Patriot

by Trent Jordan

  If I had to put my money on it, I was going to guess Father Marcellus. As fucked up as it sounded to accuse a priest of betrayal like that, he was the only one who had come with us to launch the retaliatory attack on the Fallen Saints, and neither Lane nor I had done anything. It would have been the kind of thing where no one would have suspected anything from the holy man, and he would have used that to his advantage.

  But honestly, if I had a gun to my head, with stakes much higher than some cash, I would guess that there was no spy. I would guess that the Fallen Saints had just become more aggressive following the death of Roger Carter. I would guess that their unrelenting pressure had led to the more frequent, daring attacks.

  I wasn’t sure I could handle it if there was a real rat.

  “By the way, I realized we’re a little short on beer for the night,” Lane said. “You wanna get some for the club party?”

  Oh, right. I completely forgot about that. We usually had club parties every other Friday or so, although recent situations had made throwing such a party a little more difficult.

  “Yeah, I’ll go run for some with Butch.”

  Butch wouldn’t make for great conversation. But he was someone who would keep me company, and right now, that was about all I needed.

  “That’s going to make for a great scene,” Lane said with a snort, holding a wrench out at me. “Butch and Patriot. It’s like something out of ‘Of Mice and Men.’”

  I went over and playfully punched him in the arm as he laughed.

  “I just can’t believe you would actually know that book.”

  “Yeah, well, being away from the club has its perks,” he said, which even made Axle laugh. “Go get the beer. We haven’t gone hard in a while. It’s high time we do that.”

  The thing about our club parties, whenever they went down, was that they somehow seemed to attract the most beautiful women within a fifty-mile radius. And considering that said radius included the heart of Los Angeles, that was really saying something.

  I liked to say that while us on our bikes was our “true form” for the public, us when we were partying was our “true form” when it came to entertainment. We drank beer. We drank liquor. We gambled on pool games, dart games, and who would win a fight between us—with an actual brawl often taking place, ending not with a menacing blow, but a hand offering to help someone off of the ground.

  And, of course, we had our fun with the girls.

  I guess there was just something about saying that you partied with an MC that made everyone who was looking for something fun and loose want to come to our parties. As a military man, I never struggled to get girls, but these parties just made it abnormally easy.

  Which, given the fact that I really couldn’t commit to anything more than one night and some light pillow talk, was probably for the best.

  For this particular party, Lane had created a bracket for a pool tournament. The winner would get the week off from work but still get paid, a perk that appealed pretty nicely to some of the prospects and newer club members. Unfortunately for them, there was literally zero chance in hell of them winning. Even if they went up multiple balls and only needed to hit the eight-ball, the “pressure” from other officers would ensure that the finals were going to feature two of the officers.

  I was getting ready to play my first game when a very cute, very underdressed blonde came up to me and put her hand on my knees.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said. “I heard you were the military guy in the group.”

  This is what I meant by it being stunningly easy. I had seen this tall, lanky blonde walk in, but I had literally done nothing more other than look at her. As far as I was concerned, she was just another member of the party. And yet, because I was a Black Reaper, she was the one taking the initiative—and doing so rather shamelessly, I might add.

  “That is true,” I said. “And you are?”

  “Thea,” she said, tossing her hair back. “Are you single, handsome?”

  I laughed. For the vast majority of the men in this room, the answer was always “duh, I’m single.” Even some of the members who had girlfriends or wives—their old ladies, we called them—were single on these nights. So far, Lane seemed to be remaining faithful to Angela, and if I had mine, I suspected I’d do the same, but otherwise, freedom to love was the name of the game.

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  I genuinely didn’t care how she reacted. It wasn’t some flippant, narcissistic thing. I just had more interest in the pool game. The sex would be there when I wanted it.

  “What about it?” Thea said, arching an eyebrow. “Do I have to explain in further detail?”

  “Patriot!” Lane shouted. “You’re up against Tomahawk. Let’s go!”

  I looked at Thea, put a hand on her shoulder, and smiled.

  “Let me go kick some ass in pool first.”

  I moved away from her to the cheers of the Reapers, grabbing my pool cue. But then something strange happened.

  I imagined the previous interaction taking place with Kaitlyn.

  That was silly, of course. For one, Kaitlyn actually had a sense of shame, and she wouldn’t have been so overt as to hit on me like Thea had. For another, Kaitlyn wouldn’t have come to a party like this. It would have been too far out of her wheelhouse.

  Third... really? What the hell was I thinking? Why was Kaitlyn suddenly so strongly on my mind?

  It didn’t matter. I’d had enough dealings with my subconscious to know that it acted strangely and very unpredictably. There was no reason for me to believe it would suddenly start being rational.

  Not surprisingly, I crushed the prospect Tomahawk. Some of the prospects tried to play to their skill, but he had the good notion to keep his game to a lower level and lose properly. I shook his hand and winked at the end of the match, which he just smiled at.

  Thea, seeing my victory, came up to me and put her arm around me.

