16

IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT at Juke’s Joint and the bar is crowded with Death Mob. More members are pouring in from other states and like Roach said, they’re showing their teeth. And of course, ours are bigger. Only a few cars are out front, which tells me that the only citizens are the people working. They know enough by now to keep their mouth shut. If they don’t, I’ll remind them.

Shady pulls in next to me and I’m sure he is gonna say something stupid to really piss me off. I’m surprised when he doesn’t. I look over at him and his face says he’s ready. Kill-mode ready.

Inside, it’s the typical late-night pool hall. A heavy cloud of smoke hangs in the air, the lighting is dim, and the place smells like beer and piss. I do a quick count and I see seventeen patches. That’s two more than the bikes outside. So either someone is riding bitch or one of the three cars in the parking lot belong to Death Mob.

Behind the bar, a young girl and an older man are working. The owner and a barmaid. That accounts for the other two vehicles. Shady goes to the bar and orders a beer, then says something to the owner, who looks over at me, then nods and steps in the back, taking the barmaid with him.

Only a few noticed when we walked in, but we now have everyone’s attention. Metallica’s “Sad But True” is the only sound, and I can’t keep thoughts of her out of my head. I walk to the jukebox and unplug it from the wall, thinking that it would probably make me feel better if I just smashed the fucking thing in.

The crowd has gathered closer to me, hovering around a pool table, almost closing me in a corner. Good. I like fighting my way out. I put eyes on Shady, who is still at the bar, drinking his beer as if it’s just another Saturday night. He is watching, but doesn’t look the least bit worried. The SA steps forward. I should have known his big ass would be the first one to say something. I’m glad. I like him least anyway.

“I like that song.” Really, motherfucker? That’s the best intimidating line you got? Idiot.

“We think it’s about time y’all get outta Texas,” I tell him, hoping like hell that he takes another step so I can break his fucking legs.

“We?” I hate when they try to play calm. What I want to say is, Control your fucking breathing, dick, then you might actually convince me that you ain’t scared. But I don’t. I let him know so that there is no misunderstanding.

“Sinner’s Creed Nationals. They’ve sent me to ask you nicely to leave. You have your territory and we have ours. We don’t fuck with the northeast and y’all don’t fuck with the southwest. That’s the rules. If you want to expand your business in Arkansas or Louisiana, we can negotiate that territory. But Texas is covered.” That’s how you play calm, and my words are as smooth as satin. I promised to be nice, but only once.

“Sent you to ask us nicely, huh?” He nods his head, looking around the room at his brothers, who all stand stock-still. They’re glaring at me with their arms crossed over their chests. It looks like a scene in an action movie. If I were a laugher, this would be one of my shining moments. When I look over at Shady, he is smiling, fighting hard not to laugh. He sees it too. “So we can stay in the northeast, and we can negotiate for Arkansas and Louisiana, just not Texas.” That’s what I said, dipshit.

“That’s right.” There’s your confirmation, motherfucker. Now, start swingin’ or get the hell out.

“I’ve heard about you, Dirk, but you don’t know shit about me. So, let me enlighten you on something. I don’t just tuck my tail between my legs and run. Regardless of what y’all think, Sinner’s Creed don’t run shit. Now, why don’t you turn around and walk outta here, before your little brother over there has to spend the next few weeks spoon-feeding you.”

I’m ready to put his head through the pool table when I’m caught off guard by Shady’s commotion. When I see him make a dramatic scene trying to get over to me, I know his sarcastic, smart-ass, goofy fucking tactics are fixing to have us brawling. And I can’t fucking wait.

“Dirk! Dirk!” Shady is serious as fuck, pushing his way through the crowd toward me. He’s made a huge circle through all of them, shouting my name and mumbling excuse mes like he is trying to prevent me from doing something stupid.

“One minute,” he mouths to the SA, who looks just as confused as everyone else. Shady grabs my arm and turns me so that my back is to the group. I fight hard not to push him away, but I know there is an underlying meaning to his ridiculous fucking behavior.

“Six are packing heat, others just knives and wrenches. Dude in the back, far left, has a couple of broken beer bottles. I don’t know about SA, couldn’t get my hands on ’em. I got one in the chamber, ten in the clip and a .380 on my ankle.”

