by Ana Jolene
Neptune’s sprang back as if nothing had happened just a few minutes ago. Music played and people were drunk and happy. Only I seemed to be concerned about the wreckage Lucky had caused. What had set him off like that?
Indy placed another draft before me and I thanked her before taking a sip. Despite the fact that most people had a hard time finding food and drink, Neptune’s was fully stocked because the dive bar acted as Glory MC’s clubhouse and since Glory MC was our Ward’s leader, making them the equivalent to politicians or celebrities. “Who do you think they are?” she asked, referring to the men who Lucky had fought.
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “Hell if I know. But Lucky looked pissed as hell when he spotted them.”
“I didn’t see any identifying marks on him. You think he could be an ex-brother? A Glory member coming back for a second shot at the club?”
Nah, it wasn’t possible. There weren’t ex-brothers in the club. Only dead ones. “Another enemy?” I threw out.
I watched as Indy’s frame froze. “You think it’s one of the Phantoms?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t rule it out. They have come here before.” The last time someone showed up here, they’d tricked Indy and nearly blew up Neptune’s into a crater.
“Whoever he is, Glory MC was pretty pissed to see him here.”
“Yeah, it can’t be good,” I agreed.
They had been in there for almost forty minutes. Meanwhile, my curiosity was getting the best of me. I read once that curiosity was a sign of intelligence, but right now, the only thing it meant was that I would have to wait longer for a chance to speak to Lucky in private. As I waited, I chatted with Indy as she worked, trying not to seem too anxious as I polished off the rest of my drinks. As soon as the meeting door opened, I pounced up from the barstool, nearly toppling it over with my eagerness.
Big men in leather emerged one by one, splitting up into groups. Some walked directly to the bar while a few went to chill at a table. Others left, but amidst all of them, I couldn’t spot Lucky, Hastie, or the prez at all in the group.
“What happened?” I asked Beck as he approached us and leaned against the bar. Indy immediately moved to get him a drink.
The sergeant at arms gave a shake of his head, sampling his whiskey before saying, “Big problems over in Ward Three.”
“Like what?”
Beck simply gave me a look. Oh, right. Glory biz was exclusive. If you weren’t a member, well, tough shit.
I decided to switch topics. “What’s going on with Lucky? Is he always that aggressive?” I kept my voice casual, trying not to seem too overly interested. Beck would suspect something and close up like a clam if I wasn’t careful of how I approached this.
He sighed heavily as he slipped onto a barstool. “That man has some serious shit he’s going through that I don’t even know the extent of. For the past week, something has ticked him off so bad that even I don’t want to be in his face when he explodes.” Shit. What did that even mean? Could it be that he was still upset about the other night?
I turned to face the meeting room. “Where is he anyway?”
“He’s still inside. Knuckle is no doubt rippin’ him a new one as we speak. Whatever is bothering Lucky seems personal.”
“Personal?” I echoed.
Beck nodded. “It’s like he’s been simmering this whole time, just waiting to pop. He’s aggressive, talking back, missing church. Everyone saw it coming. Today was the day he just snapped.” He shook his head again. “Something’s up and I think he’s spilling it to Knuckle as we speak.”
Interesting. Glory members usually put the club first. Whatever was going on with Lucky meant that it was distracting him enough to mess with his duties with the club. What could have riled him up so much? I wasn’t vain enough to believe it was still about the kiss now.
Lucky was usually so unaffected by everything. The injuries he had acquired not too long ago in his motorcycle accident with Brennan were severe, yet he strode around with blinding confidence and a smile on his mug as if it’d been nothing.
“Best stay clear of him,” Beck warned. “I don’t know where his head’s at right now. He isn’t thinking clearly.” That kind of warning from the baddest biker of the club had me taking notice. But instead of veering me off track, it only strengthened my need to speak with Lucky more.
A few minutes later, the door swung open and Lucky stormed out. I nearly toppled the stool over again in my haste to see him. Except Lucky was moving too quickly for me to stop him and pull him aside.
