“Chapter 5: Blood and Chrome
The Lumina office was dark, but the security gate was easy to bypass. The Skulls moved like a black tide through the lobby. There were six of them: Jim, Rat, two enforcers named Tank and Preacher, and Cutter.
They found Toby and Marcus still there, frantically packing servers into boxes. They were trying to run.
“”Going somewhere?”” Jim asked, his voice echoing in the sterile space.
Toby froze. He looked at the group of bikers, his eyes darting from face to face until they landed on Cutter. “”You,”” he whispered. “”You said…””
“”I said you should have left, Toby,”” Cutter said. His voice was hollow.
Rat stepped forward, a red plastic gasoline can in his hand. He began splashing the fuel over the expensive white desks, the liquid hissing as it hit the electronics. The smell was overwhelming—harsh, chemical, and final.
“”Please,”” Marcus begged, his hands up. “”We’ll pay. We’ll pay whatever you want.””
“”Too late for that, son,”” Jim said. He looked at Cutter. “”Give him the lighter, Rat.””
Rat pulled a chrome Zippo from his pocket. He flicked it open. The small flame danced, reflecting in Toby’s terrified eyes. Rat held it out to Cutter.
“”Do it, Enforcer,”” Rat teased. “”Show the kid what a ‘Skull’ looks like.””
Cutter looked at the lighter. Then he looked at Toby. Toby wasn’t begging. He was just looking at Cutter with a profound, crushing disappointment, as if he finally understood that the world was as ugly as his mother had always promised.
Cutter didn’t take the lighter. He took Rat’s wrist.
With a sudden, violent twist, Cutter snapped the bone. Rat screamed, the Zippo clattering to the floor. Before anyone could react, Cutter’s other hand shot out, his fist burying itself in Rat’s throat, silencing the scream.
“”Cutter!”” Jim roared, reaching for his hip.
Cutter was faster. He pulled the .45 from his back and leveled it at Jim’s chest. “”Nobody moves!””
The room froze. Tank and Preacher had their guns half-drawn, but they were staring at Cutter in total shock. The enforcer who never blinked had just committed the ultimate sin.
“”You’re dead, Cutter,”” Jim hissed. “”You know how this ends. There’s nowhere you can go that the club won’t find you.””
“”I know,”” Cutter said. He didn’t look away from Jim. “”Toby, get Marcus. Get out of here. Use the back stairs.””
“”Who are you?”” Toby asked, his voice cracking. “”Why are you doing this?””
Cutter’s hand trembled, just for a second. “”I’m nobody. Just a man who’s tired of being a monster. Now go!””
Toby hesitated, then grabbed Marcus by the arm. They scrambled toward the rear exit. Rat was on the floor, gasping for air, clutching his shattered wrist.
“”You think you’re a hero?”” Jim asked, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “”You’re a traitor. You’ve got a ‘Green Light’ on your head the second we leave this room.””
“”Then let’s not leave,”” Cutter said.
He kicked the gasoline can over, sending a fresh wave of fuel toward Jim’s boots. Then, he reached into his vest and pulled out the photo. He threw it onto the fuel-soaked desk.
“”That’s the boy,”” Cutter said. “”And this is the man.””
He fired.
He didn’t hit Jim. He hit the Zippo lying on the floor.
The room erupted.
Chapter 6: The Marked Man
The fire spread with a hungry, roaring speed. The sprinklers hissed to life, but the gasoline-fed flames laughed at the water. Thick, black smoke began to fill the glass tower.
Jim and the others scrambled for the exit, more concerned with their own skins than a traitor. Cutter stood his ground until he saw Toby and Marcus clear the back door and disappear into the rainy Portland night.
Cutter walked out the front, his leather vest smoking. He climbed onto his Dyna and rode.
He didn’t go far. He went to a small, 24-hour diner three blocks away. He sat in a booth by the window and ordered a black coffee. His hands were covered in soot and Rat’s blood.
Ten minutes later, a car pulled into the lot. A beat-up Subaru. Toby Miller got out. He walked into the diner, his face pale and streaked with ash. He sat across from Cutter.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
“”My aunt told me my father was a bad man,”” Toby said finally. “”She said he chose a gang over his own flesh and blood.””
“”She was right,”” Cutter said.
“”Then why?”” Toby gestured toward the glow of the fire in the distance. “”You just threw away everything. They’re going to come for you, aren’t they?””
“”Yes,”” Cutter said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy brass key. He slid it across the table. “”There’s a storage unit in Vancouver. Number 402. Inside is enough cash to get you and your partner to California. Change your name. Again. Don’t look back.””
Toby looked at the key, then at Cutter. “”Come with us.””
Cutter almost laughed. It was a dry, painful sound. “”I can’t, Toby. I’m a Skulls enforcer. As long as I’m alive, I’m a beacon for them. I have to stay here and keep them busy. I have to make sure they’re looking at me while you disappear.””
“”I don’t even know your real name,”” Toby whispered.
“”It doesn’t matter,”” Cutter said. He stood up. He felt lighter than he had in twenty years. The “”Enforcer”” patch was charred and peeling away from the leather. “”Just know that for one night, I was your father. That’s enough for me.””
Cutter walked out of the diner. The rain was cold, washing the soot from his face. He got on his bike and headed toward the “”500″”—the headquarters of the regional president. He wasn’t going there to beg for his life. He was going there to tell them where the bodies were buried. He was going to burn the Skulls down from the inside out.
He knew he wouldn’t survive the week. He knew the price of the patch was his life.
But as he rode into the dark, for the first time since he’d signed those papers in a Gresham kitchen, Cutter Reid felt like a free man.”