He pauses long enough to look at me, and the excitement dancing in his eyes has me smirking for the first time in days. “If it turns into a gunfight, I can get us out the door, but we gotta leave on foot. That’s plan A.” He looks back and I glance over my shoulder, watching as he holds his finger up before turning back around.

“Plan B, we leave alive and come back later. Do it the smart way where the odds aren’t so against us. Your call, brother. I’m down for whatever.” And he is.

If there was a shoot-out tonight, chances were two of the bodies on the floor would be ours. I’d let my personal shit interfere with my club life, and now a brother’s life was at risk. So was my club. If a war broke out between Sinner’s Creed and Death Mob, Dorian would come knocking on our door. We couldn’t afford the heat with the Underground. I couldn’t disrespect my patch. I couldn’t shame my club. And I couldn’t bury Shady with his blood on my hands.

“Plan B,” I say, and no sooner than the words are outta my mouth, the SA is talking. By the time he speaks the first word, I know our plans are about to change.

“Saylor Samson. Maybe you should just run on home to her. From what I hear, she needs you right about now. She sure is sweet too. She tastes just like oranges.”

I’m still turning around when Shady makes his first move and puts a bullet right between the eyes of the SA. Guns are drawn and shots are fired in a matter of seconds. I duck behind the jukebox, using it as my shield as Shady finds cover behind the pool table across from me.

When I hear the first click of an empty clip, I nod and Shady fires over his head while I stick mine out and focus on the remaining targets. I pump two shots into one of them while Shady’s reckless aim, used only for a distraction, drops three and has the remaining diving for cover. He keeps shooting while I reload, then stand, exposing myself, dropping two more while making my way to where Shady is.

The sound of Velcro while Shady unstraps the gun from his ankle is the only noise in the room. I only have a few rounds left, but I slide out the clip and push it back, making it sound like a full reload.

“Ready?” I ask Shady, my hushed word barely audible over the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“Yeah.”

I nod and we stand together, guns drawn, and face a room with several sets of hands in the air.

“Stand up,” I command, and they do without hesitation. They look like they are ready to die, their chins held high in the air with pride written on their faces. Shady scans the bodies on the floor, looking for signs of life and not finding any. I see legs moving behind a table and jerk my head for Shady to check it out.

“Gut shot. He might live.” For the first time, I realize the president and vice president are not here. And four of the five standing are Prospects. I look around the room and find that almost all the bodies on the floor are wearing brand-new patches. Their leather isn’t worn, their threads aren’t dirty, and none of their faces match the ones from the other night—other than the SA.

“What’s his rank?” I ask Shady, who pushes the man to his side despite his painful cries.

“Patch holder.”

“What’s his chances?” I hear the man yell in protest as Shady checks him out.

“Aw shit, he’s good. Lost some blood, but it didn’t hit nothing important. You want me to finish him?” Shady’s nonchalance shouldn’t be comforting, but it is.

“Nah,” I say before turning my gun on the only patch holder standing and put a bullet through his skull. The pride the Prospects once wore is diminishing now that they are looking at what could be their final moment. I should fuck with them, but I won’t. They’re almost innocent. It pisses me off that none of them were packing. Their sponsor probably told them they couldn’t carry.

“Turn around,” I demand, and the lip of one begins to quiver as he obeys. I walk around them so I can look into the face of the wounded man on the floor. “Why are they prospecting when you have been handing out patches to everyone else?” He hesitates to answer and Shady puts the toe of his boot in his side. He yells and when Shady releases it, he starts talking.

“They didn’t come from an MC. The only way you can roll up without prospecting is if you came from a three-patch MC.” His information isn’t enough to betray his club, but if he answers my next question, that information will.

“Why are you building an army?” Silence. Just as I had predicted. He was loyal to a degree, at least. When Shady pushes against his side again, he talks but it’s not what I want to hear. I predicted that too.

“Fuck you! I ain’t saying shit!” he screams at Shady, who looks at me. I shake my head, a move I’ve grown accustomed to here lately.

