by K E Osborn
It’s quiet for a Saturday night, but I guess it would be seeing as we were all about Neala’s party tonight. The club girls are behind the bar or sitting on the beanbags waiting for us as we stride in. They have their place, and they do what’s best for the club. What’s best for the brothers. They all have their reasons for being here. Each one vetted vigorously before joining. They might seem like worthless whores only here to service us sexually, but they’re more than that. Some are here purely for protection, some are here so they can finish their study, and some are here because they love the family atmosphere an MC can provide. Whatever their reasons, they all smile a warm greeting as we walk through.
“You’re back early,” Ruby beams bounding up to us, her pert tits bouncing up and down in her boob tube. I shake my head as I walk into the large area taking in the stale smell of tobacco and beer. “And Neala, you’re here, too. Happy birthday, hon. Hope you’ve had a great night?” Ruby runs to my sister’s side to pull her in for a hug but stops short when she notices the blood on her shirt. “Shit! Is that… blood?” Ruby stops dead in her tracks, which makes the rest of the club girls and the brothers in the room who didn’t make it to tonight’s festivities, turn to look at us as we all file in.
Neala nods, and Ruby winces. She takes Neala into a giant hug, embracing her tightly.
“Right, listen up,” I call out.
Surge, the oldest member of the club—my confidant, my rock, and a long time ago my father-in-law—steps up in front of me.
“Andrettis are going down for what they did tonight. Church. Now. Everyone with a patch in the chapel,” I call out and then look to Ruby. “You look after Neala. Get her whatever she needs. Get her cleaned up, too. You know the drill. And you should probably call Freckles, tell her something’s going down and for her to come to the clubhouse to care for her daughter.”
Ruby nods.
Neala huffs. “No, Ry, c’mon… let’s not drag Mom into this.”
I turn grabbing her hands and look into her beautiful green eyes. “Neala, someone tried to stab you tonight. They may be after Mom, too. She needs to come in any way.”
She weakly nods and looks down at the floor. “Okay, you’re right. Mom needs to come in. This thing with the Andrettis…” Her eyes glisten. “Ry… is it going to get bad?”
Placing my hands on her shoulders, I take a deep breath. She looks up at me, and I stare into her eyes with firm intent. “Neala, I’m not gonna let the Andrettis get the better of us. I’m the head of this family now. Dad taught me how to look after you all, and I’m not gonna let some fucking Mafia family come into my town and take everything we’ve worked hard to build away from us. And I certainly won’t let them harm my family or my brotherhood. Not gonna happen. They’re insignificant compared to us.”
She nods weakly, but smiles as Ruby wraps her arm around her pulling her to her side. “C’mon, Lala, let’s get you showered and cleaned up.” Neala looks to Ruby, and I nod to her in a gesture of thanks as she leads my sister off toward the sleeping quarters.
Surge looks to me. His face tired and worn. His gray beard growing longer each day. The lines in the corner of his eyes appearing to grow before my eyes as he squints shaking his head. “What the hell happened tonight, Torque?” He’s not asking as a fellow brother, he’s asking as my substitute father. I grew up with this man, he’s practically my blood. The fact that I married his daughter, Zoey, only cemented our bond all those years ago. He’s the man I look up to, the man I aspire to be. Surge is the foundation of the Chicago Defiance MC, an original, and without him, this place wouldn’t function. I wouldn’t function. I need his guidance on this.
Slapping his back, I lead us toward the chapel where our brothers are already filing in. “The Andrettis came at Neala while they had us distracted. I don’t know what their endgame was, whether they wanted to simply take her or take her out, but either way, she was their target, and that shit doesn’t sit right with me.”
Surge inhales sharply and nods as we enter the chapel through the large cream double doors. A heavy wooden table sits right in the middle of the open room which has no windows. At the back of the room is a desk with a small tech station where Ace always sits, so if we need any data during church we can get it as soon as possible. To the right of that is a filing system, stored in black security-rated cabinets, which contains our ‘collection’ of information. The cabinets are floor to ceiling, and can slide, but are locked with fingerprint ID’s that only Ace, Trax, Surge, and I can access. They contain all kinds of heavy-duty information—stuff on all our brothers, the Andrettis, our brother clubs all across the world. They hold a hell of a lot of valuable information, hence the limited access.
