Most of the guys from the club who are employees for the security company are out on runs. The other half of the club, the guys who work normal jobs, are out doing their thing

Cyrus may have been voted in by the members as president, but everyone knows that Eli is the chief of this tribe. Not because that’s how he wants it, it’s because every man who wears a Terror cut respects the hell out of him. But because of Eli’s stint in prison, he can’t hold an official office.

I’ve admired Cyrus my entire life and then worshipped Eli the moment he rolled into town when I was ten.

Eli motions for me to sit on the couch. I do and Cyrus settles into his recliner as Eli pulls a wooden chair out of the kitchen and straddles it across from me. Eli rubs the stars tattooed on his forearm. The guy is hardcore, but ask him what his tattoos mean and most women will weep.

Eli's on my left and Pigpen on my right as we take off. Both have their guns still drawn and their expressions are deadly.

Eli bought the flat-screen television and sectional couch for Olivia, his mother, after his stint in prison. There’s a throw rug on the wooden floor and picture frames are everywhere. Olivia insisted on having visual reminders of the people she loved.

None of us liked you being AWOL.” Eli strolls into the house and pats my shoulder as he walks past. “Why didn’t you come to me or Cyrus last night? You know we’re safe havens.

Calm down,” comes a voice, and it’s not Razor’s. I rip my focus away from the water and there’s a man [Pigpen] with blond hair and a cut like Razor’s slowly approaching the bridge. His hands are up—a sign of submission. “Just calm down.

Now you’re holding her over a bridge. How do you see this playing out, kid?” - Pigpen