Clutch

“You’re late,” Minus growled as he stomped toward me.

“Wow, you didn’t even let me finish parking before you started chewing my ass this time,” I said, removing my helmet.

“I wouldn’t have to chew your ass if you’d show up when you’re supposed to.”

“I hit a piece of trash on the freeway and had to pull over and deal with it,” I replied, getting off my bike.

“I told you to be on fuckin’ time, Nicky,” Minus snapped.

“Nicky? Oh, a formal request; you must really need me. Well, excuse me your royal highness,” I snapped.

“A united front, remember? That’s what I said I needed today.”

“Sorry I’m not meeting your expectations, bro.”

“I fucking expect my Sargent at Arms to be here, sober, when I need him.”

“Your Sargent? Cutter made me Sargent, not you,” I blurted out, instantly regretting my words. Minus’s face was a stone, but I knew him way too well, to miss the hurt in his eyes.

“When’s the last time you’ve been to the gym?” he asked.

“What?”

“The Gym. When is the last time you sparred? I can always tell when you haven’t trained in a few days. You get all pissy if you’ve gone too long without hitting someone in the mouth.”

“You volunteering?”

“Get the fuck inside and get your head on straight, Clutch,” was all he said before turning and storming back inside.

The Chapel was the Sanctuary’s main meeting hall, and where we held our all-club meetings and socials, like this weekend’s all club “picnic.” Connected to the Chapel, was a smaller administrative room where we held “Church,” our monthly board meetings. This was the time where only the club’s officers, and sometimes other high-ranking Saints, would sit down to discuss the inner workings of club business. Until recently, that business largely involved collecting protection money, gambling debts, doing security for bad guys, shit like that. Our club was basically known as enforcers, leg breakers; big scary dudes who could handle other big scary dudes. However, since Cutter announced his terminal cancer diagnosis and subsequent retirement, we were all living off a stipend, and were to “minimize illegal activity at all possible costs.” Minus had assured us that more details would be coming our way at the next meeting, which would not only be his first as President, but our club’s first without our founder.

“Thank Odin’s dick, we can finally get started,” Ropes, my oldest friend next to Minus, grunted as I entered the room. His brother, Sweet Pea, didn’t say anything, but playfully flipped me the bird as I walked by. Every senior officer and captain was already there, and the mood in the room was far tenser than any meeting I’d ever attended; not surprising given the circumstances.

“Now that our Sargent at Arms is present, we can get started,” Minus said as he stood at the head of the long boardroom style table that had been in this room for about as long as the cub had existed.

“I’m sure some of you have questions, and I appreciate you all giving me some time to sort all this shit out over the past few weeks. I know everyone’s business earnings have suffered, and that some of you have been taking shit from people on the street. Rest assured, that I’m aware of your issues, and that your problems will be dealt with accordingly,” Minus said, addressing the room of stone faces.

“This club has never suffered like we did when we lost Cutter,” he continued. “He was our founder, our leader, and like a father to many of us in this room. I’m grateful I got to spend the last few months with him, and I’m honored that he’s asked me to wear the President’s patch. All I ask is that you give me some time to grow into it and trust me to guide this club into the direction that he and I worked to map out for us.”

“Don’t you mean you and your ol’ lady?” Wolf, the club’s Road Captain asked.

“Well, that didn’t take fuckin’ long did it?” Minus said smiling, slowly sliding his hands in his pockets. I knew from growing up with him that this was his move to keep his temper in check. Rather that make a fist, he’d put his hands in his pockets. Sometimes they’d stay there and sometimes they wouldn’t, but he always tried the calm approach first.

“I’m glad you brought Cricket up, Wolf,” Minus continued. “If you’ll notice, she’s not here, and that’s the way it will stay. Despite what you may have heard, she’s not co-captain of this club, nor is she an officer. She is, however to be treated like any member of this club, and she is going to be working with us during this transitional phase. Cricket will continue to serve as a club advisor and community liaison—”

“Lay on who?” Wolf asked, causing laughter to break out around the room.

“She’s our go-between with community leaders and shit,” Warthog, the club’s Chaplain said. “She’s the one that’s gonna make sure all of you assholes don’t get locked up when the Sheriffs see you around town carrying TVs and microwaves.”

“Why the fuck would we have all that shit?” Wolf asked.

“Because the Burning Saints now owns a moving company, among several other legitimate businesses.”

