Wyatt’s nostrils flared. He was pissed, but Rigor was a Devil’s Barbarians club president. He had to be obeyed or face the consequences.
“Good.” Rigor nodded, clearly confident Wyatt would follow instructions. “Guys, this way. We’re heading out.”
As he’d spoken, a roar of engines filled the parking lot, which was quickly clearing. One thing bikers liked more than a fight for money was a fight to the death, and this was what had just turned up to add another layer of thrill to their evening.
She looked across at Teddy. Brooklyn was standing with him, encouraging him to drink water.
She spotted Belle. “It’s okay, I’ve got him. You sort out that bloody mess.” She pointed at Wyatt.
“If you’re sure.” Belle was being pulled both ways.
“I’m okay, honey,” Teddy said with a slur. “Don’t worry ’bout me.”
Brooklyn led Teddy toward an open motel room door that had light spilling out. His legs were like Jell-O and he was hunched over, leaning on Brooklyn.
“Fuck, you gave him a good hit,” Belle said.
“It was hit or be hit.” Wyatt examined the scarlet rag. The moment he’d removed it, though, a fresh trickle of blood filled his eye then ran down his cheek. “Damn it.”
“Come on, let’s fix you up.”
“Yeah, but be quick. I don’t like being left behind.”
“Perhaps you’ve had your fight for the night.”
“Nah, that was just the warm-up. I want the real thing.”
Chapter Fifteen
Thirty minutes and several carefully applied Band-Aids later, Wyatt was careering through Pierce toward Roxie’s. His face hurt like a son of a bitch, his eyebrow throbbed, and his jaw felt like it had been taken out and shoved roughly back into its sockets.
But he didn’t have time to think about that. He needed to be with his club brothers, fighting for justice, making sure those who snitched paid the price. The ultimate price. It was biker law.
Carter, Jayden, Taff, and Hudson wouldn’t have hung around. They would’ve been right there to support Rigor in this personal vendetta. If Wyatt didn’t hurry up, he’d miss the action. Wouldn’t be part of the victory—and he knew it would be victory. No matter who Finnegan had backing him up, they’d be no match for the Barbarians.
And every other club would get to see exactly what happened when the Barbarians were crossed. It would be a warning, a very stark warning, and Wyatt wanted to be part of that.
“How much farther?” Belle asked over his shoulder. Her arms were tense around him. He hadn’t wanted her to come, but she couldn’t be persuaded to stay. He just hoped Rigor wouldn’t give him hell for it.
“Another three blocks.” He revved the engine, sped up.
But as he turned the corner onto Lancer Avenue, he pulled on the brakes. Several police cars blocked their way, lights filling the street with red flashes turning it into a disco.
“What’s going on?” Belle asked.
“I dunno.” But he did, in his heart, he knew exactly what had happened. He’d missed the retribution. He was too late.
Cops swarmed around, so did paramedics. The door to Roxie’s was wide open, bikers flooding out.
Wyatt pulled to a halt, and he and Belle quickly climbed off and rushed toward the scene. They were stopped by a cop beside a yellow cordon tape. “No-go area,” he said gruffly.
“Just going to Roxie’s,” Wyatt said, gesturing forward. “For a drink.”
“Not anymore, you’re not.”
“Why?” Belle asked.
“Crime scene.”