Taking a deep inhale, I head to my position at the head of the table. It wasn’t always mine. I didn’t step into the role when my father died like you’d expect. I could have if I’d have wanted to at the time. I probably should have. It was expected of me to step up, take my father’s place at the head of the Chicago Defiance MC, but my headspace was at that time… let’s say, damaged. I couldn’t have—no matter how much I would have wanted to—made the right decisions for the club.
I lost my dad.
I lost my wife.
I lost my unborn child.
All in the blink of an eye.
Stepping up and being the man in charge of everyone while being struck down with the hardest of grief, wasn’t something I was able to pull myself through. Even though my brotherhood needed me, I couldn’t find the strength or the courage required to fill the role. So Surge took on the President’s position, and I stepped up to be his VP until I was able to fix my fucking shit and man up to be the President I am today.
This chair always makes me think of my father. Guinness was his road name. He was loved by everyone, but more importantly respected, and every single time I step up to his chair, all I want is to know I’m doing his memory proud.
An image of my father shifts into my head. I watch him sit back, his feet up on the table, arms behind his head and staring me down with that ‘what ya gonna do about it, fucker’ stare he was known for. I blink my eyes to remove the memory and slide out my chair. The ghost of his image fading from my mind, I look down at my brothers as I plant my ass in my seat.
I might harbor demons, I might have a fucked-up past, but my head is clear on what I need to do right now. The Andrettis need to answer for what they tried to do tonight, and we must figure out what their end game is.
I look to my left, my blood brother and VP, Trax, is sitting back in his chair looking like he’s ready to self-implode. I get it, I feel the same. Especially, considering it was our sister they went after.
To my right, my Sergeant at Arms, Chains, sits looking like he’s zoned out as he rolls a loose strand of chain through his fingers. Surge sits down next to Chains quietly observing the room. Sensei sits next to him. On the left, beside Trax sits Lift. Then Vibe. They’re talking to each other waiting for me to get underway. Scratch sits at the end of the table, his long, tatty hair framing his face. The scar in his eyebrow—the reason for his namesake—looking even more prominent today as he cracks his neck to the side looking impatient. He, along with Trax and I, have an ax to grind with the Andrettis tonight. He had to take on three of their men along with Tremor while trying to stop them from taking Neala, and I can’t thank him enough for that.
Picking up my gavel, I slam it hard on the table gaining everyone’s attention. The noise resonates through the medium-size room. “Church is in session.”
Lift pulls out his notepad and begins to jot down notes, being his designation is Secretary. His foray is maintaining business and keeping shit in order, so him being club secretary was the right call.
“So, as you all know by now, an attempt was made by the Andrettis on Neala. I don’t know what their end game is. Whether it was to take her, or…” I pause, glancing at Trax who shifts uncomfortably in his seat and grits his teeth, “… to kill her. But either way, we ne
ed to get to the bottom of it. And fucking fast. This shit doesn’t fly with me. And as much as I know Lala will hate it, she’s gonna be monitored twenty-four seven from now on. I want someone with her every minute of the fucking day. Don’t care where she goes. Fuck! I don’t want her leaving this compound till I know it’s safe. Got it?”
Everyone nods, and Trax sits forward, his hands fisted on the table. “What’s the play here, Torque? Ace’s not here for us to do any digital digging, and I can tell you now, I’m aching to get my hands a little dirty.”
