by Davida Lynn
More than a mentor, Ron had been a father-figure to Vegas. He had been searching his whole adult life for someone like that. He’d never come out and say it, but Vegas wanted that person he could look up to; that person who would understand him. Vegas didn’t come from a broken home, but it felt that way to him. His father worked, paid the bills, and watched football. As soon as they both realized Vegas didn’t care for football, the father gave up on his son.
As Vegas grew up, he made all of his important choices with one eye on his father. None of his life decisions seemed to impress the old man. The idea of becoming a police officer made Vegas’s father raise an eyebrow, “If that’s what you think is best.”
When the law-enforcement academy didn’t yield any jobs, Vegas decided bounty hunting might gain him some experience. After some convincing, Ron took the young man on board. From the very beginning Ron saw that Vegas was eager to learn, and he quickly became a strong asset to the team. Ron was proud of Vegas, and he told them often.
Vegas learned more in a year with Ron on the streets than he ever had at school. All his classes taught the golden rule of, “Do as I say, not as I do.” Ron, on the other hand, gave real-world advice, not the right answer to a question on a test. Vegas learned how to read people, something Ron said was one of the most valuable assets.
Realizing that the TV wouldn’t be enough to distract himself from his thoughts, Vegas hit the power button and tossed the remote to the other double bed in the room. Hoisting himself up on the edge of the bed, he stared towards the mediocre bathroom. Vegas decided that the constant stream of water might do the trick.
He stood and dragged his left foot along the carpet. With enough effort, Vegas could raise it off the ground, but it was painful. Besides, he had found out that being somewhat crippled made you nearly invisible. When he dragged his foot along the streets of Sin City, he wasn’t seen as a threat or dangerous. Vegas saw that as an asset.
With the water beginning to heat up, he stripped down and slid the curtain to one side. The steam was already filling the small room. With no fan, he could see the layers of mist rising and hanging in the air before him. Taking a deep breath, Vegas felt the stress and memories ease into the deep recesses of his mind. He stepped into the fall of hot water.
As the water fell down his back, he could feel it hitting and curving over the large scar. It tortured him with a tremendous itch, as it did with any temperature change. Vegas reached his right arm behind him, knowing the scar was just out of reach and knowing that the itch would never subside, no matter how much he dug at it. He lowered a finger down his spine, guessing at how long it actually stretched. The scar from the knife was minimal, but the doctors had split him down farther, worried about paralyzation. Their work had done little but cost him more money and time in recovery.
Vegas reached up and tilted the shower head down to keep the water off his back. He put a hand on the wall and leaned into the spray. He took long, deep breaths of the steam, enjoying the warm air in his lungs. The painful memories were still there, but Vegas did feel some peace. With Bear out of the way, the club would be in shambles. When Carlos had his men head towards Bakersfield, they would deliver the final blow. The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club would be no more.
Vegas intended to wipe them from the map. He wanted Bakersfield to forget they ever existed.
Between Vegas’s knowledge of the club and Carlos’s weapons, it shouldn’t be a problem. He had automatic rifles, powerful shotguns, and even a few grandees. They’d be the icing on the cake. Vegas pictured the roadhouse bar collapsing, the neon sign shattering as it fell to the ground. Once the dust settled, there would be no evidence that the Rinsing Sons were anything more than a dream.
Just outside of Bakersfield, Vegas flipped through the channels on the motel TV. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular—a distraction, maybe. His mind was on Bear and the club. Every time his thoughts drifted back, his heart would pound hard. Vegas could see the bike raise up before folding under the pickup. He could hear the sound of screeching metal, and he could smell the exhaust and burning rubber. He could still see Bear face down in the road as he drove away.
The good side of his face curled up into a smile. It had felt so good to see Bear’s lifeless body tumbling down the road like a rag doll. In that moment, Vegas understood revenge. Most people saw it as petty, but he got it. It was something beyond cathartic. It was something beyond himself, even. He knew Beezer had deserved a better death. He had been a good man, and to die at the hands of those greasy, gorilla-brained bikers was a travesty.
Beezer had taught Vegas everything he knew. When Ronald Bezarius the bounty hunter turned into Beezer the drug dealer, Vegas didn’t think twice about following him. It wasn’t just the power that attracted Vegas to the criminal life; it was respect, money, and hands-on training, three things Vegas never expected to get as a small-town cop.
More than a mentor, Ron had been a father-figure to Vegas. He had been searching his whole adult life for someone like that. He’d never come out and say it, but he wanted a person he could look up to, a person who would understand him. He didn’t come from a broken home, but it felt that way to him. His father worked, paid the bills, and watched football. As soon as they’d both realized Vegas didn’t care for football, the father had given up on him.