“You’re gonna talk, but it ain’t gonna be to us. You seem like a smart man, so I’m only gonna say this once. If you fuck it up, your wife and kids will be getting a visit from us. If you don’t have a wife and kids, we’ll get your mother, your father, your grandma, your exes, fucking mailman . . . something. We will find your weakness and we will torture them in front of you. If y’all been talking about me like I think you have, then you know I don’t make idle threats. Your SA made this shit personal. And he fucking paid for it. This wasn’t an act of Sinner’s Creed. It was an act of Dirk. You tell them that. If you wage a war with our club, you will lose. If the club wants to retaliate, tell them to bring all they got to me, I’ll be waiting.”

I turn back to the Prospects, who wear a look that tells me they are fixing to puke or cry. “When they ask you, and they will, you better let them know what that motherfucker said to me about my ol’ lady. Remind them of the uninvited visit they paid to property of Sinner’s Creed. If you don’t, it’ll be your door I’m knocking on.”

I gauge their reactions and find the one that looks the most guilty. I put my gun behind my back and step up to him, his forehead only a couple of inches from my nose.

“Saylor,” I say, the name burning the back of my throat like a fucking torch. His eyes widen and I know he knows something. “How do you know her?”

The man on the floor starts to say something, but Shady silences him. “Don’t lie to me. I really don’t want to kill you.”

He looks nervously over at the pool table, knowing that although he can’t see the man, he will know him by his voice. “Shady, explain to our friend over there what’s gonna happen if he or any of his brothers puts a hand on one of these Prospects.” I can hear Shady’s muffled voice and the man’s low cries. He won’t touch him. “Talk.”

“I don’t. I was told to follow her and I have been. She goes to this clinic and the club found out she was sick.” He pauses and I know it pains him to say it, but not as much as it’s gonna pain me to hear it. “She’s dying.” The sadness in his eyes is real. And I wonder if he has ever encountered Saylor, or if he is affected by her from a distance.

“How do they know that? Did she tell you?”

“No! Tick, the SA, he talked to her but all he said was that he was your friend. They were in the lobby at the hospital. He never went back . . .” He trails off and I pull my gun from behind my back. I place the barrel right between his eyes, scared that even though this isn’t his fault, his answer might make me angry enough to kill this innocent kid.

“Did he touch her?” I snarl, feeling a mixture of panic and anger forming inside of me.

“He just kissed her hand.” I lower my gun, the relief that he only saw her in a public place and that she wasn’t harmed, almost bringing me to my knees. The anger inside me dies. The panic dies. Saylor will soon die. My sadness is back.

“Get him to a hospital.” I sidestep the Prospects, and Shady is beside me as we jog to our bikes. Sirens are in the distance and I’m sure they’re not for us. Nothing neighbors the building, and the traffic from the interstate is loud enough to drown out any sound that might reach a passing car. But the noise is enough to have me distancing myself from the scene as fast as possible.

And there isn’t a sound loud enough to drown out the Prospect’s words that are screaming in my head. “She’s dying.”

—

As soon as we returned to the clubhouse, Shady put a call in to Jackson, ordering the chapter to keep eyes on Saylor 24-7. If any member of Death Mob came within a five-mile radius of her, they would handle it. It should be me protecting her, but I’m still battling with my pride, and my pride is still winning.

Other than a flesh wound on my arm, which I’m just now feeling, and a small cut on Shady’s cheek from a shattered window, we returned unscathed. Shady, sensing my need to calm my nerves, fires up a blunt outside and passes it to me. The familiar burn in my lungs is enough to calm my racing heart and bring me off of my adrenaline high. And enough to put me on one that will have me not giving a shit about what’s gonna happen when other Death Mob chapters find out that we just killed twelve of their men.

“This might create a shit storm and I’m good with that, but we need to talk,” Shady says, interrupting the silence and the smoke haven I’m in. I’ll never understand why people feel the need to fuck up a perfectly good moment with conversation. I ignore him, hoping it will work but knowing good and damn well it won’t. “You need to go back to her.” Her. The one that is dying.

“Not another word, Shady.” It’s my final warning. I take another drag, breathing the smoke deep into my lungs, and hold it, letting this burn replace the one at the mention of her.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Dirk.” Maybe I didn’t hear him right. Shady has never been this ballsy around me. I’m about to ask him to repeat himself just so I can be sure I heard him right, when he starts again.

