by Trent Jordan
Not going to shame Kristina’s memory like that.
We drove through downtown Springsville—a bit of a loose term, considering how the tallest building was three stories—and emerged just on the other side, perhaps a mile or two out. Michael pulled up to the kind of bar that looked like it was planted on the side of the road for those on a road trip or a seedy night out, not for working-class locals. The parking lot was more gravel and stone than paved asphalt, and there weren’t any lines or demarcations for different parking spots. The outside had a white sign with red lettering that said “Brewskis,” the kind of thing one might see in the mid-twentieth century.
At least he’d been honest with me in calling it a dive bar. He hadn’t set me up with false expectations on this one.
I looked around the gravel lot and saw two other bikes there. I didn’t recognize the bikes— they didn’t have the black scythes that defined the Black Reapers. Instead, they had a logo on them that resembled the NFL team the New Orleans Saints, albeit with blood. The Fallen Saints. The ones…
I immediately felt more than a little sketched out, like I’d accidentally wandered into the wrong neighborhood, and I had a timer in my head for getting the hell out. It was of no solace to me that Michael was with me. In fact, knowing their tensions, I had a fear he was pulling me into my worst nightmare.
An encounter with my sister’s killer.
“You sure about this?” I said as I emerged from my car. “This can’t be safe.”
“Yes, it is,” Michael said, and his smile had dropped, perhaps in recognition of my discomfort of the situation. “This place is as safe and secure as any that I’ve been to. There’s another group that comes here, but we keep our separation. I promise you I wouldn’t have taken you someplace seedy just to be a hero or prove a point.”
That wasn’t exactly the statement I’d been hoping for, but I trusted that Michael would take care of me. Even if I have no other choice.
Even though our knowledge of each other had only extended to one other in-person meetup before, I just felt that he wasn’t the kind of guy to take me somewhere and abandon me. My gut reaction was he was a good guy in a bad group. I wonder if that’s what Kristina thought about Jason...
No, stop it, you know he’s not like that.
But what if…
I followed Michael inside Brewskis. Inside, the wall was littered with neon signs, motorcycle parts, and bottles of beer. It was very clear that Michael and the Black Reapers were the bar’s target audience. Booths lined the walls, about six pool tables stood in the middle of the place—pool tables that looked surprisingly clean—and a lone bar with about three old-school TVs up top.
The bar was empty, save for three people—the bartender, a woman with a faux-hawk that had been died purple, and two bald guys sitting in a booth, wearing sleeveless jackets. They stared at Michael with a simmering anger that seemed destined to boil over at any moment, but they remained in their seats. Michael pulled a seat back for me at the bar, and we sat down.
“Jess, come meet Kaitlyn.”
“Kaitlyn, pleasure,” the bartender said, extending her hand. “Anyone who knows Michael is a friend of mine, so welcome.”
Well, at least the place is very welcoming.
The bartender is, that is. Can’t speak for the rest.
“Whatever you want, darling, we got it. Liquor, beer, some wine. No champagne.”
“That’s... fine,” I said, trying to get my bearings.
I didn’t know what I wanted. Eventually, I just looked at Michael.
“You know what’s good here.”
He snorted a laugh.
“You’re talking to the guy that drank Natural Light for a long, long time,” he said. “I just get Yuenglings when I come here.”
“Sure,” I said.
It was less about the beer and more about making sure he didn’t order something insane, like a vodka red bull. I didn’t want to deal with someone who suddenly decided to get hammered now that he had a girl he liked at a bar. That was a one-way ticket to getting me out of there.
But as I turned to him to acknowledge that I was okay with the drink choice, my eyes drifted back to the two bald dudes in the booth of the bar, still glaring at the two of us.
“Michael,” I said, trying not to make it obvious that I was watching them. “Who the hell are those people?”
“Let me guess,” he said. “Are they looking at me pissed off? Are they wearing black and gold jackets?”
I nodded. I knew the answer already.
“They’re Fallen Saints,” he said. “A rival club of ours. They don’t like us, but in general, we try and keep our distance.”
Except for when some of you get rushed to the hospital because of some sort of shootout. Let’s not pretend that wasn’t recent.
“This place is like the one place in town where we can share the same space and respect each other,” Michael continued. “However, outside of this place, they tend to be rabble-rousers. They cause problems. They make life hell on us. And that’s why having you in the club is so important.”
Here we go. Right when I have to face the killers of my sister, you bring this shit up.
At that moment, the two men rose. I motioned for Michael to not say anything, and instead, I turned my attention to one of the TV screens. Of course, I wasn’t really watching the screen, I was watching the two men.
Though they scowled at us, they didn’t do anything. They walked out the door, and though Michael watched the door very intently to see if anything would happen, nothing did.
For now, I could have a conversation. But Michael clearly didn’t appreciate or didn’t realize—likely the latter, since I hadn’t shared my sister’s story with him—how much the Fallen Saints affected me.
“Those guys will do everything they can to hurt us,” Michael said. “We have some help on staff now, but it’s not enough. We don’t want to be going to public hospitals whenever someone gets hurt. That leaves us vulnerable. We need someone like you, Kaitlyn.”
