Free Forged: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel by Natasha Thomas Page A

was laid out on the floor, already unconscious and bleeding steadily from a cut above his eyebrow, and Dagger was still out for blood. I’ve got no idea what came over him, but it was like he blacked out and turned into killing machine. All of it; the fight, his not wanting to back down, and his loss of control was so uncommon it had all of us questioning why he’d all of a sudden snapped. Dagger wrote it off saying he’d had a bad day, but I don’t believe that shit for a second. But that aside, it made me think he’d make a fucking excellent Enforcer if Reaper ever stepped down if that’s the sort of thing he’s capable of at the flip of a switch.
     
    He isn’t huge at six-foot-one and two hundred pounds, but what he lacks in size he makes up for in determination and skill. When he eventually came out of the trance he’d been in Dagger’s face paled then he took off to parts unknown, and we didn’t see him again for next three days. Finally returning to the clubhouse after his hasty exit, he sought out Steel, apologized, and threw himself into work like a man possessed. He did whatever was asked of him, offered to take runs no one else wanted, basically he was kissing ass to make up for what he’d done. It wasn’t necessary, but he did it anyway. Steel didn’t hold a grudge, and the rest of us were more intrigued as to how he knew how to do that shit than we were pissed at him. I have to admit, even I wanted him to teach me a few of the moves he’d used, that shit was unreal.
     
    Inclining his head, Glock leaves closing the door firmly behind him. Dagger looks over at me from his position at the table his expression curious.
    “I’ve got two things to say. The first involves both of you. The second thing is between Saint and I, alone.” Motioning to Pipe he adds, “Pipe will only be here while I go over what I’ve got to with both of you then he’ll leave with Dagger. I want you to hear me out before you get yourselves worked up and start spilling blood. That shit’s hard to get out of carpet, and seeing as we’ve only got four club whores around these days it’s getting difficult to keep the place up to scratch without the added mess,” he warns.
     
    With nods from both of us, Priest doesn’t hesitate in sharing what he knows.
    “Got some information about a week back that concerns the two of you. I didn’t bring it to either of you then because I wanted to look into it and see if it held water first. Either of you remember old man Collins?”
     
    “Heard of him, I don’t know him though. I’ve heard he owns a track of land about thirty or so miles from here. He’s pretty much a recluse from what people say, but that’s the extent of what I know,” Dagger says with a non-committal shrug. Well, that’s more than I knew, so he’s doing better than I am. I don’t even know who the guy is.
     
    “Sounds about right. Years ago Devil’s Spawn bought the land the clubhouse and dorms sit on from him. He had properties all over Blackwater, some as far out as the Clearwater county line back then. When his wife died fifteen years ago leaving him with a fourteen-year old daughter to raise and no idea how to do it, he consolidated his holdings. He sold off the vast majority of land he owned, and took off up into the hills relocating permanently to his last remaining property. He doesn’t come into town much, once or twice a year maybe, if that.”
     
    Interrupting I ask,
    “Good to know, but I’m not sure what that’s got to do with us?”
     
    Narrowing his eyes at me, Priest leans back in his chair fisting his hands on the arm rests.
    “I’m getting there,” he growls back irritably. “As I said, he doesn’t come down the hill often, so when he does, people talk. It’s been a common question around town how he gets his supplies, food, shit like that. Seems everyone, me included, forgot he even had a daughter, let alone put the pieces together she was the one running his errands for