“The girl is dying, Dirk. She’s dying.” I’m on my feet and so is he. I’m going to shut him up since he lacks the capability of doing it himself. But there is a gun pointed at my head.

“Just as sure as God made little green apples and I’m standing here, I’ll take your fucking ear off if you don’t hear me out.” He is telling the truth, but I’d rather have my ear shot off than have to listen to him.

Before I can take a full step, I feel the skin on my arm shred just below the other flesh wound. “The next one will be your dick.” The sound of the gunshot drew a crowd, but I tell them to leave us alone. Reluctantly, they do.

“Okay motherfucker, you got my attention,” I spit through my teeth. My arm is fucking killing me, but I won’t let him know that.

“She loves you. I don’t know why, but she does. People like me and you, Dirk, we don’t get women like her. For some reason, you got lucky. So she’s sick and she didn’t tell you. Did you tell her what you did? Did she know that the man she was sleeping with every night had killed more people than Hitler’s fucking army? Man, you’re so fucking blessed and you don’t even see it.”

Shady puts his gun away. Either he is tired of fighting or he thinks I’ll stay here and listen. He’s wrong. I walk away, but even though I can’t see his face, it doesn’t stop me from hearing his voice.

“We all gotta die, Dirk. And we never know when. We take each day for granted. But you know exactly how long you have to make this life mean something. Don’t fuck it up, Dirk.” I’m searching for a comeback. I’m digging for an excuse. But the truth is, Shady’s right, and I got nothing.

—

The last person I expected to see walk through the door of the Houston clubhouse was Roach. But here he was, in old, gray flesh. It’s been two days since the shoot-out and we’d heard nothing. For Roach to be showing up less than forty-eight hours after couldn’t be good. I stand to hug him, but we make no pleasantries. I follow him out back, where I find Shady and Jimbo waiting. Shit. This is bad.

“Turner and Hooch. Dillon and Festus. Fucking Bonnie and Clyde.” Roach is pissed. Jimbo is pissed. I’m anxious. Shady looks confused. He mouths “I’m not Bonnie” to me and I want to slap him. This shit is serious. And I sure as fuck ain’t Bonnie.

“I said handle it. Not shoot up a whole fucking chapter. Do you have any idea the heat I’m getting? Dorian is gonna have my balls once he catches wind of this.” He’s right. It was handled wrong. It doesn’t matter that if Shady hadn’t pulled the trigger first, I would have done it. But I did make sure to let them know this was on me. Not the club. And I’m pretty sure Roach already knows that and it probably pissed him off more. We are a club. A family. A brotherhood. We stand behind each other right or wrong. No I in team and all that shit.

“Roach,” Shady starts and I wish he would just keep his mouth shut. “The motherfucker made it personal.” I know the hell that is coming next.

“You think I give a shit about your fucking personal lives?” He turns to me and I know he is about to make this shit real personal. “You’re a fucking idiot, Dirk.” I’ve been called that a lot here lately, but it hurts more coming from him. And because it’s true.

“If you ain’t there to take care of your ol’ lady then she ain’t your fuckin’ ol’ lady. If you would’ve been there, then they never would have showed up. You left her, dumb-ass. You been walking around here for two weeks with your little pink panties in a twist. Man the fuck up. If you want her, go get her. If you don’t, then quit putting the whole club at risk because of her.”

Roach takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. He looks like death, and if I already didn’t feel like shit, this moment would make me. I’ve disappointed him. It’s a shitty feeling.

“Disappear for a while. Both of you. At least until I can get this shit cleaned up.”

They leave, and Shady and I are left feeling like kids who just got sent to their room. I don’t know what his plans are, but mine are forming in my head. Fast.

“I’m heading down to Mexico. See ya around, Dirk.” Shady’s leaving and I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll ever see him. We don’t know what tomorrow holds. But, if I knew he only had six months to live, I know what I would tell him.

“Thanks, Shady. For everything.” I walk away before he wants a hug or some shit. Shady’s destination is Mexico. So is mine, but I have a stop to make first.