But the immediate thought of being surrounded by other bikers, almost all of whom would certainly not have the same morals and ethics that Michael did, was enough of a barrier. I didn’t need more Jasons in my life. Even if the Fallen Saints were more “Jason” than the Black Reapers, the Reapers had their fair share of assholes. I needed to only think of what had happened when LeCharles came to the hospital and tried to bribe me.
“Michael, you’re fun to hang out with, but I cannot help you guys. Not like that. No way.”
“Why?”
“Oh, where to start,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “The ethics of it. The job requires me to only work in my hospital, save for Good Samaritan acts, which this would most certainly not be. The—”
“Is that the real reason, or are you just saying that?”
Was it that obvious that there was something more to it than that? Was it that clear that I was hiding something about my family history with the club?
Even if Michael had only taken a lucky stab in the dark, I felt compelled to explain.
“If you knew my family’s history with bikers,” I said, taking a very long sip of my Yuengling at my pause. “You wouldn’t want to be with me. You certainly wouldn’t have taken me here.”
Michael took a deep breath, and I turned my attention to the TV screen. I fought to avoid the onslaught of memories with Kristina and Jason, but of course, that proved all but impossible. I could not forget her, nor, at least in the big picture, would I ever want to forget her.
But right now, on a night out that had been pleasant so far, I would have liked to have at least put the memory to the side.
“Do you want to elabor—”
“No,” I snapped immediately.
I took a breath.
“Not right now,” I said a little more calmly. “Not... no, not now.”
“You sure?”
“Michael!”
He finally got the point. He shut up, this
time leaning back in his seat.
“Those kinds of questions are going to chase me away, and I’ll see you in the same light as the rest of your... group,” I said, fighting not to use a more pejorative term that I’d used with LeCharles. “If you want me to keep chatting with you, then wait. I’ll talk about you when the time is right. We’re nowhere near that time.”
Michael nodded, pursing his lips. I knew he wanted to say something, for he was too easygoing and extroverted a person to not have something to say, but he was wise to finally choose silence.
“Well,” he said. “While we’re here, do you wanna play some pool?”
I nodded yes, but even before we broke on the first game, it was obvious that the magic of the night had been lost. I wasn’t willing to say that I’d completely lost interest in interacting with Michael, for I could see that he was contrite and sorrowful for what he had done, but the spark had definitely vanished.
The spark for what, well, I didn’t want to say what it could have turned into. Definitely not sex, and definitely not working with him. But something just short of that?
Well, he was handsome.
Attractive, or hot?
I shouldn’t have to be still figuring out this question.
It only took us two games before Michael realized that it was probably best to just call it a night. He re-racked the balls, gave Jess a twenty for the drinks, and put his hand on the small of my back.
“Thanks for coming out with me,” he said. “I would like to keep hanging with you, though.”
“Of course,” I said instinctively.
I shut my mouth before I could say anything else.
But as it turned out, once we got outside, I didn’t need to say anything else. Something else came up that had our attention much more than each other.
Michael’s tires had been slashed.
Patriot
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Brewskis is where they pull this shit? Seriously? The one sacred spot in town and they pull this?
Amazingly, Kaitlyn’s tires had not been slashed, though the two shithead Saints were probably smart enough to realize that if they had, I would have hunted them down. But that didn’t do anything to quell my anger. They had crossed a line that should never have been crossed.
Maybe the Fallen Saints figured this was a technicality of some kind. The act had not actually occurred in Brewskis, just on the bar’s parking lot, so it wasn’t as bad as if it had happened. Maybe in some respects, if I just kept my mouth shut, we could avoid escalating this into more needless, bloody violence.
But there was just one small problem.
There was literally no way I could keep this a secret from the rest of the club members. I didn’t have the tools or the equipment to fix a flat tire myself. I’d have to take it back to Carter’s for repairs. And once that happened, Axle and everyone else would want to know why my tires had been slashed with what was clearly a knife.
And as it was, I wasn’t leaving my bike here.
And, beyond that, I was not about to let the fucking Saints get away with this. I just had to be smart about how we retaliated.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my composure. The last thing Kaitlyn needed was to see me lose control and never see me again. “I’m sorry you’re having to see this tonight. I’m sorry I took you here.”
“Michael—”
“No, it was stupid of me,” I said. “I figured a few drinks would loosen us up and make things fun, but instead, I just put you in a far more stressful situation than at Mama Sue’s. I should have just... I don’t know, taken you to a park or something.”
Yeah, it was corny and stupid. What else was I supposed to say? Already, Kaitlyn had clearly shown this place disturbed her more than it being seedy. The less I said, the better.
“You’re fine, it’s okay,” Kaitlyn said. “Yes, next time, let’s not come here. The bikers in the booth...”
She didn’t say anything. But just because she didn’t say anything didn’t mean that I couldn’t pick up that something was going on. The Fallen Saints had triggered some sort of unexpected reaction in her.
