by Lynn, Davida
Hope jumped in. “Actually, I think it might be best if she stay with me for the night. She’s not hurt, but I think she is pretty shaken up. I have a few sleep aids, and eight solid hours might do her a world of good. It’s up to you, though.”
I looked to Bandit, then around the bar. It was filled with outlaws, most of them bandaged up in one way or another. A week beforehand, I’d never consider leaving my mom with anyone like them. Now they were just as much my family as she was.
Trask slid an arm around Hope’s waist. “Are we having a guest over for the night?”
I smiled. “If you think it’s best. Hope, Trask, I can’t thank you two enough. I don’t know what would’ve happened without you and the Sons.”
Bandit pulled me to him and kissed my forehead, careful to avoid the injury at my temple. “I know that nothing good would have happened.”
“He’s right.” Trask looked around. “These guys might smell and have some shit manners, but they know right from wrong. They are good men. We’re glad to have you joining our ranks, Celeste.”
The pride in Trask’s voice couldn’t be missed. For the first time in more than a year, I felt at home.
Three months after everything went down at Blythe mansion, my life had been changed with a dramatic hand. I cursed Conrad for crippling me with money. Living with Bandit was hard to get used to. He lived a fairly simple life. No more foyer; personal cook; maid; or Lexus. It was as if that was Conrad’s last means of hurting me.
The stress was high for Bandit, too. He was used to living alone, and I’m sure my insistence on a clean house grated on him. Actually, I’m sure of it. After a few days, we were at each other’s throats, and I was worried that we couldn’t keep it together. One day, he left in the middle of a fight, and I began to think of moving back in with my mother. She could use the help, and I could use the space.
Then we took a trip. Bandit came home and tossed me a helmet. We rode out near Lake Tahoe and found a secluded spot in the pines. The tension between us shattered into the hottest angry sex I could ever remember. We collapsed beside Bandit’s Harley in the shade of the forest. I lay on his chest and we talked through things. Sometimes a rough fuck is just what a relationship needs.
I’m not saying we were without our problems, but things got better every day. Bandit and I began carving out a life together. He started picking up his clothes instead of just tossing them on the floor. It was progress, at least.
For the first time in over a year, I went back to work. I had years of experience as a bookkeeper for a construction firm, but I didn’t think I could go back to the regular working-stiff world. Lucky for me, the Rising Sons were in need of someone good when it came to numbers and bad when it came to morals. It was a perfect fit.
As the Rising Sons Motorcycle Club, Davis Chapter began to grow, we found new and creative ways to bring in money. A more established gang in town seemed to be losing more and more steady jobs as the government had them under the microscope. We began running protection jobs up and down California. Between the Bakersfield chapter and ours, we had most of the great state under our thumb.
When the first Brazilian contacted Trask about the vacuum created when Conrad Blythe disappeared, he called the Davis Chapter together for a meeting. When Bandit told me what the meeting would be about, it was like I was trapped in the house with Conrad all over again.
“Please tell me he’s not considering working with them. Please, Bandit.”
He raised his hands. “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see. Trask is a hard man to read.”
That night, my heart raced hard as I feared that my life was somehow pulling me back to something I didn’t want it to be. Just when I thought I had fallen into an amazing groove with Bandit, the life Conrad forced onto me was creeping back up. I sat beside the bikers I had adopted as my own. I saw them as an extended family. They were my brothers.
“We’re here to discuss drugs.” Trask stood, a bottle of Rolling Rock sweating on the bar in front of him.
A few of the bikers cheered, pulling some laughter from others.
“Not the fun kind, unfortunately.” Trask wore a smile, but his words sounded hard. “Blythe had something of an empire, and his contacts in South America are feeling the pinch. Since the Devil’s Branch are laying quite low, I guess we were next on their Rolodex. Here’s what they-”
The door to the bar swung open, and everyone spun around to see who was interrupting our meeting. Romero strolled through the door, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“The prodigal son returns. So good of you to join us for a change.” Trask echoed the feelings of everyone in the bar. Romero had once been thought of as second-in-command with the Rising Sons, but he was barely around anymore. Anytime someone brought it up with him, he deflected. Suspicions were beginning to grow around him. There were rumors that he would soon start rolling with the Devil’s Branch. Even I knew it would be a huge blow to the Rising Sons. Romero was equal parts muscle and mind, and he was a hell of a lot of both. Between all of that and his charming good looks, he almost never seemed off.
“Hey, don't let me interrupt. I got caught up with some stuff. Didn't mean to be late.” He dragged a chair over to the group, the loud scrape along the floor doing nothing to help his case.
