The warm summer sunrays sparkled like diamonds upon the calm lake. Dragonflies danced on the water’s edge, their iridescent wings patting the water’s surface. North stretched out his long legs and popped a cigarette between his lips. As he lit it, Givon nudged him with his foot, almost tipping him over.

“You’ve got to cut that shit out,” Givon told him. “You’ve been smoking for too long. You’re going to get lung cancer.”

“You know, you should’ve been born a woman,” North shot back. “You’d make a wonderful old lady. Nag, nag, nag.”

“I’ll nag my foot right up your ass.”

North grinned and dragged in a lungful of the bitter smoke. As he blew it out, he looked at the burning coffin nail and thought maybe Givon was right. His birthday was next week and he was turning the big four-O. There was going to come a time when he was going to have to reap what he sowed—and damn if he wanted to carry around an oxygen tank on his motorcycle. Besides, it wasn’t as if he liked the taste of cigarettes or the nasty morning breath they always gave him. It was just a habit he’d fallen into over the years of being a Red Wolf. Everyone smoked, so he did too.

But wasn’t that why he was trying to change the club? To not follow the same old path? One had to change to survive.

He flicked the cigarette into the pond.

“I quit,” he announced.

“You quit,” Givon echoed. “Just like that?”

North shrugged. “Quitting is just mind over matter.”

“I’ve always questioned you having a mind to begin with,” Givon replied sardonically. “But it’s nice to know I won’t have to haul you to chemo in your old age.”

North flipped him the finger and went back to watching his pole. They’d been out here for an hour with one fish to show between them. He’d wanted to do a fish fry tonight as they camped, but it was quickly looking like they may be roughing it with canned food.

“How’s the club?” Givon asked.

North shrugged. “Shaken. That whole mess with Axe really hit hard.”

“Who’s your current Sergeant at Arms?”

“I’ve got Skids wearing the patch and he seems competent enough.”

“But?”

“But Axe was a friend of his. Right now, he’s grieving. We all are. The betrayal of one of the pack cuts deep.”

“Do they know? About what really happened to Axe?”

North raised his eyebrows. “They suspect. But no one knows what really happened to Axe.”

“Don’t give me that shit, North. We know. And I’m pretty sure Merrie Walden knows, and if she knows, then so do Braden and Leo.”

“If they’re smart, they’ll keep it to themselves,” he said. “If word gets out Gray Dog offed Axe, the Red Stripes will want retaliation, even if he was defecting. And I don’t want retaliation for that piece of shit.” He gestured at the pond. “I’m also seriously hoping I don’t snag him on my hook.”

“Yeah, that would ruin this little camping trip.”

They fell silent again, trying to fish. It should have been a peaceful time of day but the lack of anything biting combined with club talk had North feeling restless and moody.

“Our coffers are hurting,” he admitted, breaking the silence. He wasn’t in a silent mood.

“You talking church business with me?”

Yeah, North knew he should shut up. Club business never left the chapel, but despite them being on opposite sides of the law, Givon had always been there for him, watching his back and making sure North didn’t screw up too much. He trusted Givon Halloran with every cell in his body.

“Yes,” he answered succinctly. “That newspaper article claiming Gray Dog was a hero has crippled our protection details. Less and less ranchers are asking us to ride with them.”

“Your shop not pulling enough in?”

North gave a humorless laugh. “No, Giv, the shop doesn’t give us what we need. I have got too many old men sitting around the Wolf table with more than a foot into retirement. Do you know what that means? They won’t pay dues, but I’m still obligated to pay for their 401K, and old people’s medicine costs a helluva lot.”

“So going legit is off the table?”

“Nah. Right now that’s still the long-term goal, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon with the Demon Devils camped out on our doorstep, taking our protection money.”

“You need help?” Givon asked quietly. “I’ve got money saved up.”

“Thanks, but not the kind of money I need. Besides, you give me enough help by not pissing on my boots.”

“The Red Wolves aren’t in my jurisdiction,” Givon reminded him. “And Destiny appreciates all your contributions to the community.”

That made North laugh. “If you really want to brown nose here, tell me that you’re investigating the Devils. Charge them with some type of criminal shit. It’s gotta be dope. I haven’t heard about gun running and there’s not too much else for a club to do to make some serious dough.”

“Get me some legit proof of illegal activities and I’ll haul their asses in,” Givon said. “Otherwise, I’m not starting a war with the Devils. We’ve been over this before.”

“Yeah,” North mumbled and reached for his pack of cigarettes.

Givon raised his eyebrows and gave him a pointed look.

With a sigh, North crumpled the pack, cigarettes and all and tossed them into the trash bag. “Fuck. I’ve picked a wrong time to give up smoking.”

Givon snorted. “I’ll give it a week—”

A scream rent the air, followed by the sound of a gunshot. They looked at each other for a split second before mindlessly dropping the fishing rods as they surged to their feet.

“You packing?” Givon asked grimly, reaching for his Smith and Wesson Sigma strapped onto his belt.

“Always,” North replied and pulled a sleek Glock 17 from the holster at his waist.

“It sounded like it came from over that ridge.” Givon pointed toward a high ridge about fifty yards away.