As Vegas grew up, he’d made all of his important choices with one eye on his father. None of his life decisions seemed to impress the old man. The idea of becoming a police officer made Vegas’s father raise an eyebrow. “If that’s what you think is best,” he’d said.
When his graduation from the police academy didn’t yield any jobs, Vegas decided bounty hunting might gain him some experience. After some convincing, Ron had taken the young man on board. From the very beginning he saw that Vegas was eager to learn, and he quickly became a strong asset to the team. Ron was proud of Vegas, and he told him that often.
Vegas learned more in a year with Ron on the streets than he ever had at school. All his classes taught the golden rule of, “Do as I say, not as I do.” Ron, on the other hand, gave real-world advice. Vegas learned how to read people, something Ron said was one of the most valuable assets a man could have.
Realizing that the TV wouldn’t be enough to distract himself from his thoughts, Vegas hit the power button and tossed the remote to the other double bed in the room. Hoisting himself up, he stared at the mediocre bathroom. He decided that a constant stream of water might do the trick.
He stood and dragged his left foot along the carpet. With enough effort, Vegas could raise it off the ground, but it was painful and drained him in a hurry. Besides, he had found out that being somewhat crippled made you nearly invisible. When he dragged his foot along the streets of Sin City, he wasn’t seen as a threat or dangerous. Vegas saw that as an asset.
With the water beginning to heat up, he stripped down and slid the curtain to one side. The steam was already filling the small room. With no fan, he could see the layers of mist rising and hanging in the air before him. Taking a deep breath, Vegas felt the stress and memories ease into the deep recesses of his mind. He stepped into the fall of hot water.
As it trickled down his back, he could feel it hitting and curving over the large scar. It tortured him with a tremendous itch, as it did with any temperature change. Vegas reached his right arm behind him, knowing the scar was just out of reach and knowing that the itch would never subside, no matter how much he dug at it. He lowered a finger down his back, guessing at how long it actually stretched. The scar from the stab wound was minimal, but the doctors had split him down farther, worried about paralysis. Their work had done little but cost him more money and time in recovery.
He reached up and tilted the shower head down to keep the water off his back. He put a hand on the wall and leaned into the spray. He took long, deep breaths of the steam, enjoying the warm air in his lungs. The painful memories were still there, but Vegas did feel some peace. With Bear out of the way, t
he club would be in shambles. When Carlos had his men head toward Bakersfield, they would deliver the final blow. The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club would be no more.
Vegas intended to wipe them from the map. He wanted Bakersfield to forget they’d ever existed.
Between his knowledge of the club and Carlos’ weapons, it shouldn’t be a problem. He had automatic rifles, powerful shotguns, and even a few grenades. They’d be the icing on the cake. Vegas pictured the roadhouse bar collapsing, the neon sign shattering as it fell to the ground. Once the dust had settled, there would be no evidence that the Rising Sons had ever been anything more than a dream.
Tanner and Jenny made their way inside Los Bandoleros. Raven had already done a shot of tequila and was nursing two fingers of bourbon. The couple crossed the bar, and Jenny headed toward the bathroom. Tanner joined his sister, dropping into the stool next to her.
“Any word from the cop?” After Raven shook her head, he muttered, “No news is good news, then. We’ll see what Bear has to say and go from there.”
Raven swallowed the liquid fire. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Tanner spun around in his stool and looked around the bar. The place was pretty crowded, so it took him some time to scan through the sea of people. His brow furrowed, and he turned back to Raven. “Have you seen Bear?”
“No, actually.” She turned around, too. Boss and Cecil were talking with members of the band as they set up their equipment. Gunner and Trigger were near the door, checking IDs. As Raven looked around, she picked out just about every Rising Son except Bear.
“Pitt?” Tanner asked the second newest Rising Son. “You seen Bear tonight?”
Pitt was bar tending that night. He said two beers on the bar for customers, then made his way down to Tanner and Raven. He may not have been the most valuable asset, but he was friendly and loved working the bar. He flashed the brother and sister a wide smile. “What can I get for y’all?”
Tanner repeated his question, “You seen Bear tonight?”
The kid strained his neck and looked around, shaking his head. “Nah. I been here since three getting this place ready to open. He ain’t been around.”
Raven wasn’t worried, but she did let out a, “Huh.” There was no place in the world that Bear would rather be, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have business elsewhere. There were always jobs to be arranged, there were always contacts to meet, and hell, sometimes people just needed a break.
Someone at the far end of the bar called down to Pitt. “Hey, bar bitch, I need two pitchers of Rolling Rock.”
Pitt shook his head, “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.” He turned and walked back down the bar. “Call me that again, and you get O’Douls all night.”