  “That was impressive,” she said. “You know, we have a few minutes before the next match starts up. Do you want to go someplace private for a bit?”

  Like I said, easy. All too easy.

  And then I looked down at my phone.

  “How would Monday at seven work?”

  It was Kaitlyn.

  I suddenly no longer cared about what Thea had to say. Granted, I hadn’t cared that much in the lead-up to her text, but seeing Kaitlyn’s text utterly cemented my disinterest. I wasn’t interested in getting laid with some random chick, that much was for sure.

  “Thea?” Jackie said.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled as I turned away, feeling her arm brush off me, not paying attention to anything more.

  “What the hell?”

  “Go talk to Axle, he’s also military,” I said as I turned my attention back to my phone. Would that time work?

  Yes, seven on Monday would work great. It would work really great, actually.

  Just remember you’re there to secure nursing help. Nothing more. You’re not in any shape to date someone—you date her, she’ll get dragged down in your misery.

  Or maybe she can be the one to bring you sanity and hope.

  Hahahaha, fat fucking chance.

  But still a chance…

  Just be fucking careful, then.

  Too bad that if there was one thing I had learned as a vet, it was that while I was great at giving other people advice, I was really pretty bad at following it.

  Kaitlyn

  The whole “I’ll text you in a few days” promise, made as much to myself as to Michael, lasted all of about twelve hours.

  The problem was that as I sat at home, desperately trying to shake Michael from my mind, desperately trying to remind myself that what had happened with Kristina could happen to me, I found myself falling more and more for him, or at least the image I had of him in my head. That was the one thing that kept me sane and from indulging my less intelligent side—the constant internal reminder that I didn’t really know Michael, and that if he wa
s a Black Reaper, he was bound to have a dark side far scarier and far more threatening than what most men had.

  But just because he has that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also have a good side.

  It became the kind of thing where, by the time I’d gotten dinner, I was legitimately asking myself the question of what was worse. Seeing what happened with him, or working for his group?

  I shuddered at the realization that while both obviously had some benefits, both could also bring some hardships—but saying no to both could also bring some hardships. He seemed like a nice guy as a potential interest, but he was a biker. On the other hand, if I didn’t try and see where things went with him, then who the hell was I going to try with? It wasn’t exactly like this town was swarming with men. Devon had made that all too clear, and she wasn’t wrong.

  Working for the Black Reapers was a little more cut-and-dry, but even then, it wasn’t without some perks. I had some debt that I still needed to pay off, and while that wasn’t some existential threat or question in my head, it was still very much something that I needed to work on.

  In short, by the time I finally did send the text to Michael asking if he wanted to do Monday night, it was less of a desire and more of a logical conclusion that I’d come to.

  Unfortunately, I literally could not wait to see how that conclusion would play out in real-time. Somehow, Michael had done the impossible.

  He’d gotten me to say yes to a biker.

  Monday Night

  We agreed to a local restaurant named Mama Sue’s, a place that served classic American fare in sandwiches, burgers, fries, and soda. It was a public place, but it was not going to be a particularly crowded place.

  Even in the seconds leading up to my entrance to the restaurant, I still wasn’t sure how, exactly, I wanted to define this meeting. Just because there were sparks didn’t mean I wanted to call it a date. If anything, the very idea of calling it a date was heavier and more burdening than anything else. But the existence of those sparks prevented me from being naive about what it could turn into.

  “Hey!” Michael called out from a booth in the back when I didn’t see him at first.

  I hated how as soon as I laid eyes on him, I felt attracted. I hated that the sight of that soft but gentle face made my stomach drop. I hated that I hadn’t had this feeling ever since I’d moved to Springsville, meaning that no matter how many games I played with myself, I genuinely could not help the romantic scarcity mindset that had crept into my head.

  “Hey, Michael,” I said.

  “Hey,” he said, and it felt like we were two teenagers, unsure of what to say to each other, reduced to awkward, short sentences. “How have things been? Hospital good?”

  Or maybe it’s just me. Get it together!

  “Yeah, no rush of any patients suffering from traumatic injuries,” I said with a slight smirk, hoping that he’d get it. “So, by all accounts, normal.”

  Michael gave a genuine smile, the kind that either blew right past my smirk or acknowledged it but didn’t want to dwell on it. That smile was, frankly, really sweet and kind. It was...

  Well, it was the smile that Robbie used to give Kristina before he had to move away. It was the smile that I’d wish to see someone give me and that, before Jason, I’d wished someone else had given her.

  That didn’t mean anything, though. It just meant Michael had the facial structure for a good smile. Nothing more.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Michael said. “You know...”

  He looked like he wanted to broach a tough subject, perhaps hiring me to the hospital, but he decided last second to change the topic.

  “You have one of the more interesting jobs in town,” he said. “Most people can’t say they deal with the things you do.”

  Okay, maybe not a complete switch.

  “I don’t know about that,” I said.

