True North: A Wordsmith Chronicles MC Standalone

by Harlan, Christopher

  “Seeing you, of course.”

  “That’s the right answer.” With that, she grabs me by my shirt and pulls me into her body. I put up no resistance to her welcomed aggression. A small stagger forward and our bodies are touching. I can feel the edge of her breasts pressing into me, and it makes my cock so hard, so fast, that I have to use all of my mental energy to control myself. I’m letting her do all the work, not because I won’t, but because I want to see what she’s going to do next.

  She puts her arm around my neck to pull my head down, which I let her. We’re kissing, but saying that doesn’t do it any justice. It’s a kiss unlike any other, just like she seems to be a woman unlike any other. Her lips are live wires, pumping untold volts of electricity into my entire body. It’s only a few seconds before she pulls away, but when she does I feel like someone woke me from the best dream I ever had. I’m hard as rock, and she notices right away, brushing her hand against me and teasing me in a way that I would normally never accept. But from her, it’s intriguing. From her, a tease is something to look forward to.

  “You good?” she asks.

  “Never better,” I answer, trying to keep my cool exterior facade going. “Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I can’t move time,” I say, grinning. “’Cause after that kiss, I need tomorrow to come a little sooner.”

  Seven—North—Now

  Getting out of here isn’t going to be easy.

  The goon is just sitting across from me there, staring as I sit here going quietly out of my mind. The room looks like an old office that hasn’t been used in a very long time. It has all of the cheap furniture you’d buy at an office supply store, and a bunch of old file cabinets filled with who-knows-what. It smells in here, and every time I inhale my nose is filled with the rancid combination of spilled booze and old cigarettes.

  “How’s the nose?” He’s grinning again. I want to knock that smile off his face and if this were a different situation I surely would. If only he knew me better, he wouldn’t be acting like this. Travis is a psychopath—a cold blooded lunatic who does nothing but bring oblivion wherever he goes. I’m not like him, but I’m likewise not a man to be fucked with. In a different life—when I was part of this world—I was the baddest motherfucker around. No one, especially not some punk-ass prospect, would have laughed at me like this kid is doing. If he knew me when I was part of the Mescaleros, he would have gladly polished my boots if I told him to.

  Instead of answering his question, I ask one of my own. “How old are you, kid?”

  “Twenty-two,” he answers. “Why, what’s it to you, old man?”

  “Ain’t shit to me,” I tell him. “Just making conversation. Not like I have much else going on, right?”

  He doesn’t respond. I just get the fake tough-guy expression, but I’m impervious to stupid chest-puffing when it comes to other guys. I’m not scared of any man who walks this earth—not Travis, not any of his underlings, and sure as hell not some dumb twenty-two-year-old kid. But evil men don’t fight fair. What does frighten me is what Travis is going to do. I know that if he finds Delilah, it’s over. Everything. My life. Her life. Our life together. Travis could destroy everything I’ve fought for and built over the last decade of my life in minutes, and he’ll do it without his heart rate rising one bit. That can’t happen. I don’t care what I have to do, but I need to escape this prison.

  Wait a second? Is that jackass texting someone?

  Eight—North—Way Back When

  Being that I don’t really ‘date’, by all measures my first date with Delilah was a successful one.

  I wasn’t expecting a kiss, but the kiss we had was unlike any other. What I wanted to do at that moment, I couldn’t. If I was my old, reckless self, I would have turned her around and fucked her silly right then and there, and I wouldn’t have given two shits who saw us. But, as it was, a kiss was where we ended things. I asked her if I could see her again, and she agreed, so tonight I’m doing something special for her, just the two of us.

  But before all that I have some business to attend to.

  What Delilah doesn’t know about me is that, even though I’m technically no longer a member of any motorcycle club, getting out of the life isn’t as easy as retiring from a normal job. As Delilah sat next to me, Ana, and Joaquin, she certainly had no idea that he and I were co-founding members of the Mescaleros. We founded it together, but I never had any ambitions of running the whole thing. So, once we got everything organized, Joaquin took the role of Club President, and I took VP. Granted, it was a small club—only about 100 of us total—but we were a bunch of bad motherfuckers. I use the past tense, not just because I’m mostly out of the life, but because a lot of those dude are long gone—eaten up by the penal system, or six feet underground. The life can do that. I lost a lot of good friends in my early twenties, and as I head towards my third decade of life, I don’t want to fall victim to any of the things that swallowed some of my best friends.

  I take a ride back to Joaquin’s place. Ana is out for the afternoon, so it leaves time for us to discuss a few things that need to be spoken about outside of anyone else’s ears. “It’s like you never left!” he says, pulling me in for a hug. “That girl you brought over last night was a smoke show, bro.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You fuck her?”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “How would you know that? How long have you known her?”

  I smile. “Well, at the time she showed up to dinner I’d known her for about an hour or two.”

  “What?”

  “We met at this class we were both taking. I got thrown out and she followed me.”

  “Of course you got thrown out,” he jokes. “You’re a fucking savage. You’re not meant to be locked in some seat, raising your hand and doing homework. You’re a road warrior.”