Raising my brow in agreement, I nod. “Me, too, brother. Me, too. Enzo thinks he can start bullshit with our family over this ridiculous roid war? I don’t think so. Yeah, perhaps, with hindsight, your fucking ridiculous stunt was not in our best interests, but now he’s taken it too far.” I scrub my fingers through my hair and continue, “I think there’s two ways we play this. There’s the obvious way… brute force. We go into the Andretti house and light it up, end this fucking war we have going on. But, if we fuck it up, it could make shit worse...” I take a breath. “Or, we find Alfonso. He’s Enzo’s lackey. His go-to guy. He knows everything. We find him, we get the info on what they’re planning and if they have anything else up their damn sleeves. Then, we reassess. Figure out if we have bigger problems, or whether we can settle this by fucking some shit up or somehow settling debts. Either way, we gotta do something.”
Everyone nods, but Trax leans forward shaking his head. “We need to light it up, Torque. They were gonna kill our kid sister. You can’t say there’s any other option. If Tremor and Scratch weren’t there…” he stops talking and shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair as I gnaw on my bottom lip and look at Scratch.
“Scratch, you’re the only one here who saw what happened. The Andrettis… were they looking to hurt Lala or take her… in your opinion?”
He cracks his neck to the side and shifts uncomfortably. “Hard to say, Pres. Tremor was fighting them off when I got there. One of them had a hold of her. Looked like he was trying to drag her away to me, but the knife was being held to her throat. That’s when Tremor lunged. I got there in time to fend off the others while Tremor snatched Neala back, and the guy stabbed Tremor in the process. So… I don’t know. If Tremor hadn’t have gone for Neala, they might have sliced her throat, or they might have taken off with her. It’s fifty-fifty… I just… I don’t fucking know.”
Leaning back in my chair, I breathe harshly out of my nose as Trax clenches his fists tighter. I sense the rage in him burning hotter, and I know he’s out for blood. I want it too, but with no definitive answer I have to think like a President in this case. I have to think of the club, of my fellow brothers, and not like the blood brother of a blood sister who’s been attacked. I need to think logically, and not irrationally like I know Trax is currently. I have to think like my father would have, I need to make him proud.
Glancing to Surge, he gives me a subtle nod, letting me know what I need to do. I don’t want to fucking do it. But it’s what’s right if I want to keep the peace right now, and not start the mother of all wars in the streets of Chicago.
“Chains, Sensei… I need Alfonso. I don’t care how you get him, but I want him in one piece. Or at the very least able to talk—”
“You’ve got to be fucking me? Torque, she’s our sister, and you’re—”
“Back down, brother, before I put you down.” I glare at Trax and sit taller letting him know I’m not fucking about. I’m in charge, and he listens or else. He damn well shouldn’t be talking to me like that in front of the other brothers. He knows about respecting your president, even if he is my blood brother. His nostrils flare, and I know he wants to say more, but instead, he slumps into his seat like an errant child.
I look to Chains and Sensei. “Bring me, Alfonso. Don’t care how. Rough him up if you need to. Just get him here. Watch your six. If you need backup, call. Don’t fucking hesitate, ya got me?”
They both nod. Chains grabs the chain strand he is holding in each hand and pulls it taut with tension preparing for his mission. I smirk, knowing Alfonso will probably be missing a few teeth when he arrives courtesy of Chains’ chains.
“I know it’s getting late, but I want us all on guard until Alfonso arrives. We don’t rest tonight until this shit is fixed… one way or another. We all agree?”
A resounding, “Aye,” rings around the room.
With a nod, I pick up my gavel and bang it down on the table. “Disperse,” I call out, and everyone stands. I nod to Chains and Sensei as they rush out of the room to grab our informant.
Trax stands abruptly from the table. His chair rolling back forcefully into the wall as he exits the room fast with apparent disapproval of my chosen method. I know he wants blood, and dependant on how talks go with Alfonso, he might very well get it. But for now, I need to make sure I’m not starting an unnecessary war just because I feel like bashing a few Andretti heads in. Not that I wouldn’t love to do that right now.
Shaking my head at Trax, Surge steps up to me and slaps my shoulder in support. “You did good. Took the high road. The smart road. It’s what Guinness would have done, too. You’re thinking more like your father every day, Torque. You’re made for that chair. Don’t ever doubt it. Don’t let Trax make you doubt it.”