  “I do,” he retorted. “It means you’ve got stories, Kaitlyn. And anyone who’s got stories is interesting in my book.”

  Okay, I see how it is, I thought.

  “That’s a statement coming from someone like you. I know you’ve been places.”

  “Sure, Iraq. Afghanistan for a spell.”

  “You served?”

  Michael nodded. This man was just becoming more and more attractive by the second, and it was becoming the kind of thing where I wasn’t hating myself for doing so quite as much. I wasn’t a soldier seeker, but it wasn’t like it was unattractive to me.

  “It’s not something that I like to talk about too frequently, just because, well, I’m like every other soldier who went over there, I’m not special.”

  Michael hesitated just long enough when he said “just because” that it made me think there was more to the story.

  “But yeah, I did. For about six years.”

  “Well, good for you,” I said. “I can’t say that I did anything like that.”

  “I dunno, you’d look cute in a military uniform.”

  The words made me laugh and blush. Were we already at the point of fantasizing about what the other would look like in certain uniforms?

  “Well, let’s not get into that,” I said.

  “I mean, the military needs nurses too,” Michael said, still keeping that cute smile of his plastered onto his face. “Someone like you? I bet you could make a lot of difference in the field.”

  I again just laughed it off, and we easily fell into a natural conversation about our pasts. It was so natural and so easy, in fact, that I completely forgot the whole reason I was there in the first place. I wasn’t hanging out with a Black Reaper. I was hanging out with Michael.

  We fell into such easy conversation and bantered back and forth so much, in fact, that soon, we had hit closing time at Mama Sue’s. I didn’t think either of us realized we’d done so until our waiter came over and advised us that the restaurant had closed five minutes before. I stood immediately, flush with embarrassment at what this would look like. Michael, naturally, handled the situation with aplomb.

  We walked outside, and though the evening had begun to settle in, it still felt very early for both of us. I’d gone into many a late-night working as a nurse, and I was sure that Michael had seen his fair share of late nights.

  “I’m not ready for this to end,” Michael said. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  But while I was enjoying getting swept up in everything, to an extent, I also didn’t want us to dance around the subject for so long that when we finally did engage, we tried to pretend like it didn’t matter.

  Because it did.

  My past still did.

  It all did.

  I was just a little more open-minded about it than before.

  “We haven’t even gotten to the topic at hand.”

  Michael pretended to play dumb, as if he didn’t know what I was referring to.

  “Me working for you guys, remember?”

  “Oh, right!” Michael said in an exaggerated fashion. “Silly me. It was like I almost enjoyed chatting with you and getting to know you so much, I couldn’t help but forget it!”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Well, we could continue the night.”

  I didn’t like my question being avoided. But maybe I was expecting too much right now.

  If he didn’t answer if I said yes, though…

  “Where at?”

  I spoke the question with a little bit of suspicion. As fun as this was, I was far, far away from hugging Michael, let alone anything more. This was typically the spot where men took things just a little too far, and while such a move would not necessarily have spelled the end of me ever talking to him, it was the kind of thing that could send it into a downward spiral.

  And it would also put to rest any idea of me ever working for him or anyone else.

  “Well,” Michael said, pausing for a beat. “It’s, what, a Monday?”

  I nodded.

  “There’s a pla
ce called Brewskis on the edge of town that is open until two in the morning daily, I believe. It’s kind of a dive bar, but they have things like pool there. Wanna keep the night going there?”

  I had to be at the hospital at seven a.m. the next day. I hadn’t slept as much as I’d wanted to the past weekend. I had multiple reasons for saying no.

  But all it took was one reason to say yes, and that reason was curiosity.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Great, then hop on,” Michael said, walking to his motorcycle.

  I planted my feet in the ground, as impossible to uproot as a fifty-foot tree with bare human hands, and folded my arms. It only took Michael a couple of steps before he realized he might have been a bit too bold.

  “Remember how last week I said I wasn’t riding with you?” I said.

  I still wasn’t willing to ride on Michael’s motorcycle. He had melted the exterior that refused to engage at all with the Black Reapers, but he hadn’t even come close to winning over the part of me that was willing to go any further than that. I’d seen too many girls hop on the back of a motorcycle and then fall on their own backs in their beds.

  And even ignoring that, there was no disassociating the bike from the gang, the vehicle from the enemy, the means from the meanness.

  “Not going to happen,” I said.

  “You sure?” he said.

  But he seemed to acquiesce with stunning ease.

  “Okay.”

  I tried to keep a stoic, even-keeled face on as I got in the car and turned on the engine. I followed Michael out of the restaurant’s parking lot, laughing as he gave a “peace” sign as if about to gun it out of there.

  When we got on the main roads, I reminded myself that I had not agreed to anything yet, nor did I need to agree to anything tonight. This was fun, a lighthearted... hangout, I suppose you could call it, the type of night I hadn’t much experienced in Springsville. But if I fell for him after one night, then I might as well quit my job and join the Black Reapers full time.

  Not going to happen.