Big Timber (Royal Bastards MC: Flagstaff Chapter #7)

Chapter 8

Timber

“How pissed do you think he’s going to be?” Throttle asks from behind me.

“That depends on how badly he’s going to need us,” Diesel replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wolfman lets out a low hiss, sounding as aggravated as I feel at any chatter right now. He and I exchange a glance and there’s no doubt he feels like I do—we are the only two who needed to come.

After parking his bike, Declan collects a tightly wrapped black bundle from the back and makes his way to the bonfire in the center. Holding up the binoculars, I scan the crowd, watching as men he’s considered brothers for decades call out to him, then look puzzled when he merely nods at them without stopping.

Sensing blood in the water, a handful of them slowly follow him—hanging back just enough to witness what’s about to go down.

I can’t make out his words, but when he stops directly across the bonfire from the officers of the national chapter, it’s obvious that he called out to them.

A few of them exchange glances while one stands, waving him over

He slowly removes his cut. Holding it up, he studies it and I wish I could see his face. I picture an enraged warrior from days long past, but that isn’t his style. He’d stay calm no matter what.

Throwing it on the fire in front of him, he unwraps the cut he’s been carrying and puts that on. The volume rises exponentially as those around him take in the Northern Grizzlies insignia that matches the cuts we’re all wearing.

“Balls of fucking steel,” Diesel murmurs, and this time I grunt in agreement.

With a final volley of words between Declan and the others, he turns to head back to his bike. Throttle might be celebrating behind me, but I don’t miss the men from other Royal Bastards chapters that stand, forming a wall between him and those in the national chapter.

The message is clear. What has happened to other chapters is weighing on their minds, and the dozen men standing the line are saying that Declan walks out of there tonight.

Without a word to anyone else, he gets on his bike and rides back down the road. I signal the others to get on their bikes, then wait to make sure that he isn’t being followed, and that’s when I see a half dozen riders about to meet him at the turn off.

Scenarios are playing through my head, until the formation slightly changes, and Declan easily rides into the third spot.

“Northern Grizzlies were keeping an eye out also,” I yell to the others, and we rev up our bikes, aiming to get to the road as they approach.

Falling into place ahead of the tail, we keep going past the exit for the hotel that Declan had planned to meet us at after the rally, and for the next couple of hours we stay the course. Eventually pulling off, I’m surprised at the community around us. Even more so when we pull up to a large house.

“Rental,” one of the guys say when he notices us all looking confused. “I’m Shade, you must be Big Timber.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding at him. I’ve definitely heard about him, but I think I pictured someone more imposing. This guy seems pretty easy-going.

“May look to get this touched up while we’re staying with y’all,” he continues, indicating a word that’s written on his right hand but it’s too dark to see what it says.

“Think I’m going to be booked pretty solid,” I say with a grin, considering I promised my brothers a couple of free hours of chair time—what with all the reworked ink ahead of them. “But I’ll get you taken care of.”

“I need a word with my men,” Declan states and that’s when I notice that Shade’s the last Northern Grizzlies still outside.

I guess that’s not entirely true though.

Now, we’re Northern Grizzlies.

“When I give a fucking order, you do not—"

“There’s not a world where I wouldn’t do it that same way, Prez,” Diesel interrupts him. “It may not have been what you wanted, but we all swore we’d watch your back.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to rake Axel over the fucking coals when we get back,” Declan says, and Throttle lets a snort out.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I mean, I would have gone along with these guys anyway, but it was Jenna who made us all promise we’d keep you in our sight.”

That admission draws a grunt from Declan, and I can’t tell if the sudden glint in his eyes is humor or pride.

Before he can say anything else, both of our phones start to buzz and I feel my stomach clenching up, even as I reach for mine.

I have a text from Axel telling me to call him ASAP. Looking up at Declan, he nods, indicating that I should go ahead.

“What is it?” I ask when Axel picks up my call. Internally, I’m praying that something happened to my tattoo parlor and not my woman.

“You need to stay calm,” he says, and I switch it over to speakerphone—having a feeling that it’s better for my brothers to hear what’s happening rather than needing to repeat it afterward.

“Talia?”

My vision starts to get hazy as I imagine the worst. There’s no way Axel would be so dramatic over a building.

“There was an explosion. I have Brick reaching out to her dad and will head to the hospital until you can get down here.” His voice is clipped and hard to hear over the sound of my blood rushing through my body. I can’t remember it ever being that loud before.

“She’s supposed to be at work,” I mumble, initially thinking her house exploded.

“She was. Her engine was called to an active scene. The warehouse exploded after the firefighters entered the building.”

“On my way,” I say before hanging up.

“What do you need from us?” a tall slim man with light brown hair and eyes asks as he steps up from behind Declan.

“Mind watching our backs for a few days?” Declan asks in reply, and to a man, each of the Northern Grizzlies—men I’ve never met before sounding out their agreement.

The man wearing the cut that reads President under his name meets my eyes and lifts his chin in a sort of greeting.

“You gotta be Big Timber. Vector told me about you,” he says and I remember that none of us had time to have our names added to our new cuts. As much as I want to be moving right now, I’m glad for the distraction because I feel strangely rooted in place. “I think most everyone else has met, but starting from behind you, there’s Shade, then Russian, Chains, Connal, and Wrench.”

“Gunner sitting this one out?” Diesel asks them as Declan signals me to the side.