Trask turned away as if another second of looking at Romero would push him over the edge. “As I was saying, the Brazilians have product, but they have no one to distribute. Apparently we're gaining something of a reputation. They know we get the job done, and we keep our mouths shut.
“Some clubs run like a dictatorship. This one does not. This goes up for a vote, and I'm not going to say anything one way or another. My vote doesn't mean anymore or any less than all of you. Celeste,” My heart stopped at the sound of my name. “Since this would be a very large financial burden on you, I think it's only fair that you get a vote, too. Does anyone disagree?”
I was surprised that Trask would give me that honor. I wasn't really a brother, but I felt the respect of everyone in the room. Not a single one said anything, giving me the go ahead.
“Good. I want everyone to weigh the consequences of this decision. It could mean an incredible amount of money, and it could mean an incredible amount of trouble. With a few noted exceptions.” Trask stared right at Romero. “Everyone here saw firsthand what a drug empire means. I'll give you five minutes to think about it, then we vote.”
Outside behind the bar, my voice was frantic but low. “Bandit, is this thing going to pass? If it does, we become Conrad. We're no better than him. We might as well have joined him.”
“Keep your voice down.” I didn't like how secretive Bandit was being about all of this. It worried me deep down to my soul. “We have to accept the outcome. You heard Trask. The Rising Sons are a democracy. I hope you know in your heart which way I'm going to vote, though. My love for you is more important than any amount of power or money.”
I threw my arms around Bandit. I knew the power and money might be too tempting for some, but I believed in Bandit. I believed that he loved me more than anything else. I wanted to believe…
We headed back inside, wrote down our vote, and each dropped our paper into the cowboy hat. Trask counted the votes with Thunder watching right beside him. My heart raced as I waited to see what the Rising Sons wanted their future to be. I knew he was counting a second time just to be sure, but I thought the tension would snap me in two. It seemed to take forever to get through the fourteen slips of paper
Trask wrote down a number. He showed the paper to Thunder, who nodded.
The president of the Rising Sons Davis Chapter looked around, and spoke, “Twelve to one."
I was the only one that voted no? Fuck. Even Bandit? Un-fucking-beleivable. I couldn't believe I had been betrayed by the men that I had come to call them brothers.
Trask actually laughed. “Well damn, that was almost unanimous.”
My blood was boiling with seething rage. I was about to let
them know exactly how I felt, but the prez went on.
“It is official, the Rising Sons will not be doing business with South America.” His eyes met mine. “You ok, Celeste?”
God knows what my face looks like. It has probably gone from borderline insanity to wide-eyed confusion. I had completely misinterpreted the vote. As usual, I was getting ahead of myself and judging people without knowing the facts. Before anyone could say another word, I laughed it off. “Yeah, sorry. Something I ate isn't sitting right, I guess.”
Thunder wiped the ballots into his hand and crumpled them up. Everyone in the place started talking and throwing back their beers, like it didn’t matter to them. One question stuck in my mind, just like one vote. Who had voted in favor? I looked around the room, and only one person hadn't been in the fight at Conrad’s. Only one person was under suspicion of working with the Devil’s Chasers. Romero...
If anyone was suspicious of Romero, they didn’t say anything. I looked around to see if any of the faces around me gave away their feelings. Before I could, Thunder coughed, drawing the attention to him. Any bad vibes were washed away when Thunder stood up.
“Glad we've got the business out of the way, because I’ve got an announcement.” He looked around the group. “As you know, Carla and I have been together for a while now, and it’s been getting pretty serious.
“I bet it has.” Trask was the one making a joke, which was unusual for him. I figured he was just trying to break the mood after the odd vote.
“Haha, very funny, Prez. Anyway, I want to announce that I will finally be making her an honest woman. We’re hoping to set the wedding for two months from this Sunday.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” From somewhere in the crowd, I heard Stache’s voice. “Are we invited or not?”
“After some serious soul searching, I have decided that you worthless group of rejects will be invited. We’re gonna have a small ceremony in Northstar Park. Invitations to come, assholes.”
The news about the Brazilians and Conrad was gone. It wasn’t on any biker’s mind as they celebrated Thunder’s upcoming wedding. I couldn’t help but get choked up thinking about it. As rough as the Rising Sons were, love and loyalty were the two things they cared about the most in the entire world. Trask and Hope had the kind of relationship that you could just see. It was like an aura of strength around them. Hearing Thunder talk made me feel like he and his girlfriend had something similar.
A strange thing happened. As men cheered Thunder and clanked their beer together, Bandit’s hand tightened at my waist. He pulled me to him until our hips bumped and we were one. I smiled and turned to look up at his face. There was something powerful in his eyes. I shook my head. “What?”
