Bad Like Me: Royal Bastards MC Ohio Chapter

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Bad Like Me: Royal Bastards MC Ohio Chapter Page 3

by Chelle C. Craze


  “I promise, Dad, I’ll take care of Mom.” I sniffled as tears circled the whites of my eyes and trickled down my cheeks, one pooling around my nose ring as I wiped it away.

  “If you didn’t have all that tackle in your beautiful face, that wouldn’t happen.” He attempted to laugh but ended up coughing instead.

  “It gives me character.” I meekly smiled, repeating the words he’d repeated to me countless times when people had made fun of my piercings. That was the thing about my dad, he always had the right words to say at the exact moment they needed to be said. I’d promised to take care of Mom, but I would always be playing second fiddle to him. If I had to be a second chair to someone in life, I was honored it was him.

  Today wasn’t going to be easy. How did one prepare to bury their dad? The person who taught them to be strong and fought off the bad begging to bleed into one’s mind? You didn’t. Plain and simple. No amount of time or planning could ever make me ready to face this day. Even if I had a thousand years to get ready for this, I still wouldn’t be prepared for it.

  I’d been in a daze of denial right up until the moment we picked out his casket and made the arrangements, but putting on an all-black outfit and experiencing the quietness of my childhood home, made it even more real. There wasn’t any music flowing through the open air of our home as there would have been if he were still here with us. The faint and comforting whisper of Don’t You Cry Baby wasn’t lingering in the background of my every movement in this house as it had as long as I could remember any time Dad thought I was feeling down. The irony of the lyrics wasn’t lost on me, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to accept that he was gone. I couldn’t. My parents were the one constant in my life that had always been there for me. Even on the shittiest of days, Mom and Dad were in my corner, and often Mom and I fought too much to have long conversations. Dad was always the one to have heart-to-hearts with me, but those wouldn’t happen anymore. The song that was a better fit for today was Drown In My Own Tears. While I hadn’t let myself truly embrace the feelings of loss that pulsated through my whole body, I felt the meaning of that song more now than ever before. I was drowning myself in torture and grief, and now, there wasn’t a person alive with the strength to pull me from the tragedy of my own mind. The rain of sadness filled my insides, and I didn’t know what I would do when it spilled over and left me gasping for air.

  I stood as still as possible, hoping any song in my Dad’s voice would somehow find its way into the air on its own, but the only thing pounding in the stagnant almost unbreathable atmosphere was the silence of death. We all made promises to loved ones of what we would do if something ever happened to them. I wasn’t any different. I’d vowed to dad on one of his good days that I would blast Ray Charles through the walls of our house as a reminder that we would all be together again one day. I hadn’t only broken that promise, I made one to myself. Not only would I not play the songs by him, but I would avoid anything that reminded me of this place. It made me a shit daughter, but I planned on begging Mom to move to Kentucky with me as soon as everything settled down. I would still take care of her, but it wouldn’t be here where all the good memories of my once happy family transitioned into ones of failure.

  I couldn’t stay here. Everything I saw reminded me of Dad and how I let him down. Maybe if I hadn’t left, maybe then, he’d still be alive. Fuck. I really had no conception of reality at this point or what I would have done to prevent what happened to him, but anything was better than what I did…or rather, what I hadn’t done. Absolutely nothing. Not a damn thing. I didn’t do a thing to stop his death, not that I really could have had I been here, but I could have visited more. I hadn’t been back home since two Christmas’s ago. These were the things that would haunt me for each day to pass. The what-ifs and what could have been’s could very well be the reason I joined Dad in death. Could a person really worry themselves to death or was it merely a figure of speech? I had no clue, but the way my sides were heaving in and out with distress and the unrelenting pain forcing its way through my body made it pretty evident. It was a very real possibility. Guilt had far more power than anyone ever gave it credit for unless they happened to be experiencing it like me.

  “We have to go, Ray,” Mom called up the stairs, her voice carrying into my room.

  I shivered as she spoke my nickname, feeling the overwhelming guilt that landed on me with it. Dad and his love for Ray Charles’ music. No matter how much I wanted to forget, I would always be a constant reminder of the ways I abandoned my dad when he needed me the most. He once said he named me after the only other thing he loved, other than Mom that was, music. Mom wouldn’t let him name a girl simply Ray, so he picked the name Rachel Charlene since it was essentially Ray Charles’ name, give or take a couple of different letters here and there.

  I didn’t answer her as I should, I merely powered down my cell and shoved it into my clutch as I slowly inched my arm through the strap to drag out the moment. Each step I took drew me closer to the second we dropped my dad six feet under the earth, and I wasn’t ready for any of it. This was a portion of life no one should ever have to experience, and yet, we all did. We all encountered the death of loved ones, never truly knowing how to handle it. Death was one of the subjects no one really knew how to approach. We were all as clueless as the next when it came to grieving. No one possessed the capability of delivering the correct words to make another long any less for yesterday because those words didn’t exist. At the end of the day, the person was still gone, and despite how much any of us tried, it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  Many familiar faces paused in front of Dad’s casket and then paid their respects to us as we sat in the front pew of the church. The majority of people said they went to wakes and graveside services to pay their respects, but it wasn’t to the dead as most thought, it was to those left behind. That was exactly how I felt. Dad left me behind, and now, I didn’t know what to do with my life. Clearly, I could have just asked for some time off work instead of quitting, but whatever amount of time work gave me would never be enough. I had to be here with Mom because I wasn’t here for Dad. I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t leave her to wither away without him. Here I was, in Cleveland, Ohio, jobless and falling apart from every cell in my body.

