10
“You’re gonna love this blast, man. Especially since blowing shit up is your favorite hobby.” Drac burst into a rich rolling laugh, handing me a fresh beer.
His long, fang-like incisors showed in his wide grin, hence his nickname for the most famous vampire of them all. Plus, he seemed to stay pale as snow all year long.
When I first landed at the Flames clubhouse in Elk, Nebraska—a clubhouse that was a rented crumbling old farmhouse with boarded up windows, a newly installed bar and a pool table with a broken leg—Drac, who was Sergeant-at-Arms, and I had clicked from the moment we met.
He was friendly without being annoying, fair minded and practical, and had a wicked sense of humor without being a clown. Unlike me, he found the positive in most shit. I didn’t speak or laugh much, and Drac often tried translating my moods and expressions and usually got it right. He didn’t get put off by those moods, and he didn’t fill the silences between us with too much talk. I liked him. Other than Drac and the Prez, the handful of other members seemed pretty sluggish and indifferent about life in general.
We were in South Dakota at a night blast at the Crazy Horse Memorial. I was really looking forward to seeing this series of continuous mini-explosions blasting the granite of the mountain. Crazy Horse’s face was outlined in rock, a feat which had taken decades. His horse and his pointing arm still had to be fully cut. Holy hell, that was patience, dedication to a cause. Here was a thing of dynamic beauty and dignity wrought from a harsh mountain of unforgiving rock.
I really liked the Great Plains. The land in Nebraska and the Dakotas was different from Missouri. Maybe I’d never paid too much attention to Missouri, but now that I’d chosen to call Nebraska home, the area intrigued me. The riding was amazing from lush grasslands, dense forests and reservoirs, to the endless prairies and the ominous Badlands. Extremes for every mood were to be found in the Dakotas and Nebraska. Of course, you had to deal with brutal cold and snow, but it was worth it. I liked that extreme cycle of seasons. Clear markers of the passing of time. A lot of people consider the flat, open space of the area tedious, monotonous. Not me. I was impressed by the massive scope of the land. I felt bound to the earth as I rode it.
In the short while that I’d been here, I’d spearheaded cleaning up and renovating the old rundown farmhouse the chapter rented for a clubhouse. The Prez, Bill “Kwik” Kwikowski let me run with it, and I did. No more rusted holes, badly repaired fences, mildewed roof, crap plumbing. We got an up to date security system and new, higher fences. The one barn at the front of the property got upgraded into an industrial type warehouse to lessen any kind of curb appeal from passers by. I’d insisted on a real workout room, and we invested in new weights and barbells and a good bench. Continuing to push myself with the exercises and workouts Ryan had given me, I’d gotten stronger than I’d ever been before.
I volunteered for every shit job and for every difficult job. The men in the club were slightly in awe of me at first and kept their distance. Drac was the only one who treated me like a person, a brother, a potential friend, not some anomaly.
The first week I’d landed here, the VP had gotten himself killed running a red light, sliding in a patch of black ice, and crashing into a supermarket truck. The following week, Kwik had me ride shotgun with him and Drac to Montana for negotiations with clubs from out west he was dealing with, the Demon Seeds being one of them. They didn’t take our chapter too seriously, considering it an insignificant outpost of the Flames of Hell. I kept silent. My harshly scarred poker face did all the talking for me, inciting tension at that first meeting.
While everyone else did a lot of talking and bullshitting, I observed. I listened to what was being said underneath the words, behind the gestures. A different story emerged, as it usually did. I dug some on my own and found out about an alternate deal the Demon Seeds were trying to keep on the QT, shutting us out. Armed with this information, Kwik was able to make negotiations go his way.
Kwik liked my unassuming initiative. Drac liked my instincts. I got elected VP once we got back to Nebraska.
I knew that every effort I made, every job I completed, put me one step closer to getting Serena in my life. A life where no one would have any control over us.
