Both men’s expressions grew dark. “We need to talk about that,” Ajax said. “A fucking gallery in the Deacons clubhouse. But later. For now, why don’t you just walk on in and get your shit?”

Travis swallowed. Because that would mean facing Billie. And although he felt no remorse for the way he’d treated Lorna, an unfamiliar feeling sat in his gut whenever he thought about Billie witnessing all that. He guessed she’d want to have it out with him and…

Blue interrupted his musing. “It’s the art chick, isn’t it?” He actually cackled. “Lorna isn’t the only woman fucking with your head. Man.”

“You fucking her?” Ajax asked.

That had been the thing about the club—everyone knew everyone’s business, and while it had seemed the norm back then, Travis liked to keep his sex life private these days. “What if I am? Not gonna let it stop me going for a ride. Back in a minute.” And with that he strode out of the alley and marched in the direction of the gallery.

He psyched himself up for a run-in with Billie, but when he arrived he found it wasn’t necessary. The loser Rolley was there, playing with his forks and spoons. The mermaid paintings he’d trashed had been cleaned up and there was no evidence in the gallery of the altercation. Rolley looked up when Travis stalked past the piano and then went quickly back to his work. Good. Travis wasn’t in the mood for discussion, especially not with that hippie.

He barged into the house, stormed through the kitchen and tried to ignore the lingering scent of strawberries, which evoked memories from last night, as he went into his room. Besides the barely slept-in bed and the bag on the floor, his clothes and other crap spilling out of it, you could hardly tell he’d been here. Maybe he shouldn’t have been. If he’d stayed in The Priory or at a hotel, he’d never have run into Lorna, but neither would he have met Billie. He pushed that thought aside—she was nothing more to him than a good lay—and dug down to the bottom of his bag.

“Bingo,” he muttered to himself as he pulled his cut out of his bag. He held it up in front of him and stared at it as if it were something planted by aliens. Why had he brought it with him? He’d tucked it away in his wardrobe the last decade, wondering each time he moved whether he should toss it into the trash, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it. Why? Had his subconscious been harboring thoughts about wearing it again one day? No. He shook his head as he shrugged himself into the leather vest.

He’d kept it because it was part of his past, part of what had formed him into the man he was today. If the Deacons hadn’t found him, fuck knows what would have become of him on the streets. Not wanting to dwell on all this anymore, simply wanting to lose himself on the road, he threw everything back into his bag, picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. Then he walked back out of the house, and out of the gallery, to join his brothers.

“What the fuck took you so long?” Ajax growled and then revved his bike, making no comment on Travis’s attire.

Travis didn’t reply. He simply dumped his bag inside the back door of The Priory, yanked on his helmet and then climbed onto his own bike.

Ajax rode out first, then Blue, with Travis following close behind. At first it felt strange cruising down the streets of the French Quarter, the wary eyes of tourists turned on them—like he’d traveled back in time—but as they drove farther out and hit the open highway, the magic of the wind against his face, his brothers riding alongside him, started to pour through his body.

He’d been riding solo for a decade and while there was still a buzz in that, there was nothing like riding in a pack. For a split second he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to come back, to join forces with Ajax and Blue and to revive the Deacons. But although the thrill of the ride had gone to his head, in truth there were too many reasons not to leave his new life behind—his apartment, his company and the fact that he didn’t have to look over his shoulder wherever he went. Besides, without Priest at the helm, the club wouldn’t be the same. In reality, nothing was ever the same the second time around.

Travis tried not to think anymore as he roared along the road close behind Blue. They rode for what felt like hours, cruised past a few plantations, and then on their way back into town, Ajax slowed at a bend in the road. Immediately Travis knew what this spot meant and why they were here.

His body grew cold as he parked on the edge of the road next to the others, then climbed off his bike and took off his helmet. The three of them stared at the cruddy cross on the side of the road, a Deacons logo etched into the wood. It looked pathetic, far too insignificant for a man of Priest’s magnitude. Emotion Travis hadn’t let himself feel, not when he’d heard Priest had died, not even at the funeral, washed over him. His eyes prickled and his breathing slowed as he finally came to terms with the fact that his president wasn’t coming back. The only man he’d ever looked up to was dead, and the police weren’t doing anything about it.

“It wasn’t a fucking accident,” Ajax said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t care what anyone says.”

“No way,” Blue agreed.

“I know.” Travis’s jaw locked and he wiped his eyes with the back of his palm, finally admitting what his gut had told him all along. What he’d been trying to ignore because he’d told himself it didn’t matter. But, it did matter. “My bet’s on the Ministry.” He scowled as he recalled the run-in with Blade and the others last night.

Ajax looked up. “Blue said you saw some of them?”

Travis ignored the fact that Blue had obviously been too amused by the situation to keep his trap shut. “Yep, they were mouthing off in Café Du Monde about Priest. Blade was acting real cocky.”

Anger darkened both Ajax and Blue’s already hard expressions.

“I could fucking skin him,” Ajax snarled.

“But with half our guys gone and the other traitors now wrapped up in the Ministry, we can’t take them on our own,” Blue pointed out, his whole stance tense and angry. He wasn’t one who liked to admit defeat. Travis knew his brothers weren’t scared; they just weren’t stupid, either. They were all good fighters, but you didn’t need to be a mathematician to know the three of them couldn’t win up against the whole fucking Ministry. They needed to be smarter than that, use their brains and gather their forces again.

“We need evidence to take to the cops,” Travis said.

“The cops? And what the fuck are they going to do?” Ajax threw his hands in the air. “They’re too damn scared of the Ministry—just like they were of the Deacons—to do anything but turn a blind eye.”

“Let’s worry about that when we have the evidence.”

“Right. And how the fuck are we gonna get that? Walk into their clubhouse and ask for a confession, start throwing around accusations?”

“No.” Travis shook his head. “I’m going to do some more digging. Sophie gave me that list of Priest’s business affiliates. I’m gonna hack into their computers, their bank records, but I’m also going to do the same to every last Ministry motherfucker. You’d be amazed what the old paper trail can uncover.”

“Let’s hope so,” Ajax growled, “because I’m sick of sitting on our fucking hands. I want revenge for Priest, closure for Sophie, for all of us.”

The three men nodded in agreement and Travis felt something shift inside him. For the time being, he was no longer alone. He wasn’t back, not for good, but while he was in NOLA he was fucking going to be a biker again. And he was going to get to the bottom of Priest’s death even if it killed him; because, for all his faults, Priest had also done a hell of a lot of good and Travis had never wished him dead.