“Yeah,” North said. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

The two men hurried, keeping as low as possible as they ran. As they scrambled up the incline, Givon pointed for North to sweep around to the side. Givon counted down with his fingers then gave a thumbs-up. Both men popped up at the same time, guns drawn as they surveyed the area.

A woman lay face down, arms flung out wide as if she’d just fallen down. She wore only panties and a bra, the white lace contrasting sharply with her dusty skin. Blood pooled in her lower back before running off her hip onto the ground.

Movement came from the side of the tree line and Givon jumped up.

“Freeze!” he shouted. “Police!”

The shadowy figure immediately turned and began running hellbent through the brush. Givon swore and took off after the person while North rushed to the woman’s side. He quickly pulled his T-shirt over his head then pressed it against the bullet hole in her back while reaching for the pulse in her neck. He held his breath until a faint beat thumped against his fingers.

“Shit!” he muttered. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

He pulled out his cell phone but there wasn’t a signal. At that moment, he heard movement behind him and he half spun, holding up his gun. Givon burst through and threw his hands in the air.

“It’s me,” he said.

North lowered his Glock. “Did you get him?”

“No, jumped in his truck. But I got the plates,” Givon said as he rushed forward. “There’s also a shovel over there. Someone wanted to make sure she was never found.”

“She’s alive, but we need to get her to the hospital.”

North stood and stashed his gun into its holster. The two men managed to pick her up without too much jostling. He eyed the bruises along her jaw and cheek. He wanted to find the fucker who did this and pound him into the ground.

The truck lay on the opposite side of the clearing and both men hurried back the way they’d come, ignoring their camp and leaving everything behind. Givon crawled into the truck cab and helped guide her in while North maintained pressure against her wound. All he knew was that it wasn’t a through and through and she was still breathing. Givon scooted behind the wheel, jabbed his key in the ignition then gunned the engine. The wheels spun wildly before grabbing traction. The truck shot forward, careening down the narrow strip of road.

“Jesus Christ!” North muttered. “Can you not hit every rut out there?”

“The whole road is one big rut!”

It took them twenty minutes to get out of the pass and another ten to get onto a paved road. North stared down at the girl’s face, urging her to hold on. He couldn’t really make out her features, which were distorted not only by a big bruise on her cheek but also with mud. She was a tiny thing—probably five-three or five-four—and hardly weighed anything. Her dark hair held more brambles than a whole patch, filled with leaves, twigs and mud. He wished he could clean it for her but he had to keep pressure on the wound.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, they reached the edge of town. Givon had already been speeding like a bat out of hell, but now he flipped on his grill lights and pressed even faster. He connected to his Bluetooth and speed-dialed his office.

“Sandy, get in touch with Destiny General and inform them I’m coming in with a wounded female, shot in the back. Might also have been sexually abused.”

“On it,” Sandy, the station’s manager and drill sergeant said in her no-nonsense voice. She was older than dirt and had been working there for a thousand years, but she ran the sheriff’s office so efficiently that Givon kept asking her not to retire. He hung up and pushed harder on the gas pedal.

“Is she still alive?” Givon asked.

“Yes.”

“Is she still bleeding?”

North threw him an exasperated glance. “Of course, she’s still fucking bleeding!”

He zigzagged through the hospital parking lot toward the ER entrance. When he slammed on the brakes, North was left with a nasty case of whiplash. His door opened and people in white coats and blue scrubs swarmed around him, taking the unconscious woman from his arms. He was left shirtless, covered in blood and strangely bereft as he watched them place her on a gurney to shuffle her inside.

“Shit,” he whispered. The girl better fucking make it.

Givon threw a dark zip-up hoodie North’s way. North caught it with his non-bloody hand. Since he’d used his T-shirt on the woman, he now looked like he was something out of a freakish horror movie. Blood smeared his chest and arms and he some had splattered on his pants.

“Go wash up,” Givon said. “I’ll talk to Admissions.”

North nodded and headed inside to the nearest restroom. Everything was white on white and as sterile as could be, which played with his perception of being dirty and afraid to touch anything. He washed up as best as possible in the sink. As he watched the blood and accumulated dirt and debris filtered down the drain, he couldn’t help but think of the girl.

What had she seen—or done—to get a forgotten burial in the forest? Had she been raped? If so, then by who? Everything about this hit was messy. He would’ve suspected the Demon Devils but North knew they were more professional than leaving a not-quite-dead girl to bury. Besides, they’d been playing nice ever since Merrie Walden had sung their praises. Once North was as clean as he was going to get, he dried off and put the hoodie on, zipping it and pushing the sleeves up. His leather cut was back in his truck, tossed there to prevent any fish slime from ending up on it.

When he left the restroom, he spotted Givon sitting in the waiting room and headed over to him. Destiny General wasn’t that big of a hospital. The severity of the gunshot wound would determine if the girl took a long ride to Casper.

“Hear anything?” he asked as he sat next to Givon.

“She’s in surgery,” Givon replied. “I called in the tags on that truck. I’m having Charlie run them.”

“Did you recognize her?”