Raven spoke to her brother again. “I don’t know. I think we can let Allan ride. He hasn’t contacted me since. When he gets impatient, he will. He’ll demand his cash and threaten us again.”
“How much do you know about this cat?”
To stall for time, she took a sip from her bourbon. Her mind was sorting through the story at Mach speed, picking and choosing details that were important and others that she needed to omit.
“Allan came into the parlor for a tattoo. I hadn’t seen him since high school. I guess that was four months ago. He wanted a sleeve and had a basic idea, but it wasn’t all that fleshed out. So, he and I sat down and talked about ideas for a good hour. I didn’t know he was a cop. He was a pretty nice guy, and we kind of hit it off. After an hour or so, I had a pretty solid idea in my mind. I told him I would sketch it out, and if he came back in two or three days, I could show him a few different designs. He agreed.
“So he came back a few days later, and I had drawn up three detailed sleeves based on his ideas. We talked through the different ideas, blah blah blah. He chose the one that he liked, and we got started. After the third or fourth session, he asked if I wanted to get a drink after work. I still didn’t know he was a cop, and I liked him, so I said yes. We went out that weekend to someplace downtown. That’s when I found out he was Bakersfield PD.
“I almost stopped hanging out with him. This club is so important to me, and I didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize this organization. After about a week, I decided to level with him. It wasn’t like we were enemies, you know.”
Tanner laughed and shrugged. “We’ve managed to cover up our tracks pretty well.”
“Exactly. Maybe I should have checked with you first, but I didn’t think we were on their radar. If I did, I would have killed it right away. But I guess I took a chance. When I told him, it didn’t seem to affect him at all. He thought it was hot that I rode motorcycles, but didn’t seem interested in the club.”
“Hate to shit on your love story, sis, but I want details on him, not your adorable meet-cute.”
Raven punched her brother in the arm. “We’re not dating, and may I remind you that I have been listening to you ramble on and on like some lovesick puppy dog ever since your birthday?”
Tanner rolled his eyes, and before he turned away, Raven swore that she saw his cheeks get red. He made a good show of being distracted by something on the other side of the bar. Without turning back to her, he spoke. “Do you know anything about this guy’s skills? Is just talking a big game, or can he follow up on these threats?”
“I don’t know.” Raven turned away from the bar and looked out over all the bikers in the place. “I mean, he’s a cop. He can make life difficult for us in a hundred different ways. Do I think he can pin arson and manslaughter on us? No idea. He’s a go-getter. I know that much. He’s young, but he’s got ambition. I think he’ll move up the ranks fast, Rising Sons or not.”
“Well, here’s my two cents. Until we can talk to Bear, let’s keep an eye on him. We don’t need to tail him or bug his place, but let’s just be… aware of him.” Raven and Tanner exchanged a look just as Jenny stepped up and ran her fingers through Tanner’s messy hair. Raven saw love in his eyes when he smiled at his girl. “Well, hey, you.”
Jenny’s deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle. “Hey, yourself. Good to see you, Raven.”
Raven smiled and put her drink down, laughing. “You too, hon. Sorry I stole Tanner from you. He’s all yours.”
“I forgive you. Him, on the other hand? He owes me big time.”
Tanner drained his drink and stood up. “Is that so? And what is it that I owe you?”
Just as Tanner spoke, music began to pour out of the PA system. It was slow and smooth. Jenny smiled. “You can start with a dance, and it goes downhill from there.” She gave him a wink and wrapped a few fingers into his belt and towed him toward the dance floor. Tanner turned back to his sister and gave a “what can you do?” shrug.
For a while, Raven relaxed. The drinks helped her forget the run-in with her boss that morning, and everything but the club began to melt away. About an hour into the night, Bear’s wife came into the bar. Raven perked up at the sight of her. Faith would know where Bear was. It was one more worry off of Raven’s mind.
She set her glass down and stood up to go meet her, but something stopped her. It was the look on the woman’s face.
When Bear’s wife walked in, Raven knew right away something was wrong. Faith looked worried, and her eyes traveled over the bar. She was looking for Bear, too. If his own wife didn’t know where he was, something was up. Bear never went on a mission by himself. Even if he was just doing reconnaissance, he would bring two or three of the Sons with him.
As Faith moved into the bar, Raven walked toward her. Something had happened, she just knew it. Faith met Raven’s eyes and emotion overcame her. She dropped into the nearest seat and looked on the edge of tears.
Raven moved past the last few people on the dance floor and pulled a chair out right next to Faith. “You don’t know where he is, do you?”
Faith looked up at the young woman, a single tear already streaming down her face. Raven pulled her bandana out of her pocket and handed it to the matriarch of the cl
ub. Faith took it without a word and dried her cheek.