by Amy Isan
"They were your brothers, too," I say through clenched teeth. I gnaw on my tongue to try and keep my breathing under control. I don't want him to see how hard it is for me.
"They weren't my son."
"Your son is right there!" I scream. "He's in this room! You were killing him!"
"He's not my son, he's a deserter. I'm convinced he can't be my son."
Rifle's bindings are cut free and he stands up, the chair scraping the ground as his boots hit the floor. He steps forward with Cassie, stumbling the whole way. When they walk up next to me, I can see he's leaning on Cassie for support. He's staring at Surge with eyes full of hate and loathing.
"Fuck you," Rifle says, "fuck you, Surge. You were always a shit father because you never tried to be one. It was always about Logan, it was always about the Los Devils. It was always about California." He shifts his arm around Cassie and she grunts to keep him balanced. His leg must be messed up pretty bad. I still can't take the chance of looking.
Surge raises his hands as if he's saying, 'who cares?' "I'm trying to fix this. Fix what you fucked up, Surge."
"Fix what you fucked up you mean," Surge says. "What she fucked up. I tried to get that problem fixed while you were in Mexico with the only resources I had. Sounds like they were inadequate."
"I don't know why you'd want to do that to me!" I yell. My hands and arms start shaking, I've used all my willpower to maintain my composure this long. "To put a hit on her. You might as well have tried to kill me."
"No, I never wanted you to get hurt. Don't you get it, Logan? I had it all planned out..." he trails off. His face isn't as red, and his voice is lacking the conviction it once had.
"I don't. I never will," I say. "I'm taking the club back. They don't deserve this treatment. I'm just speeding up the inevitable. If I had left the club, you would have disbanded them anyway, wouldn't you?" He shrugs and his eyes look to the floor. His hands twitch. "Don't fucking move!" I shout, louder than necessary. I raise my gun a little high and adjust my grip on it, my hands growing sweaty and making it difficult to handle. "I'm sure you called up Gustavo the minute you heard from me back in the States, isn't that right?"
"I didn't have to. He called me as soon as he found out about Victor." His voice is even and his attitude is relaxed. "All he said was that he blamed me for it. That if I hadn't tried to send you down there, Victor would've lived. He wouldn't listen to me. Then he hung up."
"So this is how you deal with it? What kind of president, what kind of father, do you think you are? This isn't any way to treat your family, your brothers. You're a monster."
"What else could I do? I have to protect myself and my crew!" Surge says, his voice growing more defeated by the second. He slumps his shoulders. "He'll come for me, and if he comes for me, he'll come for all of us!"
"Bullshit," Cassie says, speaking up. "He said it was your fault. The only thing that's talking right now is your pride, your fucking horrible pride." Her words are sharp and as venomous as possible. I've never heard her sound so full of hate. "Your pride kept you from actually going to the Skeletons, from telling them what was going on. To admitting it was your fault all along."
"Who the fuck are you to tell me who I am, or what I do?" Surge says, growing defensive again. Before I can even blink, he pulls out a pistol that was holstered behind him and raises it to Cassie. Without a split second to even think, I squeeze my finger and pull the trigger on my gun. The recoil shakes through my arms and throws my elbows back, and I watch Surge take the round right in his neck, spraying crimson blood onto the ashen concrete. He drops his gun and crumples to the floor, his head smacking the cement with a wet thump. Rifle runs forward and gathers his arms around Surge. I can't move. My legs are frozen. My arms are still locked from the recoil. I can't blink. My eyes won't focus.
Surge is bleeding. Rifle yells in anguish, a mixture of emotion I've never heard before. Is he upset or relieved? I can't tell. I can't feel anything myself. Without the command, my arms lower themselves and I blink. I start breathing again. I feel the blood rush back into my arms and legs, pins and needles stabbing me from all directions. Footsteps behind me clatter and stumble to get in through the doorway, all the men from both clubs squeezing through the tiny doorway. The sound of their feet and voices are hollow to me, far away. "Holy shit," one of them says, but I can't tell who. I don't look to see. "Surge!"
