by Trent Jordan
I bit my lip. No, this wasn’t the right time to say it. Brian wanted to know more about me; that was different than wanting to know everything about me.
“That, and some other things,” I said. “But I’m grateful for you and your club. You helped me land work out here, and—”
Brian cut me off, waving a hand as the waiter came by with our two cups of coffee. I didn’t even drink coffee that often, but having a cup certainly didn’t hurt things.
“We don’t deserve your thanks,” he said. “We’re not the Black Angels. We’re the Black Reapers. We do things because we know it’ll stock the odds back in our favor. We protect this town, but we do so knowing we get free shit like this.”
Free shit like… this?
“Don’t act surprised.”
I didn’t need to act surprised. I was surprised. There was nothing hidden about that reaction.
But I didn’t know that I believed Brian when he implied the club was a bunch of assholes. Yes, the Reapers could treat me callously, but the low-key family party last night had shown that they could do things in the community that were nice. Every time I’d crossed paths with Lane and Patriot, they had been friendly and courteous. Maybe Brian had his own issues with the club that I didn’t know about.
And if so, they’re issues I don’t need to know about.
“Well, I am able to stand on my feet because of the club, so I can at least be grateful for that.”
“Because we make you lie on your back so much.”
It was a blunt statement, but it wasn’t wrong. And in any case, Brian hadn’t said it to bite me; he’d said it to acknowledge a painfully true fact. I got work, and the men got sex. We had terms other than prostitution, but how many of those were really said to make me feel better?
“So you want to direct films someday,” Brian said, again less of a question and more of repeating a statement.
I nodded, a wistful, almost nostalgic smile forming on my face.
“At the risk of sounding like I’m sucking up, I always wanted to explore the darker side of things with my films, and that included MCs,” I said. “I grew up in a very cheerful and happy family. That’s the polite way of saying it. The impolite way of saying it was that we were naïve and sheltered. I realized this when I got to college, and I saw all the people partying and having sex freely. It was… unusual.”
Brian almost—almost—laughed. I could see the corners of his lips tugging up as if trying to break free of the seal that his stoicism had on his face. It was too tight to break, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something there.
“So after that, I began exploring the seedy underbelly of humanity in my classwork,” I said. “Never did expect to have to get to this point.”
“And your parents,” Brian said. “They know about your current spot?”
I shook my head.
“Too prideful to tell them. They know I got fired from my last job. But I tell them I’m making ends meet. I don’t need help.”
Even though I’m taking it right now.
“And in any case, if they knew the truth, I’m not sure how they’d be able to handle it.”
Brian gazed down, looking deep in thought. He struggled just to breathe, and I wondered if I had said something too mean or somehow triggering for him. But then the food came out surprisingly quickly, and we had a welcome distraction.
I was never much of a morning person, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that I finished my food in under ten minutes from no longer talking. What was a surprise, though—and maybe it shouldn’t have been, but it was—was that Brian finished two of his plates in the time it took to finish my one, and he devoured the bowl of oatmeal so quickly I couldn’t help but think of all the indigestion that he was sure to suffer from the rest of the day.
But Brian didn’t look the least bit concerned, instead patting his belly with pride like the Buddha might.
“Can’t keep this figure if I don’t eat a lot,” he said, and finally, for the first time all morning, he seemed to deliberately smile.
“Well, I can’t keep my figure if I do eat a lot, so I think we’ll have a good system here.”
The wistful—dare I say hopeful?—smile remained on Brian’s lips.
“I’ve got to get over to the shop,” Brian said. “Your car is there anyway, right?”
“Yeah…” I said, my voice trailing off.
I didn’t like that I’d be going right back to the spot where everyone would see that I’d hooked up with Brian, Butch to them—and I didn’t mean the men. They all knew I was nothing more than property to the club.
I meant more the women. The mothers. The children of the club. They were the ones that worried me. They were the ones that, for whatever reason, I couldn’t shake. Maybe it was because I wished I was like one of them, and I wasn’t.
Whatever the reason was, I dreaded it.
But I dreaded not having my car much more.
“Well, let’s get going then,” Brian said, slapping a twenty down on the table as a tip. “Probably won’t say much when we get there.”
“All good,” I said, back in my head as we headed toward the motorcycle.
But when we got to his bike, there was a question that had wormed its way into my mind that I could not escape. I needed to have an answer, no matter how painful the real thing turned out to be.
“Bri… Butch,” I said. “Did this mean anything?”
Brian, in the middle of putting on his helmet, paused and stared at me. The smile was gone, but it wasn’t like anger replaced it. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
Finally, he spoke. It was just enough to leave me hopeful but not so hopeful as to get false beliefs about the last twelve hours.
“It didn’t mean nothing,” he said.
Butch
It meant more than you think, Thea.
But you don’t want it to mean more. Because if you do, when you see who I am…
I aggressively revved the engine, even before Thea had hopped on, to shut my mind the hell up.
Thea had done a number on me this morning. She’d accomplished something that literally no one else in the club had done, not even its founder, Roger Carter. She’d gotten me to reveal my name on purpose and to tell her some—some—details about myself. Yes, Rose knew my real name, but that was before I knew she and Axle were connected in any way. And as soon as I did, boy, you best believe I regretted having her see all those parts of me.
