“Wrong number.”
“Liar.”
“Yes.”
At least that made her blink.
He stood.
“School.”
“Dad—”
“Tonight.”
“You promise?”
Evan looked at her.
Promises mattered differently since Laura died.
“Yes.”
Riley left.
Evan remained at the table.
Scott Maddox recognized the movement.
That meant he might recognize more.
Not Evan Kane.
The name attached to old photographs had been Evan Rourke.
Road name:
Anchor.
President of the Ash River Brotherhood for eleven years.
The same club whose name once caused bars to empty early and sheriffs to request extra patrol cars when dozens of motorcycles crossed county lines.
The newspapers called them an outlaw motorcycle gang.
Members called themselves a brotherhood.
Both descriptions had sometimes been accurate.
Evan had not worn the patch in seventeen years.
He thought that life had forgotten him.
Then another call came.
This number he recognized immediately.
He stared until it stopped.
Ten seconds later, a text appeared.
Saw the video, Anchor.
Then another.
You still drop your left shoulder before a wrist turn.
Evan closed his eyes.
Only three living men knew him well enough to notice that.
The message ended:
Call me before the kid learns who he challenged.
Evan deleted it.
Then stared at the empty screen.
Old ghosts had started making phone calls.
Riley demanded the truth that night.
Evan gave her part of it.
They sat inside the closed garage.
The overhead lights cast hard white circles onto workbenches and motorcycles.
Riley waited.
Evan cleaned a wrench that was already clean.
Finally she said, “You're doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“Pretending a tool is more interesting than me.”
He put it down.
“My father rode motorcycles.”
“I knew that.”
“He died when I was eighteen.”
“I knew that too.”
“Afterward I spent a lot of time around a motorcycle club.”
Riley frowned.
“What kind?”
“The kind with patches.”
Her eyes widened.
“You were a biker?”
“Yes.”
She nearly smiled.
Then saw his expression.
“What?”
“It wasn't always good.”
“How bad?”
Evan leaned against the bench.
“Ash River started as veterans and mechanics. People helping people. Rides. Repairs. Funerals. Then money entered.”
“What money?”
“Security work. Bars. Gambling. Other things.”
“Drugs?”
“Some members.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Guns?”
“Yes.”
Riley went quiet.
Evan continued.
“I became president when I was twenty-six.”
Her mouth opened.
“President?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Eleven years.”
She stood.
“You ran a motorcycle gang for eleven years and never thought to mention it?”
“I was waiting for the right moment.”
“This is not the right moment. This is seventeen years late.”
She paced.
“Was Mom part of it?”
“No.”
“How did you meet?”
“Hospital.”
Riley stopped.
“Why were you in a hospital?”
Evan smiled faintly.
“Stab wound.”
Her face went blank.
“Dad.”
“I told you some of it was bad.”
“Who stabbed you?”
“Man named Victor Shaw.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
The question came too quickly for either of them.
Riley looked ashamed.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“Did you hurt people?”
“Yes.”
Honest.
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
That frightened her more.
Evan saw it.
“I wasn't a hitman, Riley.”
“That's a low bar.”
“Very.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Your mother.”
She stared.
“That sounds romantic and stupid.”
“It was more complicated.”
Laura worked as an emergency-room respiratory therapist.
Evan arrived after a fight between Ash River and another club.
She treated him.
Then told him he was an idiot.
They met again later.
He started inventing reasons to visit the hospital cafeteria.
Eventually Laura learned everything.
She never demanded he leave.
That mattered.
“She said if I wanted a different life, I had to choose it because I meant it, not because she threatened to leave.”
“What happened?”
“Someone died.”
Riley's anger softened.
“Club member?”
“A kid.”
Evan stopped.
Not a club member.
Not a rival.
A seventeen-year-old grocery clerk named Michael Reeves.
A fight erupted outside an Ash River-owned bar.
Gunfire.
A stray bullet.
Michael died.
Nobody ever proved whose gun fired it.
Evan had not fired.
But he had helped create the environment.
“I looked at his mother in court,” Evan said, “and understood it didn't matter whether my finger touched the trigger.”
Riley sat again.
“You left.”
“Yes.”
“Just like that?”
“No.”
Nothing was just like that.
Threats.
Arguments.
Members calling him traitor.
A beating he accepted without fighting back.