He gestured towards Thunder. “His girlfriend, fiancé, I guess. Her name’s Carla. She has quite a story. Ask her about it some time.”
I nodded. “But that’s not why you’re grinning like an idiot. What’s up, Bandit?”
“Not sure.” He looked away from me. “I guess I’m just thinking about that.”
“What?”
“A wedding.”
His words were plain and true, and they took me by surprise. I knew Bandit was completely devoted to me, but it was another one of those things that the two of us had just never talked about. I had dreamed of marrying him, but I wasn’t going to bring it up so early in our rekindled romance.
I didn’t think I was even ready to jump in so deeply at that point, but Bandit beat me to that point. “I don’t mean this second, but it’s definitely something that’s been on my mind the last week or so.”
“A week?” I was incredulous. Bandit didn’t seem like the type to think about marriage, let alone have it on his mind for so long. “Well, maybe you and I should take a drive this evening and talk about it.” I gave him a smile that he understood well. We’d talk, but only after a little bit of naughty fun in nature.
The Watering Hole was like a different world. On the outside, most of the Rising Sun had legitimate jobs. They paid taxes, they were good neighbors, and they stayed out of trouble. Once they stepped through the door to the bar, they changed. Once they put on that cut with the skull on the back, every normal, mundane things about them went out the window.
At first, I felt strange inside the club. After three months, I felt strange outside the club. The regular world where everyone throws their cages and live there quiet life started getting to me. If the Rising Sun had a slow period with no jobs, I began to get restless. Even though I was never on the front lines, knowing that my man and his brothers were out there up to no good got my adrenaline racing. Bandit stories about old school brawls with renegade bikers got me more than hot and bothered. My favorite times were the late nights when Bandit came home from a mission and woke me for primal, rough sex that left me exhausted and tingling.
From living with Conrad to living the biker lifestyle with a huge change. Bandit and I had our rough moment, but I finally felt at home with him. We had a life that was finally coming together.
I began to think of the Rising Sons as my own brothers. I gave them advice with women when I could, help them with their personal finances, and did what I could to help take care of them. They were grown up adolescent boys, after all. It wasn't out of the ordinary to see one of my Rising Son come into the bar with a black eye or a poorly bandaged cut. They lived a hard life, but it was the only life they wanted. Things that had shocked me in the beginning were commonplace after those first three months.
There was nothing commonplace about the day that Romero dragged himself through the door covered in blood with a thousand-yard stare in his eyes, though.
“I’m in the shit bad, boys.” Romero's eyes were wide. I wondered if he knew about this letters of blood on his face. It was hard to see a man who is always in control lingering right on the edge. “I fucked up. I fucked up something awful.”
None of the Rising Sons seemed concerned. It was understandable. Romero had done nothing but pull away from the club day after day.
Trask stepped through the group. There was a dripping bar rag in his hand. He tossed it to Romero, who barely caught it in time. He stared down at it, maybe not sure what it was for.
“I should be pissed at you. I probably will be, but I want to hear your story first. Why don't you tell us why you are coming here like we owe you something, and while you're at it, maybe you explain why we should give a damn." Trask was hard as usual. He ran the Rising Sons with a firm hand, and it was working. Romero's true loyalty with coming more into question every day and the president did a good job saying what everyone else had been thinking for a long time.
Romero looked like he was about to speak, but Trask wasn’t done. “Maybe the first thing you explain is why we all get a Devil’s Branch vibe from you, Romero. Maybe you start right there.”
Romero nodded, his eyes on the floor of the bar. He didn’t look injured, but that blood came from someone. Every story I’ve ever heard about him made him sound tough as nails. Whatever shook him up, it was something bad. It took him a while to get his words together. He wiped his hands, the rag quickly turning red.
“The reason I’ve been in and out the last few months is because I’ve been spending time with somebody. Somebody I shouldn’t be saying. Somebody I can’t be seen with.” Romero kept wiping his hands. It was like the blood just wouldn’t come off.
Trask softened but not much. He took Romero by the shoulders and forced the man to look him in the eye. “Who have you been rolling with? Brazilians? The Devil’s Branch? The law?”
“No.” Romero’s eyes were still panicked and wide open. “Worse.”
Bandit stepped past me. There was nothing gentle about his voice, “Fuck, worse than any of them? Who the fuck is it?”
“Julie Capriani.”
The name didn’t mean anything to me, but Trask and Bandit knew exactly who he was talking about. Both men turned away from Romero, sour smiles on their faces. I looked around, utterly confused. Bandit caught
my look, and I mouthed Who?