He rushes past and I see it's Six-Shooter. He kneels next to Rifle and they both try putting pressure on his neck. It won't stop though, and I know it's already over for him. For us. And for Rifle.
The Skeletons are gathered behind me, without a doubt. I can feel their presence like hot pressure on my back. One of them comes up and slaps me on the shoulder. Is it a gesture of respect or a threat? I can't tell. Cassie looks at me and she steals the gaze that hasn't left Surge's body since I pulled the trigger. Her face is lined and her cheeks glisten from tears running in channels down to her chin. I drop my gun from my fingers, and it slams into the ground. The metal clinks hard against the concrete.
Rifle and Six-Shooter's voices grow distant, and I feel light-headed. Sword steps in and grabs me by the shoulders, turning me to face him. He's shouting at me, but I can't hear him. Petrol, Rifle, and Cassie push him off me and they keep talking. They explain something to him. I'm sure it's the situation. The whole fucked up situation.
All I could think was 'Protect Cassie.'
That's all that filled my mind in that moment.
. . .
Surge died. No one called the ambulance or the police. There was no need. He was dead before Six-Shooter even reached him. I didn't touch the body, and I still don't want to. A couple of the men, from both crews, gathered him up in a sleeping bag and zipped it closed. One of them said a prayer, but I can't remember what it was.
Cassie keeps touching me and I want to feel her. I want to smell her and touch her skin, but I'm still numb.
"Logan?" she says, her voice distant. "Logan?"
"I didn't want to," is all I can manage. Tank walked in after everyone else and he hasn't said a word since. A man of few words reduced to even fewer. Rifle won't move from the corner of the garage. I can't imagine what he's feeling, if it's as complex as what I'm feeling. Fuck, it's probably ten times worse.
I thought I was stone. I thought I was hardened iron. But I'm not. Not when it comes down to it. Sometimes it isn't business. Sometimes it is personal. Maybe that's Cassie's fault. But not a fault I'd blame her for. Not one I'd pull her aside and tell her she fucked up for. She's only tried to console me, but I just can't react to it.
"Cassie," I whisper. I touch her cheek and feel sparks shoot from my fingers. She rubs my hand against her cheek. Her dried tears are salty on my finger tips. I have to man up. I have to lock this down for now. I swallow my emotions and turn to one of the Skeletons, focusing my eyes on him. "When did Zero and Anchor leave for the money?"
"About an hour or two ago."
"So they should be back soon, right?"
He nods. "They'll be back at the hideout."
I look at the rest of the Ruin Outlaws. "You all need to come with us. We have some serious shit to discuss, especially after this."
No one dissents. No one raises their hand or shakes their head. They all seem to be in agreement. Either that, or they're just as stunned as I am. Sword looks confused and bewildered, but he doesn't fight it. "Let's get going," I say, feeling strange giving orders to the Skeletons that are present.
I open the garage door and we all grab our bikes and start them up. The couple of bikes that are knocked over get picked up with the help of other riders. Everyone is silent. The hogs all flare into life and howl throughout the neighborhood. The combined force of the exhausts echo off the inside of the garage where Surge's body rests in a sleeping bag.
I close the garage and climb onto my bike, and drive off the cement slab onto the asphalt first. The rest of the pack of mixed cuts and colors follow behind me. Solemn.
Ca
ssie's grip is especially tight on me, and she keeps stroking my leg. I can feel her. I can feel her reaching out to me. I finally reach back, stroking her thigh and squeezing her leg.
She whispers my name into my ear. It makes my chest burn.
CHAPTER 6 — CASSIE
I couldn't have done what Logan did. But maybe I only think that.
Even if my father had a gun pointed at him, I don't think I could do it. I don't think he meant to, either. Does that make it better? Does that make it worse? I can't put myself in his boots, but I can try and help.
I'd never seen him the way he was after the shot rang out. Almost like he was in a fugue. Lost to everything, listening to no one. I tried to rouse him, but he was stiff as petrified wood. He wouldn't budge, he wouldn't twitch. I barely saw him blink if I stared at him long enough.