  I used to be. Hell, maybe in some ways I still am, but I’m trying to leave that all behind me now. It’s strange having one foot in my old world and one foot in the new. I don’t even know what the new looks like just yet, but I’m trying to figure it out. But transitioning out of this MC life is like being the guy who gets married and has kids when all of his other friends are still bachelors—you stay cool with those guys, but it gets harder and harder to be close with them like you used to be.

  “You’re the road warrior, bro. I’m trying to leave that shit behind.”

  “Good luck.” I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm in his voice, or genuine kindness. I guess I’ll believe it’s the latter so I don’t get pissed off.

  “How’s everything going?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “Good. Business is booming, man.”

  This is a lie. Business is not booming at all. It’s busting, big time.

  Joaquin is still acting president of the Mescaleros, a fact he keeps well hidden, sidelining as a Mexican food truck proprietor by day, and running club affairs by night. I was a founding member since me and Joaquin grew up together and discovered our love of the open road together, but things aren’t like they used to be. In fact, ever since the split, the club has been a shadow of what it once was when me and Joaquin started it years ago.

  The Split is what I named the mass migration that occurred three years ago, when more than a few of our members saw the kind of money being made in the hardcore outlaw clubs—mostly through drugs, but robbery, extortion, and even prostitution—and decided to switch up. Joaquin wanted none of the extreme end of the life, so we started losing members left and right, most joining the largest criminal MC around—The Leviathans.

  When most of our guys started flying the coop, Joaquin and I cracked and started letting members dabble in some minor illegal shit, hoping that the small appeasement would keep them with us, but that didn’t work at all. In fact, it did the opposite. Once guys had a taste of that life, especially the newer ones, the small time weed deals and $500 scores weren’t nearly e
nough to satiate their appetites. Those guys left even faster, and as I stand here in Joaquin’s kitchen, holding a cold beer, we only have twenty-five guys left. Well, twenty-four if you don’t count me.

  “So, what did you need to talk to me about?” I ask. I take a slug of my beer, and the cold bitterness slides down my throat with ease, preparing me for what’s going to come out of his mouth next, which my gut tells me isn’t good.

  “Cheers,” he says, banging his bottle against mine. We sit down in his living room, and he gets right down to business. “Travis,” he tells me. “I need you to run point with Travis.”

  The sound of his name makes my body stiffen. If I were a dog my hackles would be up, and I’d be ready to bare my teeth and fight. I’m not usually so reactive when it comes to the mere mention of another man, but Travis is the kind of guy who has that effect on people—me, especially.

  “Ask me to do anything else, Joaquin, and it’s done. I don’t want to have any dealings with that psychopath.”

  “I need you on this one, North. You’re the only one of us he respects.”

  Respect. That’s a strange word to use when it comes to Travis. Joaquin doesn’t fully understand the man’s nature, but I do. “He doesn’t respect me or anyone else. The sooner you understand that, the better. He’s cold, violent, and ambitious. He’s the worst combination of things that you can be, and all of them just spell danger.”

  “You don’t think I know who he is? Hell, North, it was me who recruited him, remember?”

  Of course I remember. The ironic part about this conversation is that Travis used to be one of us. It was Joaquin who recruited that crazy fuck. I always saw him for what he is—a violent sociopath with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove—but Joaquin always had a blind spot where Travis was concerned.

  To say that Travis and I never got along is an understatement. The two of us were always oil and water, right from the first time we met—just one of those visceral things between two men that sometimes happens. In the same way that you can instantly like someone, you can also instantly hate them. When he was in the Mescaleros, we tolerated one another at best, staying out of each other’s way whenever possible. When he left our MC to join the Leviathans, I figured that would have been the last I ever saw of the guy. Wishful thinking, I guess.

  “Yeah, I remember. I also remember him nearly beating Chucky to death over that game of poker they played. I also remember him telling some of the guys that one day he’d be president of our club, even if he had to ‘clean up some trash’ to do it. What exactly might I have to talk to him about?”

  “They want to buy our club house.”

  I don’t believe what I’m hearing right now. “What? They want to buy us out? That takes some balls, they must be pretty fucked up to think. . .”

  “Stop, North,” he cuts me off abruptly, and I can see the sadness in his eyes. “Just, stop. I said yes already, okay. I said yes.”

  Now I really don’t believe what I’m hearing. Not only is the club a shadow of its former self, but Joaquin seems to be also. Back in the day he was maybe the one guy who was more badass than me—he took shit from no one, didn’t know the meaning of the word compromise, and he’d put his fists up if anyone challenged him or his club. Now he’s telling me that he just sold the space out from under our feet—the clubhouse we’ve called home for years that sits in the back of the auto repair shop in the front.

  “You did what? Joaquin, how could you? What about the business?”

  “The auto shop? Drying up faster than a nun’s pussy, North. That business doesn’t generate enough income to keep the doors open. The only thing that’s making money right now is Ana’s food truck.”