“Yeah, family stuff,” the one I think is called Chains answers.

“Go take a piss,” he quietly says, catching my arm as I turn to head outside. “There are a few hours ahead of us, plus I’ll need to fill the tank at some point. Talia’s strong, she’ll be alright. You need to keep your mind clear—”

I turn on him, widening my shoulders as rage fills me. The last thing I need or want is a fucking babysitter right now. Wolfman turns to block us from the others’ view, reminding me not to lose my shit in front of outsiders.

Heavily exhaling, I turn without a word to go in search of the bathroom. The motherfucker wasn’t wrong I just didn’t want to hear it.

About to rejoin my brothers, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and pause to look myself in the eyes. It’s been a while since I’ve bothered, and I wonder when the lines at the corner of my eyes and mouth appeared. They don’t seem to bother Talia , I think, smiling as I picture her straddling me the other night; placing light kisses on my face as we talked.

For the first time, it occurs to me that I don’t even know how old Talia is—let alone her birthday. For the past month I’ve been committed to my gut instinct on her, trusting that all the little things would work themselves out.

Now, I pray that we’ll have time to learn all the details that we haven’t gotten to yet.

Hearing some bikes start up, I realize I’ve lingered too long and hurry to get on the road.

Talia

Tonight everyone inside the engine is oddly quiet as we race to a reported warehouse fire, undoubtedly because the sight and smell of the last one we were called to is still too fresh.

Last time, the dark plume of smoke rising from the burning tires at the Royal Bastards’ clubhouse darkened a light blue sky. This time, the sun has almost set, and the fire lights the darkness, guiding us to our destination without the need of the GPS.

“I fucking hate these old warehouses,” Greyson bitches from the seat to my right and a sudden fear hidden deep inside of me unfurls.

“Shut it,” Rosenfelt grumbles. “That’s bad luck.”

While I agree with both of them, I roll my eyes and chuckle along with the rest of the guys. Rosenfelt has a list a mile long of things that are bad luck.

Play it by the book , I think. Repeating the words I’ve heard my dad say my entire life.

Taking a deep breath, I concentrate on the basic lessons we were taught at the academy. Reciting them in my mind like others say a prayer.

Next, I try to remember each story I ever heard from guys who got in and out of warehouse fires, trying to give myself a quick refresher even as I’m jumping out of our engine and running to get my assignment. Forewarned is forearmed.

Like many communities in recent years, the homeless population has expanded, which creates further issues in situations like this. Now there’s always the possibility that people are in a building that would typically be empty at this time of day. In this case, Donny, Greyson and I get sent around to the back of the building in search of the rear exit.

Tapping Donny’s shoulder, I no sooner indicate the regulation fire door that we’re looking for when a window next to it is broken outward and we hear people screaming. No fewer than three people press their faces forward, gasping for fresh air as they realize that the metal bars on the outside of it still have them trapped.

“Please! Please!” a woman who looks to be a few years younger than Tanner cries out as I put down the heavy hose that I’ve been carrying. She pushes her body against the metal as if her emaciated frame has a chance of breaking them.

“You have to move back!” Greyson yells, brandishes a crowbar as he attempts to pry open the lock that is holding the bars in place.

“No, we can’t breathe in here!”

Donny starts swinging the blunt edge of the axe against the hinges of the door and I step forward to reason with the warehouse’s uninvited guests.

“If you don’t move back, he can’t get an angle to pop the lock,” I instruct them, but the panic I see in their eyes is overriding their judgment.

“I got this, get the pipes hooked up,” Greyson tells me, and I look back to the coiled hoses he and I carried back here. “Why the fuck aren’t there sprinklers in there?”

It’s hard to make out all her words over the roar of the fire and banging of Donny’s axe, but a chill shoots down my spine when I piece together what the woman says next. “Those men turned some of them off before they left. Jo-Jo started snoring like a pig and they hauled ass out of here.”

Losing precious seconds as I process her words, I finally shake them off and get the pipes hooked up to the hydrants protruding from the back of the building.

About the time that Donny gets the door open, I’m realizing that the water to the exterior hydrants was also turned off.

The woman who let us know what happened is trying to run past me when I reach out and grab her arm.

“Hold on! I need this water turned back on,” I tell her, yelling over the noise as I try to get some information. “Where did you see those men you mentioned?”

“Uh, inside to the right. We were sleeping on a platform. They were just below us,” she begrudgingly answers when she realizes I won’t release her otherwise.

“Great, now you need to go around to the front. It’s important that you tell the cops what happened here tonight,” I tell her, instantly realizing she isn’t going to do that and I’m wasting more time.

Turning back to Greyson and Donny, I tell them to bring the pipe in while I go look for the valves she was talking about.

While others fight the fire from the front and sides of the building, my partners move to get our pipe into the best position and I quickly spot the platform she mentioned—on the left, not the right—but it’s the only one so I head for the machinery below it.

Greyson’s words from the ride over echo in my mind when I see over a dozen fucking valves with no clear indication of which are turned on or off. There’s nothing to do, but start turning each to the left.

The first few are already wide open, but the middle four have been turned off—in complete disregard of the bold letters above them, warning of Federal penalties if they’re tampered with.

Within seconds, the defunct sprinklers activate. Greyson turns from his position directly behind Donny to give me the thumbs up. Just as I’m reaching for the next valve, it feels like all the oxygen is sucked out of my body and I’m suddenly weightless.