The drone of the engines mixes together in a way that drowns out everything but my thoughts. All the different bikes, all racing at different speeds, but still in formation. Tank and a Skeleton take up guard duty. I guess they can't break their roles, even if they're covered. Honestly, from what it looks like, having two people is more efficient anyway.
After a couple of long minutes on the highway, our mixed group of bikers pull off and take the vaguely familiar turn down the alley of a brick building. We all scatter and park along the wall of the building, Logan being the first to shut his bike down. I expect him to get off the bike, but as more bikers funnel in, I begin to realize he's waiting for everyone to arrive.
After the last bike shows up and its engine is shut down, Logan finally stands from his seat. I follow behind him as he goes to the building and pulls the door open.The rest of the men all file in and take their seats. The Skeletons take their designated spaces, and the Ruin Outlaws try and fill in the gaps. It feels awkward, and there's a strange tension in the air. Petrol and Sword keep looking around in awe, or maybe they're trying to find some kind of flaw. If Petrol owns the bar the Ruin Outlaws use, maybe he's taking notes? That's a funny thought.
Logan takes up a space where, if we were in the Ruin Outlaws bar, Surge would have sat. A bar stool that is pulled out from under the bar, but not resting against the pushed-together tables that everyone else is sitting at. Rifle sits at the table, his face even more swollen and puffy than when we were in the garage.
"You all saw what happened..." Logan begins, and I lean forward. "I don't know what was said to you, but I didn't show up to kill Surge." The Ruin Outlaws murmur, a mixture of agreement and disagreement, but nothing aggressive. Sword is chewing his tongue loudly, and keeps balling his fists repeatedly. The Skeletons are silent. I'm here and no one is questioning it. It's surprising.
"It just happened. I only came to the house to protect Rifle," Logan looks at Rifle, who meets his eyes. When they break eye contact, Rifle gazes at me for a brief second. Even through his swollen eyelids, I can see the sadness that's behind his brown eyes. "He was uncontrollable, and he would have gotten all of us killed. The Ruin Outlaws and the Skeletons. I don't know what else we could have done, but he was getting older and... as I think Rifle told me once... he wasn't adapting to the times.
"Now we have a bigger problem. Surge said that the Martinez brother that we left alive in Mexico blamed Surge for what happened. If we tell them that Surge is dead, they might accept it and leave us all alone. It might have been a scare tactic. But they still might come for me, for all of us."
Motorcycles sound outside the entrance and are soon silenced as they're parked. They quiet and everyone turns to see who it is. Logan goes silent, but I can already tell what he's thinking. Who else would it be but Zero and Anchor?
The door opens and light fills the room, striking the faces of all of us. Zero and Anchor are backlit from the sun and impossible to make out, but it's definitely them. Anchor is carrying two large saddlebags over his shoulders, and he sidesteps into the doorway and lets the door swing shut.
Zero looks around at the hodgepodge of motorcyclists and whistles. "Looks like some serious shit went down while we were on our little errand." His eyes focus on Logan. "You trying to take over my club, Bomb?" His voice is half-joking, but Logan isn't in the mood.
"Surge is dead, Zero. I'm sure you'll be pleased."
Zero gapes and closes his mouth. He steps forward and takes a chair at the table, not saying a word. Anchor walks up next to him and drops the saddlebags on the table. The buckles come undone. Money spills out, along with some clothes and empty water bottles. All the men look at the bags in surprise. Well, except Logan.
"It wasn't too hard to find," Anchor explains. "Thanks for the loot."
"You gave them our money too?" Sword says. He stands up and knocks his chair over. "This is bullshit, Bomb! You fucking killed Surge and gave the Skeletons our money? You might as well be one of them!" He points a finger at Logan and tries to rouse the rest of the group, but no one takes the bait. He fumes and breathes hard, his eyes like fireballs. Logan shakes his head and almost laughs. "Jesus christ, have you been listening at all? It doesn't matter anymore Sword!"
Zero interjects, "I just got here, what the fuck is going on?"