“Thanks, Surge… I don’t know what to do about Trax. His blood thirst… it’s all-consuming. It’s gonna get him in trouble.”
Surge nods. “Trax was eighteen when Guinness died. He was just starting out in the club. Sure, he’d grown up in it like you, but he was finding his way.” He sighs. “I think with the loss of your father, the loss of Zoey, and the loss of his unborn nephew all at once, all while trying to make his mark on the club, it switched something in him. His innocence turned into something of rebellion, and so, instead of trying to sort out his grief, he’s turned it into anger. A thirst for blood. A thirst for violence. For vengeance. You dealt with your grief. You haven’t moved on, but you got on with life. I don’t think Trax ever has. Zoey was like a sister to him…” he pauses with a slight sniff, I don’t miss his eyes starting to glisten as a tightness envelops my chest thinking of my beautiful Zoey, “… and how losing her changed us all. Trax just won’t admit it, he’s a fucking stubborn prick that brother of yours.”
I nod with a small smile. “Don’t I know it.” I glance around and notice we’re alone in the room, everyone else has departed, and I sigh, looking down at the floor in a moment of weakness. “I miss her, Surge.” My chest heaves as memories of my wife and our unborn son cloud my mind. Closing my eyes for fear of seeming weak, I shake my head from the tension as Surge’s hand comes up to my shoulder and squeezes tight.
“I know. I do, too. Every damn day. But son, it’s time. It’s been six years.” He sighs. “She would want you to move on. To be happy. To live again. I don’t want you wasting away, living your time with club girls, never truly being happy. And I don’t want you to hold back when you find someone who takes your eye because you’re too damn fucking scared you’ll lose them. I know you, better than you know yourself. I know that’s what you’ll do. So if you find a girl worthy of you, you hold on, don’t let her go, and don’t hold back. Because you deserve to be happy, Torque. I’m talking as a father here, not a brother. Live son. Promise me?”
I glance up and look at him, his eyes glistening, threatening with tears of the moment, but also shining with a light I haven’t seen in them for a long time. It makes me smile, and I nod. “Yeah, Surge. Sure. I promise,” I tell him.
“Good, lad. I know moving on is hard. I know living without them seems impossible. But son, there comes a time when you have to let go. It’s hard, excruciating even. I know, I’m right here with you in this…” He shakes his head, his eyes so glassy his lids are turning red, and I have to look away for fear of breaking down myself. “We all loved her, Torque, and that will never stop. But there’s room in your life to love another. You just have to be willing.”
; My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip as he slaps my back. “Thanks, this means a lot. I know seeing me with another woman might be, well… weird for you—”
“Stop! It won’t be, Torque. All I want is for you to be happy. To see you in a relationship, a happy one again, that will fill me with pride, son. You’re like the son I never had. You’re family, and even though Zoey isn’t here, you’ll always be my son-in-law. No matter what, having another woman in your life won’t change that, Torque. It just means she will be a part of my life, too. Just don’t hold out on her, treat her like you did Zoey, and she’ll be one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”
I snort out a laugh while shaking my head and pull him in for a man hug. “You always did have a way with words, you old fool.”
He hugs me back, slapping me on the back like he always does. We both chuckle through our sadness as we pull back to look at each other.
“You know me, I have to keep you on your toes. But I mean it… get out there and live your life. No more holding back.”
I nod and smile. It immediately makes me want to tell him about Heeley. That she might be the one to break down my defenses. But I think bringing her up right now after talking about his daughter is shit timing. So I’m gonna keep Heeley on the down low until we have this little situation fixed and then maybe in the light of day when things are calmer, and I have a moment to myself to think about everything, I can have another talk with Surge. A real man-to-man and tell him all about my froyo dairy queen.
An image of her pops into my mind—the memory of our kiss. I try to hide my smile as Surge looks at me knowingly but says nothing as he turns and heads for the chapel door.