But in Thea, I saw…
I saw something of a kindred spirit. I saw someone also trying to overcome things from their past, although her past seemed a lot more condensed and a lot more recent than my past. I saw someone who was severely misunderstood in the club, although I deliberately chose to be misunderstood, while she had no choice. I saw…
I saw someone I was attracted to, and not just in a lustful, carnal way. Of course, she was hot, and of course, I enjoyed getting off, but the interaction I had shared with her this morning was somehow more meaningful, more enjoyable, more promising than the sex from last night. Sex was just something I did for a brief spurt of pleasure, almost like what masturbation was to an awkward college student; this was something that might have been much more profound.
She’s a club bunny, though. Do you know how many other bikers have been balls deep in her?
I ignored the thoughts that somehow infested my mind while driving my bike, something that almost rarely happened. Riding my bike was when my brain was supposed to shut the fuck up, not when things were supposed to wiggle their way in and refuse to budge. I guess Thea was having that kind of effect on me.
When we got to the shop, a couple of prospects were out front, working on a couple of vehicles. Thea got off the bike, and I didn’t want to give her the chance to say anything more to me. So I sped off as soon as I felt her weight completely shift off. It was a dick move, but I’d warned her. And in any case, it was keeping in character for me at the club and, really, for the worst side of me.
But it was time for me to return to something that brought out the best in me.
I got home, hurried up the steps, and swung the door open to find Lucky sprinting out toward me.
“Lucky Luck!” I said, using my favorite nickname for my little pup. “Hurry up and go potty! I know Daddy’s been gone all night, he’s very sorry for that!”
Lucky nearly lost his legs from under him as he made a beeline for the nearest grass. When he finally did find a spot, he spent so long sprinkling over it that I had to imagine he’d let a little bit loose in the house. But a quick examination of the place showed that it was urine-free.
Lucky had held out. He’d been a very good boy.
“Oh, Lucky Luck!” I called.
He came sprinting back as quickly as he could. I shut the door behind him and laughed as he tried to climb up my body. I sat on the couch, and he immediately crawled up my chest, licking my face.
“Hey, Luck,” I said, laughing some more. Hey, when you hadn’t laughed in days, you had to let it out somehow. “You wanna hear about the day that I’ve had?”
Lucky let out something of a half-howl, drawing a chuckle from me. Lucky had a way of wanting to howl but not really being able to get to the depths of his throat needed for a full howl, which produced something like a howl with the volume at half-mute for a normal dog.
“Yeah, it’s OK, I wouldn’t want to say anything about it either,” I said. “It’s strange. I don’t know that I’d say I’m attracted to that girl. Not like Lane to Angela or Axle to Rose. Just…”
I want her to realize she’s not alone.
Or maybe I want myself to realize I’m not alone.
“Some things just can’t be explained, Lucky,” I said as my dog skewed its head, knowing full well I was full of shit.
For as much as I wanted to spend the rest of the day with my dog, though, I knew that I had to get back to the clubhouse. I had barely remembered it, but Lane had made mention of the fact that we’d be gathering an emergency meeting to discuss what to do about the Fallen Saints. I already knew exactly what all it would entail—arguments, yelling, maybe a few threats, and ultimately nothing changing.
But as Sergeant-at-Arms, my job wasn’t to try and make peace. It was to inflict violence as necessary and then contain it whenever it got too large. Everything else was for the President and other officers to take care of.
I pulled into the lot for the repair shop, set to park my bike outside before heading into the clubhouse, when I saw a familiar face from the day before glaring at me.
Our prospect, Jon, thought it was a good idea to give me the fuck-you eye because I had taken Thea home when he had failed to so much as make her smile. He was more than welcome to be envious, but it was high time that he learned there was a hierarchy in the club, and violating it was grounds for some serious ass-whooping.
I walked over to him, keeping my trademark sunglasses on, and folded my arms before him. Just assuming this position would have been wicked enough. I had at least a full foot on him, if not more. But some things were just more fun when the knife got twisted in.
“Can I help you?” I said in the coldest voice possible.
“Uh, no, no, Butch, no sir, just, just working on this car, you know how it is.”
“Hmm.”
Poor Jon looked so utterly confused as to whether he needed to keep working on the car or keep his eyes on me. I didn’t feel like telling him what to do right now—I rather enjoyed watching him squirm like the bitch that he was. And, like I said, some things were fun when the knife got twisted deeper.
“Are you mad because I was balls deep in the girl you wanted last night?”
“What?” Jon said with a fake laugh that told me he knew exactly what I was talking about. “Oh, her? I didn’t want her, anyway.”
“Really,” I said.
I took a certain visceral pleasure in watching Jon shake. Just because I was working on controlling the demon in me didn’t mean that he couldn’t dance a little bit when I let him free.
“Because I saw the way you looked at me when I pulled up here, prospect,” I said. “And it seems to me that you’re envious. Right?”
Jon gulped and didn’t answer.