"You sent some men to protect Rifle, right?" Logan says. "Surge sent some of his own men to take care of Rifle. You can imagine what happened next."
"I saw Gold and Smoke's torn up bikes outside, at least."
"Surge is dead," Logan repeats and trails off. He scratches his cheek and groans, before wiping sweat off his forehead. "Zero," he says.
Zero perks up and stares at Logan. Even though he looks agreeable, his voice is just as abrasive as ever: "What?"
"You have connections with the Martinez brothers?"
"I have a couple, I don't know what good they'll do though with one of them dead," Zero says. He scratches his neck and rubs his beard. "What are you thinking?"
Logan laughs. "You're actually asking me?"
Zero's temper flares up a bit, "Did I fucking stutter? Don't make me kick you and all your punk ass members outta my bar."
"You could contact Gustavo and tell him that Surge is dead. Surge told us that Gustavo blamed him, maybe that's what finally sent him off the deep end. He can even see the body if he doesn't believe you."
"You have the body still?"
Rifle leans forward on the table and plants his elbows on the top. "He's in my garage. In a fucking sleeping bag."
"Fucking harsh," Zero admits. He strokes the back of his neck and gazes up at the ceiling fan, which is creaking and wobbling with every rotation. He thinks for a little bit, maybe considering Logan's idea. He shakes his head. "I don't think it'll work."
"Why?" I ask. Zero looks at me with some surprise, but quickly regains his stony face. "If Surge told Gustavo and Victor that Logan and I were in town and they should take care of us, then it is his fault. Not ours."
Zero goes silent again. It's almost like there's a pressure building from everyone staring at him, waiting for an answer. But the one putting the most pressure on him is Logan. Logan's eyes are full of flames and impossible to avoid. He taps his fingers on the bar and leans back against it, his elbows holding him up.
"Try it, boss," Anchor says. "Fuck it. Offer him the cash."
"It's only fifty grand," Six-Shooter says. "Will he even give a shit about fifty grand?"
"Alright, alright, fuck. I'll call the old fucker. I was really hoping I wouldn't get in this any deeper, but clearly things haven't gone my way." Zero grunts. He extends his hand and waits for something. Without a word, Anchor pulls out a cell phone and hands it to Zero.
Zero dials a number and turns away from us. He hunches over and speaks into the phone, his voice low, but distinct because of how still the air is. The bar is getting warm from all the men being at full attention. No doubt the same kind of adrenaline pumping through their blood as me right now.
"Right... Mr. Martinez," Zero says, sounding agreeable and friendly. "No, no... I have an offer for you."
The voice on the line speaks, but it's just noise a
nd static to me. I wonder if anyone else can understand it. Zero speaks up again after the line goes silent. "I know. They came to me. Bomb has an offer for you... Alright." He stands up and walks over to Logan and hands the phone to him with a firm push. "He wants to talk to the man who killed his brother."
Logan takes the phone and holds it up to his ear. "Bomb here."
I still can't make out the conversation. "Surge says you called him and blamed him for Victor's death, right? Well, Surge is dead now. ... I don't care if you don't believe it. You can look for yourself. ... I'm sure you're already here, aren't you? How many men you got? ... Fine, don't listen to me. I don't give a shit. Come here, come up here with all your power. ... I'll fucking take you all on if it'll satisfy you. ... Surge is dead, his body is here for you, and fifty grand if you just fuck off. ... Your brother got himself killed — if he hadn't attacked my woman then he could've been spared. ... Victor spit in her face, tied her up, threatened to send me parts of her body. You fucking challenge me on that. That was Surge's fuckin' call."
Logan pulls the phone away and hangs up. He tosses it across the bar to Anchor, who catches it. Zero stares at Logan like Logan just keyed a man's motorcycle. Well, at least what I imagine a biker would look like if he saw something so malicious.
"What's he going to do?" Logan says. "He had two lackeys in Mexico and a group of bar customers. I don't think he's as connected as he made us all think. He grumbled something agreeable when I mentioned the fifty grand." Logan folds his arms and looks around the room, making sure he makes eye contact with everyone. That they all know he's in charge now.