Givon shook his head. “She may not be from Destiny.”

“That man wasn’t a professional. He was just plain stupid.”

“Thank God for stupidity.”

“Yep.”

“Listen,” Givon said. “You don’t have to stay with me. Take my truck and pack up the camp.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” North replied. “I’ll call a prospect to help me. Otherwise, my own truck will be stuck there.”

Givon raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind your club knowing you fish with me?”

“You’re my friend,” North said with a shrug. “Nothing wrong with two friends fishing together.”

Givon didn’t answer. He held out his fist and North bumped it with his own. Then he reached into his pocket and took out the keys to toss them North’s way.

North rose and walked outside to place a call to one of the prospects of his club, the kid they’d nicknamed Nimrod. The sun had set and he was glad he had the hoodie in the cool evening air as he waited outside, seriously regretting having thrown away his cigarettes. The unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle could be heard a distance away and he smiled. It was a sound he loved, the only thing that really soothed the wildness inside him. He’d discovered motorcycles quite by accident, back when he’d been a teenager with gigantic daddy issues. One night, after his father had kicked his ass for something stupid, North had tried running away. When he’d come across a motorcycle he thought would be an easy thing to hotwire, the owner of the bike had caught him. North expected a beat down. Instead, the biker by the name of Patch had offered him refuge.

Givon had his own way of dealing with the shit from their youth. He’d become a fucking cop. But North didn’t hold it against his friend. How could he? Each man had done their best to cope and North was glad that they’d somehow remained close. He couldn’t imagine life without Givon being there, somewhere.

North watched as a Harley cruised into the parking lot and pulled into a vacant space. Nimrod dismounted and walked over to him. The patch on his vest that proclaimed him a prospect stood out brightly in the overhead parking lot lights. Nimrod was young, not quite twenty-one, although he could easily pass for a teenager.

“What’s up, Boss?” Nimrod asked.

“You’re going to help me pack up a fishing camp then bring my truck back here.”

“Here?” Nimrod pointed to the hospital.

“Yep. Come on.”

North led the younger man to Givon’s truck and unlocked it. They settled into the plush seats that North had to admit felt nice. His own truck was twenty years old and half the shit didn’t work on it anymore. But it had belonged to Patch so he was reluctant to part with it.

With thoughts of the shooting racing through his head, he drove in silence back to the campsite. Luckily, the prospect didn’t feel the need to talk either. North couldn’t seem to forget how it felt holding the girl in his arms. Maybe it was his protective tendencies coming out. He’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress and there wasn’t more of a distress than her predicament. Who the fuck would shoot a woman in the back? He really didn’t like that she’d been dressed only in her bra and panties. He hoped she hadn’t been raped too, or he was going to have to find the bastard who had done it and ass-rape him with a loaded gun.

When they got back to the campsite, the first thing he did was grab his cut out of his truck and put it on over his hoodie. As he smelled the familiar leather, he didn’t feel quite so naked anymore. He had Nimrod pack everything up while he picked up a flashlight and went back to the so-called crime scene. He knew that Givon or one of his goons would be here soon to rope it off and look for clues, so he wanted to do his own little investigation.

The shovel still lay on the side, obviously old and used, judging by the rusty handle and compact dirt on the blade. North walked over to the spot where the girl had been lying and saw the indention of her body still in the grass, as well as the pooled blood, now dark like black ink. The overwhelming need to find the bastard who had beaten the ever-living shit out of her gripped him hard.

“What happened here?” Nimrod asked from behind him, making him jump.

North swore and turned. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry. I got everything packed in the truck bed.”

“Good. Follow me back to the hospital.”

“Is that blood?” Nimrod asked, pointing.

“Yeah. Girl was shot.”

“Serious? You?”

“Hell, no!” North groused. “We do not hurt women. Got that, Nimrod?”

They’d really named this prospect accurately. Nimrod’s real name was Richard, and although North had been all for calling him Dick or Dicky, because that was just a god-awful nickname to begin with, the man had managed to put his bike muffler on backward. Never mind that nobody could figure out how he did it, but who the hell puts a muffler on backward?

Only a nimrod.

“Then who?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. But in your night-time scavenging, if you hear rumors of a girl getting shot in the back, come and tell me.”

“Okay.”

As North went to leave the area, something shiny glinted in the moonlight and caught his attention. He stopped and bent down, moving some of the grass aside. A gold necklace rested there. He picked it up and had to pull out bits of grass from the delicate chain, which had snapped near the clasp. He rooted around the area and found a little charm. It looked like a bird but it was hard to tell in the darkening forest. He put both in his pocket for safekeeping.

A few minutes later, he was on his way back to the hospital when his phone rang. He straightened out his leg to dig his phone out of his front pocket then flipped it open.

“Yes?”

“Nick had a heart attack,” his vice president, Draven, immediately said, sounding stressed and upset.

North closed his eyes, not quite believing what he was hearing. Nick was one of the original members of the club and had been Patch’s best friend. This was the last bit of news he wanted to hear, especially right now.

“Is he still alive?”

“Yeah. He’s being taken to the General right now.”

“On my way,” North said and hung up.

What a fucking day.