  I’m annoyed even though I don’t have the right to be. I’ve had a foot out the door for a while now, but regardless of that, hearing him talk about selling our business and clubhouse to a rival group feels like betrayal. “How could you, man?”

  “How could I?” he asks, looking at me angrily now. “What would you know about it, North? You walked away, right? Going back to normal, civilian life. Taking classes and meeting girls who won’t just fuck you because you’re James North, professional badass biker? That’s all well and good, man. Good for you. But you left me high and dry to run this shit alone, and this was something I had to do.”

  “Had to do? For what?”

  “Money, Blanco, what else? We don’t have any left. We barely have any dues paying members left, and all the bikers are going to the larger auto shops to get their shit repaired. The Leviathans made me an offer—a low ball offer—and I need you to try and negotiate a better price for our old stomping ground.”

  “You want me to negotiate with Travis for more money? Are you serious?”

  “Serious as death, North. I got bills piling up from my food business, cops are still on me at all times from some of the shit we got into a while back, and I’ve got a wife who’s pressuring me to get out of the life. This has to happen. I need your help.”

  When they talk about being between a rock and a hard place, this is the kind of situation they mean. Joaquin is one of my best friends, and my loyalty to the Mescaleros runs deep, even though I’m trying to leave it behind. At the same time, I have no desire to be around Travis, or any of the Leviathans for that matter. I think about his proposition for a minute. I take another slug of my beer before I answer.

  “Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll do this for you—for us, but that’s it. After I negotiate a decent price for our place, I’m out. All operations fall on you, and whoever else you decide to appoint VP. The only way out is to get out, and as long as I’m doing shit, like sitting across a table from hardened criminals, the less likely I’ll ever get to cut the umbilical cord. Do we have a deal?”

  “We have a deal, North. I don’t want to see you go, but I can’t keep you here against your will. That’s not why we started this thing all those years ago.”

  “We also didn’t start it to sell our territory to violent criminals, either, did we? But I guess times have changed.”

  “It’s not just the times that have changed, North.”

  His words cut into me a little bit. I don’t know if he’s taking a jab at me, himself, or both of us. I’m of two minds. If I want out, then I need to get the fuck out. I can’t throw in my two cents about club business if I’m on my way out the door. But the part of me that’s still the founder of this organization is spitting with rage that I have to cede it to anyone, let alone those monsters. But sometimes in life you do what’s required, and this is one of those times.

  “Alright. It’ll get done. I’ll take care of it. But right now, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Where are you running off to now? Another class you’re gonna get thrown out of?”

  “No,” I say, taking down the last bit of beer in the bottle and putting it on his dining room table. “I’ve got a second date with Delilah. I’m gonna see if maybe she’ll fuck me this time.”

  “Why would she go and do a thing like that, you degenerate?”

  We both laugh. For a second it feels like old times. For as long as the laugh lasts it feels nice. I wonder how long that feeling will last.

  Nine—North—Way Back When

  It’s time to go pick her up.

  The weather is perfect this afternoon, but I’m still salty over that conversation with Joaquin. His proposition comes with two negatives, each of which rub me the wrong way—selling off the place that represents who we are as an MC, and having to deal with that snake, Travis.

  But I have to let it go. It is what it is.

  The roar of my bike has always been a comforting sound for me. There’s just something about the open road and the power of a Harley engine that makes all the problems of the world disappear. Right now, I’m on my way to her place. She’s got a little apartment off the highway, and the closer I get, the more excited I am to see her again.

  When I get there she’s waiting for me, looking abou
t as hot as a woman can. She’s got this flowing white dress on, and her hair is down, framing her beautiful face. There’s a gust of wind as I pull up, and the fabric of her dress hugs her figure as she holds it from blowing up. I wish it would blow up, because since the second I laid eyes on her, all I wanted to do was see her body. We’ll see where the day takes us.

  “Two bike rides in two days. I kind of love my life right now.”

  “It’s an addiction, for sure,” I tell her. “But a good one. I got hooked a long time ago, and I’ve never looked back since. Thought it might intimidate you.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t intimidate easily, North.”

  “I’m starting to see that.”

  “So where are you taking me?” she asks, smiling flirtatiously.

  “It’s a surprise,” I tell her. “Hop on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I’m forceful by nature. I always have been. It’s not that I like telling people what to do, I know what I want and I’m not afraid to say it. Delilah jumps behind me like she’s been jumping on the back of bikes for years, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. She’s got a good squeeze. She leans her head forward and puts her mouth next to my ear. “I’m ready,” she whispers. “Take me away.” I hit the gas, and we’re off.

  I take the highway so that the fresh summer air can hit us right in our faces. It only takes a few minutes before we get to Speno Park, a huge public place that I used to come to all the time when I was younger. It was always a great spot to clear my head whenever it needed clearing.

  I asked one of the guys who I used to ride with, Jon Boy, to drop off a box of stuff for me in the park. Figured it might impress her if I had everything set up right when we got there. That, and I had no room for both her and the box on my bike. We park and start walking.