  I sat almost motionless, transfixed on the sunlight bleeding through the stained-glass window as if in a trance. Both the light and window were beautiful, but somehow lost their luster as they fell into the darkness of sorrow. The only time I looked at the faces that approached thereafter was when I was spoken to directly, which wasn’t often. Most of the people were here for Mom and had long forgotten me. Either that or they didn’t have any words of comfort for me, so they didn’t even try. Of course, Wren was seated beside me and held my right hand in her left. I didn’t ask if Logan was going to be here because I was afraid of the answer she would give me.

  I wasn’t sure if I would be happy or devastated to cross paths with Logan again. Something deep inside my body ached for him to be here, maybe he could make this nightmare disappear. I wasn’t stupid, I knew it wasn’t true, but it didn’t stop the longing from happening. Even if he did show, I wouldn’t know him any more than he would me. No single person was to blame for that. We were both at fault. Maybe we didn’t fight hard enough for us, or maybe we pushed the whole “us” too far. I hated how selfish I was at this moment. My thoughts should have been filled with memories of Dad, but here I sat a measly eight feet from his lifeless body thinking of my past relationship.

  4

  Crow

  Even though I rode my bike hard and fast, I didn’t make it to the services on time. I blame Diablo’s slow ass. People were filing out of the church and climbing into their vehicles when I arrived, and I wasn’t a complete dick, I didn’t want to bust into the service at the conclusion. I respected Rich too much to do that. When my mom and dad were conveniently absent for the important things of a teenager’s life, Rich, Ray’s dad, was always there for Wr
en and me. Hell, he had been there for me while Ray was gone. He was someone I could always talk to when I didn’t have anyone else outside of the clubhouse to confide in. He may have been her father by blood, but he was important to me, too—even if Ray was oblivious to that fact.

  The truth was, I had no idea how much or little she knew about me or my relationship with her parents. When Rich wasn’t there for me, Mary was. Mary wasn’t only Mom’s best friend, she took care of us when Mom wasn’t able. When Mom couldn’t afford my tux for prom, Mary paid for it with no questions asked. The only two people who were let in on that secret were involved in the conspiracy: Mary and me. Mom didn’t know where I got the money for it, and she didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell her. She would have been embarrassed to know that Mary paid for it and would’ve tried to give her the money back, money we didn’t have to give. If it hadn’t been Ray’s dream to go to prom together, I would have said fuck it to the whole thing; prom really wasn’t my scene, anyway. It didn’t matter, though, it was what Ray wanted, so it was what I had to do because I loved her.

  I wanted to be here for the wake because I didn’t do well with funerals, not since Mom’s. I had only been to one since she passed and didn’t plan to attend another anytime soon. It wasn’t anything personal to Ray, more like every time I saw a body being dropped into a grave, their face morphed into Mom’s. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t watch my mother be buried every time someone else died, so I stayed away from the event entirely. The one and only graveside service I attended after Mom was in remembrance of our Uncle Stephen, and it was then I learned I couldn’t attend another funeral again. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be present for the people I cared about, I did. It was just I wasn’t physically able to do it. Losing Mom was one of the hardest things I’d dealt with in my life, and I’d committed countless crimes without losing too much sleep. My transgressions didn’t compare to funerals.

  My tires ground against the gravel of the parking lot as I turned them to the left as hard as I could and headed toward the clubhouse before anyone spotted me. There was no use hanging around here where I would be faced with uncomfortable questions I refused to answer.

  Wren stopped at the bottom of the church steps, her eyes locking with mine as my Harley rolled to a halt at the stop sign, and I dropped my boots against the pavement to support the weight of my bike and me. She hatefully glared at me and then glanced at her cell phone, no doubt checking the time, and shook her head. My shoulders simply rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug, and I took off, the tire treads gaining asphalt as quickly as I could make them. The fact that she clocked my time would work to my benefit, even if I hadn’t planned for her to do so. It would give me a timeline and an alibi, not that I thought The Dogs had the balls to involve the law, but I could only speculate what they would do. They were one-percenters like the Royal Bastards. Without a shadow of a doubt, I knew none of us would be phoning the pigs because as a rule, the colder we were on their radar the better.

  As soon as I was through the clubhouse door, Ghoul passed me a handle of whiskey. He was pleased with the guns, which was good because when he was unhappy, it was hard to be around him. He nodded his head in appreciation and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before calling his shot, “Eightball, corner pocket.” He pointed the tip of his stick toward the far-left end of the table, aimed, and sunk the black ball exactly where he said he would.

