The Grim Knights MC - Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Reapers pov:
After Amalia left the cabin, I couldn't stop thinking about her. The way she felt in my arms, the way she moaned my name, and the taste of her still lingered on my tongue. The guilt was eating away at me, but I couldn't ignore the overwhelming desire I had for her. It had always been there, but now it felt stronger than ever.
The next few days were hectic with club business and I try to avoid her. We had a new shipment of drugs and guns coming in from a contact down in the city, and we needed to make sure everything went smoothly. The club was buzzing with activity, with brothers coming and going at all hours of the day and night. The smell of gasoline and leather mixed with the faint scent of weed that hung in the air. The clubhouse was a fortress of chrome and steel, with the constant rumble of bikes a reminder of the power we held in the palm of our hands.
Guns were checked, cleaned, and oiled. Knives were sharpened to a deadly glint. Everyone had their role to play, and tension was high. The stakes were even higher. We were expecting a shipment that would set us up for a while, but with the increased police presence in the area, we had to be on our toes. Reaper called a meeting, his eyes scanning the room as he laid out the plan.
The night of the exchange arrived with a chill that had us all on edge. We rode out to the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, a place we'd used before. The headlights of the bikes pierced the darkness, casting eerie shadows on the dilapidated buildings. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of fear.
As we pulled up, I spotted our contact's car parked in the shadows. Reaper gave the signal, and the brothers fanned out, securing the perimeter. The exchange was quick and tense, no words spoken except for the murmur of the bikes and the grunts of acknowledgement as bags of cash were exchanged for duffel bags full of product.
And then it happened. A sudden burst of gunfire split the night. I felt the hot burn of a bullet tear through my side, knocking the wind out of me. I staggered back, pain exploding in my chest. The world around me blurred, the sounds of the chaos muffled by the ringing in my ears.
"Reaper, down!" One of the brothers shouted, and suddenly, there was a flurry of movement. Men in black swarmed us, guns blazing. The MC brothers retaliated with a ferocity that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The night turned into a battleground, a symphony of roars and bullets.
"Get him to the clubhouse!" The order was given as the chaos died down, and the reality of the situation set in. The pain in my side was intense, and my vision was swimming. The world spun as I was hoisted onto the back of a bike, the engine roaring to life beneath me. The cold wind stung my skin, and I gritted my teeth, trying to stay conscious.
When we arrived, the place was a flurry of activity. The prospects were helping the injured, and the tension was palpable. The smell of blood and gunpowder filled the air, a scent all too familiar to me. Doc was waiting for me, his face a mask of concentration as he began to assess the damage. "It's going to be alright, Prez," he said, his voice steady. "We're going to patch you up."
The pain was intense, but I felt worse. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the cold was seeping into my bones. The ride back had been a blur, the pain a constant companion. Now, as I lay on the makeshift surgical table in the clubhouse, the reality of the situation sank in. We had been betrayed.
"Who was it?" I managed to ask through gritted teeth as Doc worked on me. His eyes met mine, filled with a grim certainty. "It was the Italians, Prez. They're moving in on our territory." The news hit me like a sledgehammer. The Italians were known for their ruthless tactics, and a war between us would be bloody and costly.
As Doc finished patching me up, the room grew quiet. The brothers were waiting for my orders, looking to me for guidance. "Call Church " I said, my voice strained but firm. "We need to figure out who tipped them off and why. And we need to send a message that we won't tolerate this."
leather and motor oil was now tainted with the metallic scent of blood and fear. I sat up, gritting my teeth against the pain, and put on a clean shirt. The sight of my blood-stained clothes brought a fresh wave of anger. This was a declaration of war, and I wasn't about to let anyone fuck with my family.
As the brothers filed in, their faces were a mix of anger and concern. They knew the stakes had just been raised. This wasn't just about the product; it was about respect. We had always maintained a delicate balance with the other gangs in the area, but the Italians had just shit on our doorstep. They had to be taught a lesson.
The room was a sea of leather and denim, the air thick with the smell of sweat and testosterone. Each man took their seat around the table, their eyes on me, waiting for the word to strike back. I could see the anger in their eyes, a reflection of the rage burning in my chest. This was personal now. They had shot at me, at my family.
"Alright, let's get to it," I said, my voice firm and in control despite the pain that threatened to overwhelm me. "Someone sold us out, and we're going to find out who." The room was silent as the gravity of the situation sunk in. One of our own had turned traitor, and it was up to us to figure out who.
We went through the list of suspects, each man offering his thoughts and theories. There was tension in the air, a sense of betrayal that made everyone's skin crawl. We couldn't trust anyone outside our tight-knit circle, and even then, we had to be careful. "We've got to keep this in-house," I reminded them. "We can't let the Italians know we're onto them."
Nods of agreement echoed around the table, the seriousness of the situation etched into every furrowed brow. "Until we find the rat, we're on lockdown," I declared, my eyes scanning the room. "No one leaves the clubhouse without my say so. We stick together, we watch each other's backs."
The room was silent for a beat before the murmurs of agreement grew into a thunderous chorus. The brothers knew what this meant; we were under siege, and our survival depended on unity and vigilance. "We need to keep our eyes and ears open," I continued, my voice steady despite the throbbing in my side. "If anyone has any information, no matter how small, you bring it to me. We deal with this internally."
The meeting concluded with a solemn nod, the gravity of the situation hanging heavy in the air. The brothers filed out, their boots echoing on the hardwood floor like a funeral march. The room cleared until it was just me and Doc, his concerned gaze never leaving mine. "You're going to be alright, Reaper," he said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "But you need to rest. You're not invincible."
Ignoring the pain, I pulled out my phone and shot a text to Amalia. "Meet me at the cabin. ASAP." I knew I couldn't keep her out of this. She was part of the MC family, and with the club in crisis, she had a right to know. Plus, I needed to see her, needed to feel her nearness, even if it was just for a moment.
Her reply was almost immediate. "What's wrong?" The worry in her tone was palpable, even through the screen.
"Just come," I replied curtly. "Now." I didn't have the strength to explain everything, not yet. The ride to the cabin was agonizing, each bump in the road sending a fresh wave of pain through my side. By the time I pulled up, I could feel the warmth of the blood seeping through the bandages.
Amalia's car was already parked outside when I arrived, the headlights illuminating the cabin in a stark, almost accusatory glow. She was standing on the porch, her expression a mix of concern and fear. "Reaper, what happened?" she gasped, rushing to my side as I stumbled off the bike.