Ruthless Hold (Back Down Devil MC #9)(3)

Trev took out his gun, pulled the trigger twice, and then shut it.

“No more pounding on the ride home,” he said and got into the driver’s seat.

Trev hated driving a car. It was like being in a coffin with wheels.

Being contained in any way, shape, or form was not an option.

Trev looked in the rearview mirror at the backseat. “Well, my friend, I’ve got to go dump you off… and then I’m hungry.”

__



two.



Trev patted the headstone. “Thanks for the seat, Ashburne family.”

He sat down and stared forward at the headstone in front of him. The Ashburne family he didn’t know. Husband, wife, death separating them by five years. They had a smooth stone, which made it comfortable to sit on or lean against.

In front of Trev was Griffin’s headstone.

A goddamn bullet took his life. A bullet meant for Miller, sending off a course of revenge that ended with Miller killing Griffin’s killer. Miller got way more than that in the end of it all, but none of it was Trev’s business.

Not many guys knew that Griffin had given up his leather cut for a couple years. That was a long time ago, when the previous Back Down Devil MC President had the club on a death sentence. It was when Miller had to stand up, take charge, command the patch and fix the club. Hell, it was the reason why Trev gave up all his patches and moved on to the road. He was better off there.

Until Miller called for him to come down.

Then Griffin took a bullet, a seat opened, and the opportunity was worth exploring.

“I goddamn miss you,” Trev said. “I don’t know what comes after all this shit, but in case you aren’t watching, the club is moving forward. We’ve got most of our enemies under control. The new chief is up our ass, sniffing, but he won’t get anything on us. He knows half the department works with us and he knows those cops won’t turn on us. We do too much for them. Hell, maybe Ethan will ease a little in the future and end up on the same course as us. Then again, if he’s like Jerry, he’ll go on a rampage.”

Trev swallowed the lump in his throat.

He looked around the cemetery. The place was pretty damn peaceful. Rolling green hills, perfectly placed trees. Shit, take away the notion of bodies and bones being buried under his feet and it was a damn nice place to be.

Well, a nice place to visit.

Trev wasn’t ready for the grave just yet.

Trev reached into his leather cut and took out a flask. He twisted off the cap and threw it back, taking a drink.

“For you, brother,” Trev said. “You saved my ass that night. That f*cking night, man. Everything went wrong. We all knew it was wrong, yet we jumped into it together. Fucking outlaws, right? Riding in the night, wearing leather cuts with scars where patches used to be. That was us, together. You never truly belonged with The Lost Men, Griffin. I’m glad you came back down to Frelen. Christ, any of the other charters would have benefited from you, but you came back to your home. I know there aren’t many who know about us and our history. I’ll keep that to myself the best I can. I can’t stop thinking about what happened though. If there was something else we could have done. Moved faster, smarter, I don’t know. But we let it get to that point where a bullet went through the air and got you.”

Trev gritted his teeth and took another drink. He put the flask away. He crossed his arms and pushed from the headstone and walked around to see the Ashburne stone. Who were they? Was he a lawyer? Was she a housewife? Maybe she was the lawyer and he was a mechanic or something. So many stories all around the cemetery but they were all silent. No matter how hard you tried to listen, nobody spoke.

That was the chilling part.

So many people with so many memories, stories, offerings, and they were silenced by the stopping of their hearts.

Trev looked up and looked at Griffin’s grave. Revenge had been dealt and there was nothing else to do about it. That didn’t make it right or fair. Feeling that put Trev in a troubled spot. Holding onto grudges, guilt, all that bullshit, that was a fast track to a grave.

Leaning forward, Trev put his hands to the Ashburne stone.

“Fuck, Griffin,” he said. “These talks are too one sided. At least the club is cleaning up nice. We have the strip club on our side. The PD stays put except for Ethan, like I said. Eight Under is nothing but a few guys trying to throttle some dirt bikes. I don’t like it this way, Griffin. At all. I don’t think about the north too much anymore. The Lost Men and what they’re doing. The hell they’re causing. Traveling charter to charter, making something happen. That’s what I want, brother. I want to make something happen. But I can’t give up the seat. They wanted me patched in and I couldn't let someone else take your spot, brother. I’m not sure how much longer I can have these talks. It’s been far too long, Griffin. I mean, for f*ck’s sake, Blaine is in a committed relationship and has a kid. That’s how far we’ve come in all this.”

Trev walked around the Ashburne stone and took out his gun. He took out the clip and pulled a single bullet from the clip. He reattached the clip to his gun and tucked it away in its holster.

“I have to get going,” Trev said. “Duty calls.”

He walked to the headstone and put the single bullet on it.

He then walked away from the headstone, not looking back.