Read Online Only Witness, The by Shannon Flagg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shannon Flagg
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voice.
“I understand,” Deacon told him. “I asked you a question as well, Leader. What are they doing here? They're outsiders.”
“They are here at my invitation, as valued guests, and will be treated as such.” The Old Man looked around at the crowd. “I will take anything less as a direct challenge and react accordingly. Now, show your respect.”
Deacon joined everyone else in the pack, dropping to his knees at the command with his head back, throat bared. The Old Man was asserting his dominance, reminding them that he was the one in charge.
“As I thought,” Ezekial let out a bark of laughter, “get up. We have much to discuss.” He didn't raise his voice because he didn't need to; it was as quiet as it could possibly be, with even the animals in the woods not making a sound. “I have called you all here to discuss the future. It has not been an easy road for us in recent years. We have suffered losses that can not be replaced, but we must look to the future. We must protect the pack!”
Pieces began to fall in place for Deacon—the presence of The Grievers and the speech about the dwindling number of pack members, there was only one reason why they'd be here. The Old Man was going to induct them into the pack. The thought of it angered him so much he nearly rose to his feet to challenge.
Deacon's eyes went to Bug. He'd made a promise to Lake to keep him safe. No one with loyalty to him would be safe if he challenged and lost. It was not an acceptable option. Instead Deacon would bide his time, train and grow stronger.
“We need an infusion of new blood, members willing to take risks to get things done, willing to protect the pack.” The Old Man focused on Deacon. “It is time to look to the future of this pack. Josiah, join me.”
The president of The Grievers was roughly Deacon's age. He'd been leading for nearly seven years, earning the gavel when he'd challenged and killed the sitting president. To this day no one knew what sparked the incident, but it had been brutal. The Grievers were brutal. They were a single charter club, like The Vikings, but that was where the similarities ended. The Grievers lived life on the road, no set home base, and followed their own rules. They were known for hard partying, running drugs, guns or whatever else would turn a profit. At one time there had even been rumors of human trafficking, but no one had ever been able to prove anything.
The last time The Vikings and Grievers had been in the same place together was at a bike show in the Nevada desert. The good time and party vibe of the night had been shattered when one of the civilians at the event spilled a beer on Michael, the second-in-command of The Grievers. Anyone else would have shrugged it off, it wasn't the end of the world, but not Michael. Instead he'd proceeded to grab the man. Michael beat the smaller man to death with his fists but delivered the killing blow with a small bat embedded with nails and screws straight to the man's forehead. Josiah had immediately ordered the body cleaned up and put the fear of God in the other civilians who hadn't already fled.
Josiah's voice brought Deacon back to the present. “Thank you for the warm welcome, it is truly an honor for us to be here as part of your pack.” He dropped to his knees, exposed his throat.
There was a sense of ceremony to his words. Deacon felt his jaw clench in a hard line. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that he wasn't the only one. The majority of the pack looked confused, but he saw anger on some faces, especially Bug and Jake.
“It is an honor to welcome you and yours into this pack, to know that the new blood you bring to us will help to create new life. We will be as strong now as we ever were, or dare I say stronger.” The Old Man announced as his gaze moved
“I understand,” Deacon told him. “I asked you a question as well, Leader. What are they doing here? They're outsiders.”
“They are here at my invitation, as valued guests, and will be treated as such.” The Old Man looked around at the crowd. “I will take anything less as a direct challenge and react accordingly. Now, show your respect.”
Deacon joined everyone else in the pack, dropping to his knees at the command with his head back, throat bared. The Old Man was asserting his dominance, reminding them that he was the one in charge.
“As I thought,” Ezekial let out a bark of laughter, “get up. We have much to discuss.” He didn't raise his voice because he didn't need to; it was as quiet as it could possibly be, with even the animals in the woods not making a sound. “I have called you all here to discuss the future. It has not been an easy road for us in recent years. We have suffered losses that can not be replaced, but we must look to the future. We must protect the pack!”
Pieces began to fall in place for Deacon—the presence of The Grievers and the speech about the dwindling number of pack members, there was only one reason why they'd be here. The Old Man was going to induct them into the pack. The thought of it angered him so much he nearly rose to his feet to challenge.
Deacon's eyes went to Bug. He'd made a promise to Lake to keep him safe. No one with loyalty to him would be safe if he challenged and lost. It was not an acceptable option. Instead Deacon would bide his time, train and grow stronger.
“We need an infusion of new blood, members willing to take risks to get things done, willing to protect the pack.” The Old Man focused on Deacon. “It is time to look to the future of this pack. Josiah, join me.”
The president of The Grievers was roughly Deacon's age. He'd been leading for nearly seven years, earning the gavel when he'd challenged and killed the sitting president. To this day no one knew what sparked the incident, but it had been brutal. The Grievers were brutal. They were a single charter club, like The Vikings, but that was where the similarities ended. The Grievers lived life on the road, no set home base, and followed their own rules. They were known for hard partying, running drugs, guns or whatever else would turn a profit. At one time there had even been rumors of human trafficking, but no one had ever been able to prove anything.
The last time The Vikings and Grievers had been in the same place together was at a bike show in the Nevada desert. The good time and party vibe of the night had been shattered when one of the civilians at the event spilled a beer on Michael, the second-in-command of The Grievers. Anyone else would have shrugged it off, it wasn't the end of the world, but not Michael. Instead he'd proceeded to grab the man. Michael beat the smaller man to death with his fists but delivered the killing blow with a small bat embedded with nails and screws straight to the man's forehead. Josiah had immediately ordered the body cleaned up and put the fear of God in the other civilians who hadn't already fled.
Josiah's voice brought Deacon back to the present. “Thank you for the warm welcome, it is truly an honor for us to be here as part of your pack.” He dropped to his knees, exposed his throat.
There was a sense of ceremony to his words. Deacon felt his jaw clench in a hard line. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that he wasn't the only one. The majority of the pack looked confused, but he saw anger on some faces, especially Bug and Jake.
“It is an honor to welcome you and yours into this pack, to know that the new blood you bring to us will help to create new life. We will be as strong now as we ever were, or dare I say stronger.” The Old Man announced as his gaze moved
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