Here at the Crazy Horse Memorial, I had a quick meeting with Dig Quillen, the Sergeant at Arms of the One-Eyed Jacks in nearby Meager, South Dakota. Dig and I had known each other from a run down to Colorado when I’d first gotten to the club in Nebraska. Whenever we’d seen each other, on the road, at bars, at concert venues, we were carefully friendly. Ordinarily, I kept my distance from members of other clubs, but the Jacks were located nearby, just over two hours away, so it paid to be “friendly.” Anyway, him I didn’t mind. He wasn’t a show off, and he didn’t have a chip on his shoulder or a big dick complex that he shoved in your face with every gesture or word that came out of his mouth. He didn’t talk shit and had a good sense of humor too, even if I barely let it show that I thought he was funny. He seemed respectful, and I liked that.
I’d tested his waters a couple of weeks ago. I had an emergency, one brother out when his old lady was having a baby, and I’d needed someone to fill in on a moment’s notice on a delivery to a contact in southwestern Wyoming and everyone else was in Ohio at a Flames assembly. I took the risk and called Dig.
My Prez was interested in pushing at the Jacks to see where they lay in the bigger picture in the area. They were a small club, only with another chapter in North Dakota and one in Colorado. Were they more useful to us cooperative or crushed? We knew the Demon Seeds had been making life and business difficult for them for years now. We could help them out for a price if they needed a big brother to step in. Always good to have alliances with smaller clubs against the larger ones.
I contacted Dig, and he got my job done. He didn’t tell his crew, and I didn’t tell mine. When it was done, I was impressed, and he got rewarded, but he refused the money. Instead, he wanted to stay in touch and be available for me in the future.
Today he’d requested two minutes of my time. I met up with him by the bathrooms at the Memorial an hour before the blast. Native American singing and drum beats filled the air from a show given by Native dancers on a small stage across the center as I made my way to the designated spot.
Dig was pleased to see me, and relieved, judging from his grin. He made a pitch—a network, an alliance between the Flames, his club, and the Broken Blades, another small club who were our neighbors in Nebraska.
“The three of us form a velvet network in our region through our territories. A network no outsider is going to want to fuck with and never will.”
The Jacks were obviously feeling the heat from the Demon Seeds these days.
I took in a long slow breath. “We don’t work with other clubs longterm, Dig. You know that.”
“I know. We like our independence, too, and want to keep it that way,” he replied. “Our clubs have been coexisting peacefully for years, respecting each other from afar. Why can’t our organizations work together if it’s mutually beneficial? We could keep it simple. Offer you a specific service at a discount, of course. I’ve noticed a few glitches here and there between you and the Blades. I could help.”
He gave me a few examples. Dig was observant, smart. He wasn’t talking out of his ass, making a play to get a backstage pass. He saw the road ahead was paved with Demon Seed intervention and pressure on the smaller clubs in our region.
“I’ll talk to my prez,” I said, giving Dig my standard response.
His shoulders eased, his odd light brown eyes flared. He was good with it. “Okay. I’ll wait to hear from you. You need anything in the meantime, let me know. I’ll take care of it myself.”
I believed him.
We tagged fists, and I took off, heading into the full crowd that had gathered for the night blast. I found Drac and Slade, another brother we hung with. Couldn’t miss his mohawk.
“How’d it go?” Drac asked, draining his can of beer.
“It went.” I took a long swig and wiped a hand across my mouth. “The Demon Seeds keep squeezing the Jacks, soon enough they’ll be squeezing the Broken Blades at some point, just to get in our face on our turf. Ultimately, Dig’s after our protection through an alliance.”
“You know Vig, the Seed’s VP, has been out in Cali hanging with fucking Russians. Could get messy,” said Slade.
“From what I hear, it’s already messy. Vig’s got some balls, man,” Drac said.
“Dig wants no part of messy,” I said. “He doesn’t want the Jacks to be a sitting duck to anyone’s shit, and I don’t blame him. The Jacks have got a good thing going and they’re good at keeping things low key. They could be an asset. Dig’s product gets rave reviews. We could get in on that, make it ours one day.”
“We could. You bringing it to Kwik?” asked Slade.
“Definitely.”