Family’s history... wouldn’t want to be with her... does she have family in the Fallen Saints? Friends, maybe?
Suddenly, I realized how bad it could look if I wound up dating the family member of a Fallen Saint. But even if that was the case, this was not the time and place to bring that up, most especially since my attempts to learn more earlier had gotten met with such heavy resistance, I might as well have begged Kaitlyn to push me away.
“I know,” I finally said. “Let me make some calls. You can leave anytime you want.”
“No way,” she said.
I didn’t expect her to speak so... powerfully. So forcefully.
“I’m not leaving you alone here. This place gives me the creeps. No one should be here alone.”
I almost laughed at that. Here I was, a former soldier, getting physical protection from a nurse? But as funny as the sentence might have read on paper, it felt like she really could protect me here in person. The Saints were sociopaths, but they weren’t idiots.
For the most part.
“Well, I need to call my friends to help tow the bike,” I said. “So it’ll probably be another fifteen minutes or so.”
“Could we... I don’t know, tie the bike to the roof of my car?”
I gave that proposition serious thought for all of about half a second before I immediately shut it down. This wasn’t a bike you pedaled—this was much heavier, needed much more care, and was much more deserving of proper towing. If a pedaled bike got some scratches, it would suck, but that was how it went.
I treated my chopper in the club like my rifle in the military—it was a part of my body, something that deserved as much respect and care as anything else covered by my skin. To see it get hurt would be to hurt myself.
“All respect, Kaitlyn, but I’d sooner walk the bike home than put it on top of your car,” I said. “Besides, it’s so damn heavy that it’ll probably cave in the roof.”
“Yeah, I didn’t really think through that one much, huh?”
Kaitlyn smiled. I didn’t think it meant anything related to me asking more questions, but it was nice to see her relax just a little. It gave me hope we’d end the night on a pleasant note, not a somber and depressing one with meaningless pool games.
I smiled back before I excused myself to make the needed phone call. I called the shop but unsurprisingly did not get an answer since it was closing time. Still, there was always the offhand chance a prospect might answer. I next called Lane, but he did not answer. I assumed he was with Angela somewhere.
That left me in a predicament. All the other officers were under suspicion of being spies. If I believed this was still the case, then anyone I invited could wind up causing damage, but staying out here was the worst risk of all.
I had to make a move. I had to take a risk.
I called Axle.
“Patriot,” he said.
“Hey, brother,” I said. “I need a tow truck out to Brewskis. You’ll see what happened when you get here.”
“Understood. Headed out now.”
Guess he was at the shop, I thought, as the call disconnected. I looked back to Kaitlyn.
“Guy is on his way,” I said. “Really, it’s okay—”
“You dragged me out here, I might as well make sure you get home safe,” she said.
She can be a real stubborn one when she wants to be, huh? I guess that’s why Axle had such a hard time with her the first go around.
“You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said things could get tense between us and the Fallen Saints,” I said. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped or anything—”
“Oh please,” Kaitlyn said. “My family has had some interaction with bikers before. I know what your lot is like.”
It was said with a smile, but there was a hint of reservation in it. This time, though, I
kept my mouth shut from asking more about it. In time.
“Well, we’re not all bad,” I said. “In fact, I’d say some of us are pretty damn good. You know that part of the reason I joined these guys was that it reminded me of my time in the military. I’d say it’s probably the closest I’ve ever come to reenacting that part of my life, actually.”
The good times, that is.
“You know, I didn’t say this earlier,” Kaitlyn said. “But my Dad also served.”
“Really?”
The military was far too big for me to just casually ask who her father was. That would be like learning someone was from the state of Tennessee and expecting to just know them because of that fact. But it sure was another point in favor of our budding… something.
“Yep. Was in the Gulf War. Didn’t like to talk about it much, though. Said he hadn’t served as other people had.”
It would probably have been better if I hadn’t shown up for service at all, either. After what happened...
Despite the dark places that my mind seemed to want to drift, I was surprisingly at ease for the next dozen minutes before Axle showed up. Part of it was that it felt like we had regained our mojo back, and I suppose part of it was the knowledge that reinforcements were on the way. It meant that by the time the sight of two massive headlight beams from the tow truck showed up, I felt sure I would see Kaitlyn again.
“That’s my ride,” I said as it pulled forward. “Thanks for coming out.”
“Of course.”
We shared an embrace without hesitation, and neither side seemed to want to let go. It almost seemed like Kaitlyn was collapsing into, not fighting against, my arms. I rubbed her back some, and she did the same.
When I pulled back, I almost felt like I could have kissed her. The way each of us lingered on the other, it felt like that wasn’t unrealistic to expect.
But with Axle coming close, and with the way the night had gone, it didn’t feel like the timing was quite right. And the last thing I needed to do was take a risk that ultimately pushed her away.
“I’ll see you around,” I said.
Axle pulled up and hopped out. Briefly, he and Kaitlyn exchanged a look, but neither said anything to the other. As it was, Kaitlyn was in the car before Axle had even made it all the way over to me.