By his movements, I could tell he was furious. Tension mounted on his shoulders, ready to be let loose on anyone who provoked him. His boots thumped loudly in the dive bar, signaling to everyone to move out of his way. They parted like the sea, allowing him through. He seemed so uncontrolled and dangerous, ready to wreck and demolish at the flip of a trigger that I could only watch on in wonder.
Hastie’s cool green eyes met mine as he emerged from the meeting room and I knew something had gone dangerously wrong even before he called out for Lucky. “You have to hand over your cut, man!”
My jaw would’ve hit the floor if it weren’t attached to the rest of my head. Why did Lucky have to give up his cut? A fully patched member like Lucky would rather die than be stripped of his patch.
People stilled, watching as Lucky stopped at the entrance, turning his head over his shoulder. I spared a glance at Beck, who looked just as surprised as I was. A nasty snarl erupted from deep within Lucky’s chest before he reached up and slipped out of his vest, tossing the leather in the air for Hastie to catch. The dark look he shot me before he made a getaway was so chilling, it made me want to shrink back into myself. Except I was still frozen in place, stunned speechless that I couldn’t even get a word out as he stormed through the doors of Neptune’s, leaving everyone in shock.
I felt Indy’s presence beside me as she emerged from behind the bar. “What just happened?” I asked her in an astounded whisper.
“I think Lucky just got kicked out of Glory MC.”
TWO
Back at the Beginning
Lucky
I left Glory MC in a bad spot and that knowledge didn’t sit well with me. Bronson, Ward Three’s new leader, had approached Glory MC for assistance and I had reacted the same way a psychotic killer would—with violence first. The reason for Bronson’s visit was to inform Glory MC that the Phantoms, the same organized criminal gang who had blown up Neptune’s parking lot and half of the building along with it, were extorting several businesses and Wards for protection money.
This thing with Ward Three and the Phantoms wasn’t new. Their previous leader, Brennan O’Flaherty, had foolishly involved himself in their endeavors, putting himself and the people of his Ward in a tight spot. Though the Phantoms were powerful in their own rights, there was a hefty price to pay to gain that type of protection. When the Phantoms wanted money and you couldn’t provide it, you were instantly on their shit list, which basically meant you were walking with a target on your back.
Time had quickly run out for Brennan so in an attempt to save his own hide, he began stealing choppers and reselling them. I had to admit, the racketeering business was a genius idea. Except for the part where Brennan thought it was smart to steal from Ward Four. As the major distributor of automotives, Glory MC wasn’t going to stand by while a neighboring Ward stole our business.
When we discovered his betrayal, Glory MC retaliated in the only way we knew how. We put a stop to it through intimidation and brute force. But not before things took a turn for the worst. We lost members in that war with Three, including our beloved vice-prez, Newt. Still we managed to finally take Brennan down, disabling their Ward like a chicken without a head, leaving only the Phantoms to deal with.
With that small triumph, Glory MC hoped to lay low for a while and recover, but the ghosts with an unattainable goal took it a step further when their leader, Anthony Cavezza, approached Indy, Hastie’s ol’ lady,
and tricked her. That same night, he blew up the back parking lot of Neptune’s, nearly toppling down the dive bar as well. Glory MC categorized it as a personal attack and the next thing I knew, we were formulating a plan, riding in on our Harleys, ready to dish out some retribution.
The violent night hadn’t ended the war with the Phantoms but simply silenced them for the time being. Now, it seemed that they had gathered their wits from our surprise attack and were ready to dish out more disaster, starting with Ward Three.
In some ways, I had to respect Bronson Alborn for what he did. It took a lot of balls to realize you were in over your head and needed outside assistance. Already he was proving to be better than his predecessor was.