Then Laura pregnant.
A move across the state.
Name legally changed from Rourke to Kane using his mother's family surname.
A small cycle shop.
Years.
Riley asked:
“Do they know where we live?”
Evan considered lying.
“No.”
Until this week.
“Maybe now.”
Her face changed.
“Because of Cole?”
“Possibly.”
“So that stupid idiot—”
“Riley.”
“What?”
“Don't become him because you're angry at him.”
She hated that answer.
Evan did too.
Then she asked:
“Were you good at fighting?”
He looked at her.
“That is the least important part of what I told you.”
“So yes.”
“Go home.”
She stood.
“I'm already home.”
He almost smiled.
Then the garage phone rang.
A landline hardly anyone used.
Evan answered.
Scott Maddox.
“Anchor.”
Riley heard it.
Evan's expression hardened.
Scott said:
“Now we can talk.”
Scott asked to meet at a diner outside town.
Evan agreed because refusing would only move the conversation somewhere less controlled.
Riley wanted to come.
Absolutely not.
She accused him of hypocrisy for hiding things.
He accepted the accusation.
Scott Maddox sat in the corner booth.
Fifty-three.
Thick shoulders.
Shaved head.
Hands battered from decades of fighting.
He smiled when Evan approached.
“Didn't think I'd ever see Anchor Rourke serving oil changes in Pine Hollow.”
“Life disappoints people.”
Scott laughed.
“Still funny.”
“We've met?”
“Once.”
“Where?”
“Dayton.”
Memory returned.
Underground smokers.
Motorcycle club fundraising night.
Scott had been nineteen or twenty.
A talented amateur kickboxer brought along by an older brother.
“You fought Terry Vance.”
Scott smiled.
“You remember.”
“Terry complained about it for years.”
“I broke his nose.”
“He had a terrible nose.”
Scott leaned back.
“You stopped a fight afterward.”
Evan remembered that too.
Ash River members and Scott's corner nearly clashed after an argument.
Evan stood between them.
No violence.
Scott had watched.
“That's why I recognized the wrist lock.”
“That's not unique.”
“No.”
Scott's face became serious.
“But your posture was.”
Evan said nothing.
Scott continued.
“Cole doesn't know.”
“Keep it that way.”
“My nephew isn't going to let this go.”
“Then teach him.”
“I've tried.”
“Try harder.”
Scott almost smiled.
“You sound like his father.”
“Preston?”
“Preston thinks money fixes consequences.”
“Usually does for people like him.”
Scott didn't defend his brother.
“He loves Cole.”
“Bad parenting and love can coexist.”
Scott studied him.
“You really did change.”
“That disappoints you?”
“No.”
Scott stirred his coffee.
“Cole wants a public fight.”
“I know.”
“Summer festival.”
“No.”
“He's already talking about it online.”
“Still no.”
“He'll provoke you.”
“Then he'll be disappointed.”
Scott looked toward the window.
“You don't understand him.”
“I understand young men with audiences.”
That made Scott laugh.
“Fair.”
Then his expression changed.
“Preston hired someone to investigate you.”
Evan's smile vanished.
“What?”
“After the video.”
“Why?”
“He thinks you're planning a lawsuit.”
“For what?”
“Cole's an idiot. Preston assumes every problem becomes legal.”
“Who did he hire?”
“Private investigator from Knoxville.”
Evan leaned forward.
“Name.”
“Ray Felton.”
The name meant nothing.
Good.
Maybe.
Scott continued:
“They found the Rourke name yesterday.”
Evan's jaw tightened.
“And?”
“Preston knows you were Ash River.”
“Does Cole?”
“Not yet.”
“You're sure?”
“I was when I drove here.”
Evan stood.
Scott grabbed his coffee but not Evan.
“Anchor.”
“Don't call me that.”
“Evan.”
He stopped.
Scott's voice lowered.
“Ash River still exists.”
“I know.”
“They're not what they were.”
“I don't care.”
“One of their chapters rides through here every summer festival.”
Of course.
Evan knew a motorcycle charity ride used the festival route.
He had deliberately avoided it for years.
Scott said:
“If they recognize you while Cole's trying to make a spectacle…”
Evan finished the thought.
Everything Riley had just learned privately would become public.
Worse, Ash River might interpret Cole's challenge as disrespect toward a former president.