“Didn’t they teach you to damn well respond when an officer speaks to you?” I said, getting closer. Other members were watching—good. I was getting a bit of a high off of this moment, and they needed to know their place. “Didn’t you learn to respond when someone like me speaks to you?”
“I thought she was attractive,” Jon said. “But she didn’t want me, so—”
“Ah, so the truth comes out,” I said. “Let me tell you something, prospect. A bunny like that? She sucks dick like no other. She will leave you whispering her name for days after you fuck. You won’t need to come for a month after, she’ll suck you so dry.”
A part of me didn’t feel great to be describing Thea like this. Actually, it was a part of me I actively had to fight. But for just a little longer…
“But bunnies like that are reserved for club officers only. Got that? You approach a woman like that, and you think she’s too good for you? It’s one of the few fucking right thoughts you have. Got it?”
“I’ve got it, I’m sorry,” Jon said, finally hanging his head low.
“I take what I want, remember that.”
With that, I left Jon by the car, ignoring all of the glares that came my way. It was probably the most I had spoken on club property in weeks, if not months, but that just made it all the more powerful. No one was going to cross me after that.
Just wish I hadn’t described Thea in that way.
Which is pretty damn telling for someone that you think you want to push away.
I ignored the thoughts and reached the clubhouse. Lane stood by the entrance, apparently having watched my intimidation act from one of the windows.
“Guess you ripped that prospect a new one, huh?”
I didn’t respond. What did I need to say? Lane had seen what had gone down. I didn’t need to verify for him what he suspected.
“Well, in any case, you’re just in time. Everyone else is here, so let’s get the party started.”
I headed to the door to church, with Lane trailing me. I swung it open and came into quite possibly one of the tensest rooms I had ever been in. While we weren’t exactly a talkative, excitable bunch to begin with, I swore I could see the divide between the two factions as if it was a literal line, with Patriot, Axle, and Red Raven begging for a launch, Lane and Father Marcellus not wanting to do one, and me being on the side of inaction for the time being.
When Lane cleared his throat and started to speak, no one else cracked a joke, sighed, or shifted in their chair. It was eerily silent for a place with half-a-dozen bikers inside.
“You all know why we’re here,” Lane said. “So I’m going to cede the floor to Patriot, as he’s the one who has the most relevant news. Patriot?”
“Thanks, Lane,” Patriot said, but it didn’t sound particularly sincere. If those two were fighting, then the club really was pretty damn split. “I spoke to Kaitlyn in as roundabout a manner as I could, given she’s still not exactly in favor of us as a club. I eventually got out of her that Lucius is still healing, but he’s stabilized. It’ll be a few days before he’s discharged. I say for all intents and purposes, our deadline is that. Because when he’s discharged, it’s back to ‘business as usual’ with the Saints.”
And no one needed an explanation for what “business as usual” with the Saints would look like. More violence. More bloodshed. More deaths.
More chances for Red Raven to sell us out.
But if we struck at a poor time at the hospital, even if we did damage to the Fallen Saints, the fallout otherwise might be worse.
“Alright,” Lane said, almost sounding disappointed at the new information. “With this in mind, does anyone want to change their mind?”
I looked around the room. I could not see Lane changing his
mind by his tone of voice. I could not see Father Marcellus changing his mind, either. Red Raven, Patriot, and Axle seemed pretty set on their positions. I guess—”
“Yes.”
Of all the people to speak…
Axle?
“I say we wait until the last moment, perhaps even as they leave the hospital,” Axle said. “Their guard will be lower with us not having struck then.”
“Are you mad?” Red Raven said.
Red Raven was trying to sound as he usually did—wiser than he probably was, more ominous, almost like he was mandated to play the role of the foreboding old prophet on his last legs. But if I could sense the stress and worry in his voice, I knew that so did everyone else in that room. Red Raven’s facade was getting sliced away with every word that he spoke; soon, the Raven would be shown to be a vulture, and we’d have to kill the vulture to prevent him from trying to peck at us bit by bit.
“The Saints are not a club that ever lets down their guard. Do you think that the devil ever has a moment in which he believes the forces of good stops attacking him?”
“What is this, Sunday School?” Axle said. “I have thought about it. I don’t like our chances of minimizing casualties while he’s at the hospital. He’s going to be heavily guarded. We’re not going to be able to slip a cat past their defenses, let alone one of us. At least while they are on the move back home, there will be openings.”
“Openings in which they will be armed with guns instead of their fists!” Red Raven snarled.
“You really think the Fallen Saints would not bring guns to the hospital?”
Red Raven had no reply to that. He knew Axle was right. We also knew Red Raven was on the verge of attacking Axle.
“This is the opportunity Roger Carter fought for in the last years of his life!” Red Raven shouted. “I cannot believe that we would allow in-fighting and club politics to get in the way of proper action against our mortal enemies. If we do not take advantage of this opportunity, we and our descendants will look back on this moment with regret and chagrin.”
Our descendants? I knew Red Raven liked to speak in lofty terms to sound wise, but these weren’t lofty terms. These were the attempts of someone trying to sound smarter than he was.