“So?” Wolf snapped.

“So, you and your crews are all expected to work at them,” Minus said.

“The fuck we are,” Wolf said rising to his feet.

“Sit down.” Minus said, staring him down.

“Fuck this!” Wolf shouted. “I didn’t join this club to lug sofas or work the counter at some fro-yo hut.” Wolf seethed, not budging an inch. I stood up quickly, showing him that I had Minus’ back. I may have been pissed at the guy, but he was my best friend.

“We gonna have an issue right here in the Sanctuary, Wolf?” I asked. His eyes darted to me, and he huffed before returning to his seat. I sat as well, happy that I didn’t have to punch Wolf in the face. He could be a prick, but I liked the guy. He was loyal to the club and never personally gave me too much shit. He was old school, though, and I couldn’t imagine him doing an honest day’s work, no matter what Minus had planned.

“Let’s get something clear right outta the gate,” Minus said, his tone shifting. “The club’s rules still apply. I’m the club’s president and I will enforce them. If you wear a Burning Saint’s patch, you are in this club for life.” He looked around the room. “But, if you want out, feel free to leave right now,” he said pointing at the door, before adding, “But you have to patch out.”

“Look, Minus, I like you. You’re a good kid, and for the record I voted against sending you off to Savannah, but you’re not Cutter,” Wolf said in a low tone, an angry scowl carved into his brow.

“No, Wolf, I’m not Cutter and I never will be, but make no mistake; I’m no kid, I am this club’s president,” Minus said.

“We’ll see,” Wolf replied.

“You wanna patch out, Wolf?” Minus challenged. “Say the word and I’ll have Warthog heat up the brand. Shit, you’ve been riding with the Saints for, what, eighteen years? I bet you’ve collected a lot of club ink over the years.”

Wolf’s jaw muscles tightened. Our club law states that any member who leaves the Burning Saints must have all club related tattoos blacked out via branding. All members have at least one club tat, and of course, most have several. Patching out has only happened twice in the club’s history and I’ve only seen one. It was fucking brutal.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Minus,” Wolf seethed.

“If you think this is a game to me, you don’t know me at all,” Minus said, approaching Wolf, who was still standing. When Minus reached him, he extended his hand. “Which is fair enough. I’m sorry, Wolf, let’s start over.”

The expression on Wolf’s face was priceless. He looked like he was in shock, but he shook Minus’s hand and quietly sat down.

“Good,” Minus said with a smile and walked back to the head of the table. “You all know who I am, but it’s probably fair to say most of you don’t really know me. I’ve been gone for a long time, and a lot has changed in our world recently. I’m sure all of you are as confused as hell as to why Cutter chose me. Believe me when I tell you I was, too. I’d also like you all to know that I’m not confused now.”

“Well, that makes one of you,” Elwood, one of the club’s oldest members said. “I’m still pretty fucking foggy on why we need to move away from enforcing and security, which are known money makers for us, and waste our time with moving companies and shit.”

“Because, the times aren’t changing anymore, they’ve already changed,” Minus said. “We can’t do the things we used to do and expect the same results. We don’t have the juice with the local PD that we used to. We simply can’t pay off this new breed of cops as easily. There are too many security measures and pressure from top brass. Most of the money that used to be on the streets is now on the dark web, and gambling’s now as close as the nearest Indian casino. Let’s be real here. The club’s income is one-third of what it was fifteen years ago, and our members are being harassed by Portland’s finest more than ever. There’s a camera on every street corner and on every nosy citizen’s cell phone. The streets are simply dead fishing grounds for us and most of our kind.”

“So, you expect us all to go straight just because the streets have tightened up? Or because it’s a big scary world out there where we might get hurt or arrested?” Elwood challenged. “I think we’re all well fuckin’ aware of the risks of being in an MC by now.”

“And most of you have criminal records or have done time already,” Minus said. “Is that how you want to spend the rest of your days Elwood? In a fuckin’ cage? In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a “three strikes and your ass is gone” kind of world out there. These judges are handing out twenty-five years to guys just like you every day. Guys are doing serious time for low level shit, not to mention the kind of work we’ve been into. I’m gonna say it one more time; the old days are over. Clubs like the Dogs of Fire have figured out how to stay together as a pack and ride free without breaking the law. That’s what Cutter wanted for his club and that’s what I want for us as well.”