  “Good one, Boss,” I congratulated him and walked toward the bar. Ghoul could run the table on about anyone who walked into our clubhouse. Depending on how cocky his opponent was, set Ghoul’s level of seriousness, and he’d been known to put money on the games on occasion. It was usually his way of reminding people to be humble and would shut them the fuck up about how good they thought they were. Ghoul was a hell of a President and liked people to remember their place in the world. He and I shared the belief that we’re all people, only some of us have different titles, and some are shittier than others. It made us damn good leaders for the club and was a good reminder when either of us needed a swift kick in the ass to bring us back down to earth.

  An exasperated huff left Circuit’s lips when I dropped my ass onto my usual stool right of the bar door. He was on bar duty, and he hated every minute of it, but somebody had to do it. There were many reasons a brother would be behind the bar serving everyone else. We all took turns, but it could also be a form of punishment when someone fucked up. The latter was the reason Circuit was pouring the drinks tonight, and he knew it. Hell, we all did.

  “Circuit, you’ll be off duty next week, right?” I cleared my throat after taking a few big swallows of whiskey and wiped my mouth on the back of my forearm, trying to remind him he wasn’t on a life sentence behind the bar.

  “That’s the word…as long as I keep the customers happy.” He half-heartedly smirked, grabbing the ashtrays and emptying them one at a time into the trashcan underneath the bar’s surface.

  “Just keep your shit together, and Ghoul will let you off. You’re just the patsy for losing the guns.”

  “What about Ghoul getting off? This is a conversation I should be a part of.” Ghoul’s bass voice boomed through the clubhouse, and he plopped down onto the stool beside me. “Heh. I like getting off, so this topic is of particular interest to me. Ain’t that right, Red?” he called over his shoulder to a normal club whore as she bent over the pool table behind us to take her shot, standing as straight as an arrow when he called her name.

  “Sure do, Ghoul.” She giggled, wiggling her ass and popped it out further than necessary as she pressed her tits against the green felt of the table to take her shot.

  Fucking club skanks. I would be a liar if I said I had never indulged in a few of them, but I made damn sure I always wore a rubber. Who knew what any of them had—probably more than I wanted to think about, honestly. Who in their right mind would willingly be treated like shit and have no purpose other than being used as a fuck doll? I wouldn’t that was for certain. Maybe that was the reason I hated them so much—I just didn’t understand them. They obviously didn’t have any self-respect because if they did, they wouldn’t be here doing what they did. There was no lingering question in my mind that all of these bitches had daddy issues or something equally as severe, none of those things crossed my mind anytime any of my brothers or I needed to get off. It made me a hypocritical asshole, but I didn’t seem to feel much remorse when I was balls deep. Why would I? It wasn’t like anyone forced them to be here; they came through the door of their own free will, and when they were fucked, they were fucked well. Unless, of course, they were unlucky enough to end up in bed with Sac. If they did, they might have been left wet and hung up to dry. I was unfortunate enough to have the knowledge of my brother being built like a damn Tic Tac, and although I hadn’t seen the guy fuck, there was only so much maneuvering you could do with such a tiny little dick and massive balls.

  “Where’s Sac?” I asked, noticing he wasn’t around as I took another mouthful from the bottle and gritted my teeth as the Seven scorched my throat.

  “Setting up the deal,” Ghoul and Circuit said in unison.

  “That fucker? What the hell, Ghoul? First, you send Diablo with me, and then you put Sac as the middleman.” I was overstepping and I knew it, but someone needed to question Ghoul right now. As the Vice President of our chapter, I had to keep this motherfucker in check every now and then. I was the only person in the club who he listened to…sometimes. It depended on the day and whether he wore his emotions on his sleeve or not on how the conversation would go. Again, it was what we did for each other, so I wouldn’t be backing down from this or anything else as crucial.

  “What can I say?” he grunted. “Every brother needs to get their dick wet and commit their felonies somehow.” He shrugged, opening his hand as Circuit sliced a couple inches off a straw, and dropped the new tooter he made into his palm. He was right, we all had to get experience when we could, but I wish he didn’t gamble on the club’s well-
being when it wasn’t necessary. I was overprotective and at times a downright asshole when it came to things associated with the club, but it had a lot to do with me having a type-A personality.

  We all had our vices. Mine was whiskey and used to be nicotine, and Ghoul, well, Ghoul’s was coke. We were all trying our damnedest to forget something, and although I didn’t particularly agree with his choice of poison, I wasn’t one to judge it too much either. It didn’t matter what way we chose to drown our sins, we all fought to suffocate our demons the best we could.

  “Toot toot, mother fuckers. Fucking hookers and cocaine, just trying to live my best life.” Ghoul chuckled, lifting his face off the bar and pulled the tooter from his nostril, chucking it into a nearby empty ashtray.

  “Hell, yeah,” Circuit cheered pouring a shot for Ghoul and the rest of us, grabbing his and holding it high in the air. “To living our best life. Forever Bastards, and Bastards forever,” he yelled, and the rest of us brothers joined him in the chant before flipping our shot into the back of our throats.

  5

 

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