out loud or not.

After the burial members gathered near the bikers while whiskey bottles passed around silently.

I stood beside Knox watching smoke drift across the cemetery air when Roman stepped closer toward him.

“You’re distracted.” Roman muttered quietly.

“No I’m not.” Knox said not looking away from the grave.

“Yes. You are.” Roman replied.

I started stepping away automatically because this definitely sounded like private biker business but Roman stopped me surprisingly.

“Nah. You should hear this too.” Roman said.

“Roman.” Knox sighed heavily.

“You’re getting reckless. You got people hitting warehouses and ambushing runs while you’re playing house.” Roman continued anyway.

Heat flared through my chest instantly.

“Careful.” Knox said as his expression hardened.

“I’m serious. Everyone sees it.” Roman snapped quietly.

Silence stretched between them thick and tense. Then Knox finally looked toward him.

“She matters to me.” He admitted.

“That’s exactly why it’s dangerous.” Roman said.

Nobody spoke after that. Because deep down? We all knew he was right.

My phone rang later that night while I sat alone outside my apartment smoking beside the truck and irritation hit immediately when I saw the private number.

So I answered it anyway.

“What?” I answered and silence greeted me first.

Then my father’s voice filled the line smooth and controlled as always.

“Maisie.” He said.

I closed my eyes instantly because nobody called me that anymore except my family.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“You’ve been difficult to reach.” He said.

“Funny how ignoring people works.” I said.

“You’re involved with dangerous men.” He sighed solftly.

“That’s rich coming from you.” I laughed bitterly.

Silence stretched briefly and then his voice lowered.

“Came home before this kills you.” He said.

“You know about the Black Repears.” I said.

“I know enough.” he said.

“Did you send them?” I asked as anger flared instantly.

“No. And if I had, they wouldn’t have missed.” He replied sharply. That answer somehow felt worse.

“I’m not coming back.” I insisted.

“You’re my daughter.” He said.

“And you’re a man I stopped trusting year ago.” I said.

His voice softened slightly then and honestly that almost made it worse because Vincent Calloway rarely sounded human.

“You don’t understand the kind of people circling around you now.” He said.

I looked across the dark parking lot while unease twisted through my chest.

“Maybe they should be scared of me instead.” I said.

My father laughed quietly under his breath.

“That attitude always was your mother’s.” He said.

Then the line disconnected and I stared at my phone for a second before finally crushing the cigarette beneath my boot and heading upstairs exhausted.

The apartment stayed dark when I unlocked the door. It was too dark and every instinct in my body screamed instantly.

Because someone was sitting in the chair beside my living room window.