The sun had set and the night sky was perfectly dark, sparked with a sea of stars. The fireworks started as a prelude to the main event. The blast began and it was nothing short of magic. The series of small fires illuminated Crazy Horse’s stern face in the rock. The pounding successive explosions detonated in the big sky on a stunning primitive beat. Drac and Slade were speechless, their lips parted, their faces glowing gold in the reflections of the fires.
My eyes wandered over the crowd near us. Plenty of bikers from different clubs were here tonight. I spotted Dig, his arms wrapped around a young woman. I’d done my homework on Dig Quillen. He had an old lady, Grace or “Sister” as they called her. She was around twenty-two, but looked younger, the girl next door. They’d been together for over a year and both still seemed totally into each other, attached, like they were high on being together. He bent over and whispered in her ear, and they both grinned. All was right in their world. No rough seas, no questions.
Dig kissed Sister, starting off slow and sweet and then it turned hungry. Something coiled tightly in my chest. Those two had a place together. Serena flashed in front of my eyes in the darkness, and my muscles seized as if I’d gotten stung by a wasp. I wanted her here with me, like Quillen had his woman at his side, giving him a look that said she adored him, trusted him, was a part of him, was his and was thrilled to be, come what fucking may.
Yeah, the come what fucking may was easier when you were together.
The eruptions ceased and the crowd cheered and applauded.
Sister gave Dig a warm satisfied smile, wrapping her arm around his waist as their crew left the mountain along with the massive crowd. My insides curled in burning heat like paper in fire.
I wanted what Dig had.
I’d never had a girlfriend. Didn’t know what that felt like or was supposed to be like. And I didn’t mean just some woman I slept with on a regular basis or hung out with. No, a connection. I knew I wanted to see that satisfied smile of Sister’s on Serena’s face. I wanted to feel the weight of her relaxed body against mine. I wanted to give her this cloudless star-filled night of fireworks and explosions and music, where the only thing she had to worry about was what outfit to wear, what to pack for a camping trip, what souvenirs she wanted me to buy her. Because she’d want a souvenir. She’d want to preserve these moments of ours together. They’d be new, and to us they’d always be that kind of significant, shiny special.
Not—would this be the night she’d get killed? Would this be the night they’d drag her back, tear her to shreds? String me up and chop me?
I’d make it happen, her and me, and I’d give her all the shiny, special she needed.
“Let’s go,” Slade muttered.
Slade, Drac, and I took off, leaving the crowd at the Crazy Horse Monument behind and headed for the campground just past Mt. Rushmore, where our club waited for us.
We got lost in the party, and the next day, as I finally left the long line at the beer truck, I saw a familiar face.
“Gyp!”
Still the same tall, skinny goof with olive skin and messy jet black hair, every inch the gypsy. I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing here, man? Good to see you!”
He slung an arm around my shoulders. “I called Nebraska, and they said you were out here, so I was hoping to catch you. I’m on my way back to Missouri. Had to visit my mom in Utah, she just got married.”
“How many does this make?”
He laughed, snorting loudly. “The fifth, I think. She’s happy, whatever. I came through this way to see you.”
“Glad you did. Real glad. This is Slade and Drac.”
“Hey.”
The four of us roamed over the campgrounds, drinking and talking. We checked out the games and bike races some of the clubs were having.
“I really miss this, Finger, miss hanging out with you.” Gyp drained another watery beer.
“Me too. You doing good out there? Things okay at the club?”
Gyp shrugged. “Yeah sure, I guess. Money’s coming in steadier nowadays, so Coop’s happy, Chaz is happy. Reich left by the way.”
My pulse skipped at the sound of that name. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, he took off for Ohio.”
“For National?” Our national board was located just outside of Dayton.
“He’s been real jumpy and paranoid since you left. Losing his shit over nothing all the time. Shit got crazy.” Gyp shook his head. “He got himself transferred to the chapter out there and seems to have settled in real nice. Guess he’s in line for the big leagues, eh?”
Reich had taken off. I guess getting his dick assaulted was a real nasty hit for him. He saw enemies everywhere.
“Oh hey, before I left to see my ma, Coop had a big meet and greet with the motherfuckers that took you,” said Gyp.
“With the Smoking Guns? With Med?”