Knuckle’s mood hadn’t simmered down one bit during the whole meeting. His rise in temper was my fault, but I could probably vouch that Bronson’s presence here at Neptune’s had thrown him off too. For one, Glory MC never mingled with our enemies. To have Bronson sitting across from me at the table was not something I thought I’d ever experience. Too many things were changing in this post-flare world and none of it was good.
When the meeting adjourned and everyone left, I lingered around, hoping to fix the mess that I had caused. I knew what I had to do now, but actually doing it required balls I wasn’t sure I had. This could go one of two ways. Knuckle could flip and say no or he could be so fed up with my bullshit that he’d be glad to see me gone. Today proved that I was severely off my game, and until I could handle my shit, I had to leave.
Hastie shot me an encouraging look as our gazes met. I took a deep breath. It was now or never.
I realized too late that I should’ve given Knuckle some time to settle down because he started off aggressive as I filled him in on what had happened. “You must be seriously fucked up in the head if you think I’d allow you to leave after what you just did today.”
“I need to do this,” I told him. All week that note had been imprinted into the back of my eyelids, a constant image in my mind whether I was awake or asleep. I had to know what was going on with Lennon. I had to learn if she was okay.
My eyes met my best friend’s. Hastie was probably the only one who could understand the rising panic within me then. Only he knew all the details of my past. Of all the things I had run away from. “Show him the letter,” he said.
I stiffened, shooting him a dark look. I didn’t want to display my personal shit to anyone. But realizing that this might be the only way to get what I wanted, I ignored the instinct to bolt and pulled out the crumpled paper from my back pocket.
With shaking hands, I placed it on the table before us, smoothing it out for the prez’s inspecting eye. Knuckle leaned over, reading the short few words that probably didn’t mean shit to him, but meant the world to me. When his eyes lifted, some of the hardness was gone. “Gimme a week,” I whispered.
“Shit, Lucky. I thought you were past this.”
“The past has a funny way of finding me,” I returned darkly.
“We’re already short of men. If you leave and trouble finds us, that’s on you. You already heard what Bronson had to say.”
In other words, I’d be abandoning my brothers, the one thing I had sworn with my soul to never to do. “My head’s not right,” I admitted. “Even if I stayed, my mind won’t be here.” A week had passed since receiving the letter and ignoring it had proven to be detrimental to the club.
Knuckle responded to that with a stern look that indicated he and I had trouble. Suddenly, I felt like my loyalty to the club was in question. Most members of the club wouldn’t have even considered what I was doing. “What if it was Hanna we were talking about?” I asked.
It was a cheap shot. Hanna and Knuckle had only been recently married and the newlywed bliss had yet to wear off the groom. Knuckle pinned me with a dark look. “If you bring my wife back into this mess again, you won’t be walking out of here.”
I pursed my lips. Threat received loud and clear.
“Fine,” Knuckle barked. “A week. But on one condition . . .”
My chest tightened.
“I don’t want any of this to blow back on the club, you hear? We’ve got enough shit to deal with. If the Phantoms or anyone else gets word of your ties to them, I can’t guarantee protection.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“A week,” he repeated. His stern gaze penetrated deep. “You made a vow to the club, son. Remember that.” In other words, fuck this up and you’re out of the club.
Fucking fantastic.
With that healthy reminder, Knuckle rose, leaving Hastie and I alone in the room.
I cut a glance at him. “A week, brother,” Hastie reiterated. “If you don’t come back by then, I’m coming for you.”
I flashed him a forced grin. “All right, man. A week.” The approval from Knuckle should’ve eased me, but the worry wouldn’t alleviate until I saw Lennon again. “Keep in touch.”
“Yeah. Same to you.”
In my haste to leave, I’d forgotten all about the rules. It wasn’t until Hastie demanded that I hand over my cut that I realized how much I didn’t want this.
I knew I had let the club down with this unexpected takeoff. Worst of all, I had no ties to the club now. Stripped of my cut and without my Harley, I felt like a nobody. A faceless figure without an identity. It was a shocking revelation of how Glory MC had become a home. Now that I was leaving it, what was I to do? Nothing about this situation felt right to me. But I ignored that hollow feeling in my chest and traveled like a ghost to see Lennon.