“The Dogs ain’t perfect,” Wolf said.

“Nope, but they can help us, and we can help them, and with Cricket doing her PR magic in front of the City Council, Rotary Club, Portland PD, Fire, and whoever else she gets in her sights, the Burning Saints are going to become bigger and stronger than ever.” Minus scanned the room, making eye contact with each and every member. “And we’re gonna do it without throwing a punch or firing a single shot.”

* * *

Gina

The second I entered the first number of the code on the security pad to lock up the building, I heard the roar of motorcycles approaching the clinic.

No, no, no, shit, not now. I don’t have time to pick buckshot out of a hairy ass.

The Burning Saints were a local biker gang I had adopted, along with all the other neighborhood strays, while I was still an ER resident. As one would expect, these were big, scary dudes, but their president, Cutter was a teddy bear inside, and I was heartbroken about his recent passing. I always made sure my services and clinic were available to them, no questions asked. I’m not sure why, really, as they’re all probably thugs, but I also saw a softer side to these men while they were in my care; well, some of them at least. I guess I just figured I’d rather patch them up, than have them bleed out from a knife wound. Besides, Cutter had always found a way to repay me for my services. I closed the cover on the key pad and walked to the glass front door just in time to see three of the Burning Saints park their bikes right out front. All I wanted to do was start my vacation, and my day had been filled with drama and vomit. Why not throw a pile of bikers on top?

“Hey there, Eldie, you still open for business?” Minus, the club’s new handsome young president asked, smiling through the glass. If there had been any doubt in my mind that I was in fact the official physician of a biker gang, the reality that they’d given me a club name should have erased it. “Eldie,” derived from L.D., which stands for Lady Doctor. This name was bestowed upon me by the charming, and aptly named Warthog, the very first Saint I’d removed a bullet from, and one of the other three men standing outside my clinic.

The third was Clutch, and he scared me more than any of the Burning Saints. He never said much around me, and always wore an intense scowl. He seemed like a man with a violent storm brewing inside of him, making me wonder just what kinds of things he was capable of doing.

Truth be told, my fear came more from the fact I found him impossibly beautiful in every way. He was tall, with striking dark features, that tried, but failed, to hide an angelic face. To make matters worse, I saw him without a shirt on while the Saints were installing landscaping irrigation for the clinic last summer.

Clutch, and three other club members were working during an especially hot and humid day, and he’d stripped down to only his jeans and work boots. One sight of his muscular bare chest covered with his club tattoo gave me heart palpitations. I seriously thought I was going to pass out. I stored the image in my mind for future use.

“I’m actually trying to close up and get out of town for the weekend,” I replied. “Is everyone okay. Is someone hurt?”

“No, we’re okay, I just wanted to talk to you about setting up physicals for all the guys, and the clinic was on our way, so I thought I’d stop by,” Minus said, still smiling.

I glanced at Clutch, whose eyes darted away the moment they’d made contact with mine.

“I can come back Monday,” Minus said as he began to turn around.

“No, no, don’t be silly. You’re here now. Come in and let me turn my laptop on so we can get you on the schedule,” I said as I unlocked the door.

“Eldie, I’ll come back on Monday when you’re back from your vacation,” Minus said firmly but gently, putting a hand on Clutch and Warthog’s shoulders. “My associates and I will leave you now with our apologies for delaying your travels.”

Minus had a silver tongue and a slight southern drawl that was sexy as hell. I didn’t find him quite as attractive as I did Clutch, but that’s not to say he wasn’t also gorgeous. It appeared for every Warthog of the club, the Saints also had a member who looked like they’d been chiseled out of a block of hotness. Perhaps I was just a little pent-up from the utter lack of actual sex in my life. I had packed both of my vibrators, and the latest book from Drake Morningwood, and was hoping to blow off some much-needed steam this weekend.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind,” I said, even though I really wanted to get out of there, but all three men were climbing onto their bikes.

Minus gave me a chin lift. “Goodbye, Eldie, have a great weekend.”

I started to reply, but just then, Clutch did the unexpected... and smiled at me. The words coming out of my mouth stopped, and my expression must have made me look like a complete goober, because Clutch’s smile dropped, and he quickly broke eye contact. Apparently, my game was so rusty I couldn’t even properly return a biker’s smile. This summed up my love life perfectly.