“Yeah, bro. He is one fucked up dude. Total dust freak. Coop said he kept babbling on and on, then he’d start making some sense then drift again. Oh, and Coop said he’s got a fucking harem going.”
“A harem?”
“He’s got more than one old lady. Like one of those cults out in Utah.” Gyp snorted. “Is that how it was when you were there? Would’ve like to have seen that. Sounds like a pain in the ass, though. Don’t they get fucking jealous? Shit, remember when Tracy tore out that skank’s hair over Marty? That was something—”
“No, Med only had one old lady when I was there.”
“Coop said he’s got three or four now. Passes the older ones around too. What a fucked up fucker.”
“Yeah. Fucked up is right,” I murmured, my heart thudding in my chest. Serena had been with Med for over four years now. She was definitely the older old lady in his harem. “After last night...I’m on the shit list now.”
My stomach cramped. The beer suddenly tasted like piss, and I spit it out.
Gyp let out a loud, long burp. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wiped a hand across my mouth.
I’d had to be the good soldier in Nebraska, and I had been. Now I had to make my plans. Secret, against-all-the-rules, insane plans. How much time did she have left?
“Hey man, watch it.”
I bumped into a long-haired blond guy with the name “Butler” patched on his colors, a One-Eyed Jack from Dig’s chapter here in South Dakota. He had his arm hanging around Sister’s shoulders, steering her through the crowd, and they were laughing. She caught my eye and sobered up, looking away quickly just like most people.
“Asshole,” muttered Gyp.
“Heads up. Something’s going on over there.” Drac gestured with his beer down the small hill.
Slade gave us a lift of his chin from where he stood at the base of the slope. His eyes lit up, a huge grin splitting his face. “Fight!” You would’ve thought Muhammed Ali was down there by the way he’d said it. Nothing like a good fight. After all, riding and fighting were who we were.
We made our way over to check it out. The Broken Blades, our frenemies from Nebraska, were arguing with another club. My face fell. The Prez of the Blades was arguing with Dig.
Ah shit. Dig was facing off with the club he’d wanted to make an alliance with? Over what?
Notch, the Blade’s VP, had some teenage girl tied to a leash and was pulling her around, making her available to everybody. She didn’t seem to mind, she was laughing, and so were the men standing around them.
“Don’t you think she’s a little young for this shit?” Dig bit out, his face red, veins popping along his neck. His bros shoved him back and held onto him as he argued with Notch and the Blades Prez, Zed.
“You gonna tell us how we gonna be?” Zed yelled. “Fuck no!”
Battle lines drawn, excuses made, attitudes hardened, weapons at the ready.
“He gets in my face one more time, that’s gonna be the end of him,” declared Notch as he pushed his little underage bitch, sporting a bikini and a bulging fanny pack slung around her waist, toward two other Blades. Most likely Notch has stuffed that fanny pack with all sorts of narcotic goodies. His men latched onto her like hungry puppies being rewarded with bacon for good behavior.
Notch was a known freak, but who the hell wasn’t? To overstep the way Dig did just now was not done, especially with an officer of another club. And it wasn’t over an old lady, but some random piece of ass. I guess Dig had moral principles.
Dig’s troubled eyes snagged on mine, an eyebrow jumped. He knew he’d stepped over the line. I shook my head at him, and a shadow passed over his straining features. He was pulled away like a wild animal having been given a tranquilizer, crumpling in his brothers’ hold. His old lady and that Butler guy came running.
I pressed my lips together. I wouldn’t be telling Kwik about Dig’s offer, Dig’s grand idea, even though it sounded useful to us. I couldn’t now. This sort of hostility between the Jacks and the Blades was a liability and it could only get worse. So much for a “velvet network.” Fuck, on the turn of a dime, on tempers and highs, plans get destroyed like a glass slipping out of your hands, shattering on the floor around you.
End of story before it had even begun.
Shame.
“Fuck, what a mess,” muttered Drac.
We kept walking, heading for a concert on the other end of the campsite. The rest of the evening we partied, we had fun. Little did we realize, that night’s mess would create a monster pissing bitterness and rage for years to come.
One day I would be the one who’d slash its throat and make it bleed.