Things were worse than I had thought. The small non-descript building acted as a house for Dex and Lennon. On the outside, it looked strong and sturdy, but it didn’t match the wreckage that made up the inside.
Dex opened the barred door when I knocked, warily peeking out as if he was afraid I would rob him. When he caught a glimpse of my face, his own instantly relaxed. I didn’t dare let my guard down. “Where is she?” I asked him.
As he allowed me in, I was hit with the stench that returned me to my childhood. The scent of weed and fabric softener battered my olfactory senses. I blinked, trying not to lose focus, but the images in my head were strong and vivid.
“Come on,” Dex called out when I didn’t immediately follow him. His voice helped me escape the childhood memories that seemed to claw at me. It took all of my energy to focus only on his back as he led me farther into the house.
The rest of the quarters remained the same since the last time I was here years ago. It consisted of bare walls, stacked piles of clothing, and minimal furniture. I entered a room where a small coffee table sat in the middle. A floral-patterned couch, straight out of the ’70s, settled in front of it with a TV just a few feet away. My guess was that both the coffee table and the couch had been plucked from the side of the road and the TV had been picked up from a second-hand store.
My chest tightened right before I dropped down by the couch. “Are you okay?”
Lennon’s eyes opened slightly at the sound of my voice. She’d been sleeping, but her voice still sounded too weak for simple slumber. “Dylan?” she whispered, looking very confused.
I assessed her features, noticing the dark rings under her eyes and the sallow look of her complexion. She looked tired. Sick. Tremors shook her frail body, her breathing jagged and irregular. “What happened to her?” I asked Dex.
“She overdosed.”
“What the fuck?” I pulled away. “How?”
“She injected the drug instead of snorting it this time.”
I stared down at my baby sister, horrified at the news. “Why the fuck do you do this to yourself?”
Lennon pushed herself up into a sitting position, tucking her legs beneath her bottom as she rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”
At her tone, I straightened to my full height, desperate to put some distance between us. I had left years ago because of this. She knew that. So why do this again? Why hurt me this way? “You overdosed,” I reminded her, tone
sour. “You wanna end up like her?” I didn’t have to spell out whom I was referring to. We both knew. We simply chose not to say her name anymore.
Lennon flinched like I had hit her, as if I was the bad guy in all this. But no. This had been all her doing. Head downcast, she avoided my eyes. “You didn’t tell her you called for me?” Why would Dex summon me if she didn’t want to talk to me?
The older man blanched as if he’d been found out. He’d lied in the note. Lennon hadn’t actually wanted to see me. It’d just been a cry for help. When he exhaled harshly and ran a hand through his hair, he said, “She almost died. I wanted you to see her again.”
“Why?” I cut straight to the point. “She clearly doesn’t give a fuck about herself. Or me.”
“You’re family,” he said simply.
What did Dex know about family? Most of his family had died in the first flares that wrecked the world. He had no one now, which was why he was living with my sister. “That word doesn’t mean shit to me.” The plethora of emotions swirling within me gained momentum until anger permeated from my pores.
I had left the club for this? To deal with the one thing I had run away from in the first place? I felt like someone had hit the rewind button on my life; I was eight again, helpless to a certain kind of devil that had no weaknesses.
“She needs you,” Dex said simply.
The words acted like water over my flaming temper. When I ran away years ago, Lennon had stayed with Ma for a couple more years until she had enough of her shit too. It was in that time that she had met Dex at a rundown café and they hit it off, finding a strange companionship in one another. She was a neglected teen and he was a lonely man who had no other kin.
At first, it had put me on guard. But when months had passed and Dex made no move on Lennon or showed any other kind of attraction towards her, it seemed that they genuinely enjoyed each other’s presence as friends.