It wasn’t that I hadn’t kept my eyes peeled before, but now that Rebel was dead and he’d found out my real identity, the need to be extra cautious and mindful of those around me had increased. It had been two months since Rebel died, and for sixty grueling days I’d waited to be exposed. The plan with the Vipers moved forward even in Rebel’s absence, causing the list of charges to grow. Rebel’s disappearance had people on pins and needles. His car was still safely tucked away in my storage unit, and his remains had yet to be discovered. Wild accusations had flown around the clubhouse for weeks. Cowboy had become the new president, calling the shots in place of Rebel. The mysterious disappearance had been pinned on a rival club, the Death Angels. They’d started some shit in Daytona and were the obvious scapegoat. All members of that club had been executed during a late-night raid on their compound. There was no one left in that club to deny the murder of Rebel.
