We walk in so many twists and turns that I’m not sure I’d be able to re-trace my steps and find where we’d started out. Perhaps that was the point. I’d heard rumors that the Angels made the complex as complicated as possible to make it even harder for law enforcement to find whatever they might go looking for. It was a strategy that seemed to be working out for them pretty well so far.
Eventually we end up in an open area between two buildings with a few upturned beer kegs acting as chairs. The ground is littered with empty beer bottles and metal caps, and in the midst of it all sits Scar. He’s whittling a piece of wood with a huge knife that looks more like a machete. His bare arms are covered in tattoos and there are a number of chains around his neck. He wears his signature black bandana over his head and there on his cheek is the long line of pale skin that gave him his biker name. An ugly scar that stretches from under his right eye down to the line of his jaw.
Abruptly he looks up and catches sight of me staring at his namesake. Instead of looking away and avoiding his gaze, I stand my ground and keep my eyes trained on his. A shadow of something that looks like amusement passes across his face before he goes back to concentrating on the piece of wood he’s sharpening.
“Here he is, boss.” Elvis states the obvious, sounding too pleased with himself.
“I can see that, genius.” Scar doesn’t even look at him as he responds and I steal a look at Elvis’s face, satisfied that he’s embarrassed at being shown up in front of the new guy.
Elvis looks at Spike and Spike looks at Elvis, neither really sure what it is that they’re supposed to do now. It would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that I know these men would as soon cut me a smile as they would crack one themselves.
“Do you want us to...?” Elvis asks Scar, leaving the question open so their illustrious leader can fill in the blank with whatever it is that he may need from them.
“Leave? Yes.” Scar continues to concentrate on his knife-work and his tone demonstrates that he’s used to people taking orders without question. That’s what it means to be the leader of the Angels—obedience without a second thought. It’s not hard to see the appeal. Who doesn’t want to have the power to do what they want, when they want, without fear of anyone telling them otherwise?
“Sure thing, boss.” Elvis almost falls over himself to get out of Scar’s sight. For a moment I wonder if he’s going to bow. But he doesn’t. Instead he fixes me with a look that tells me he’ll be taking full advantage of my being a new patch. “I’ll see you soon, Summers,” he says under his breath as he turns to go, Spike in tow.
“I can hardly wait,” I reply, just loud enough for Scar to hear me. I know that I need to play the game here, and the best way of staying ahead is to make it clear that I’m not someone that can be pushed around. I’m someone that will push back.
When the other men have gone, I turn back to face Scar and stand tall, crossing my arms and wait for whatever’s coming next. Without saying anything, he motions for me to take a seat on the beer keg nearest to him. I think about resisting for a moment and standing on my own two feet, but the truth is, after the little recreational beating Spike and Elvis decided to lay on me, taking a load off sounds pretty good. I walk over slowly and sit myself down gingerly, wincing a little as a shiver of pain radiates out from my lower ribs. I wonder how long I’m going to have Spike’s boot tip imprinted on me.
“Things get a bit rough out there this morning?” Scar asks without looking up. But it’s clear that he hasn’t missed anything. The tension between Elvis and me wasn’t lost on him.
I shrug. I know how this works. The Angels are a brotherhood and you don’t rat out a brother, no matter what he’s done.
Scar doesn’t push any further, but he finally puts down the piece of wood that he’s created into a mini spear. He keeps the knife in his hand and twirls it absently between his fingers as he leans back and assesses me.
“Elvis is a punk,” he says suddenly, and it’s a statement of fact rather than an opinion. “You get them in all MCs. Not everyone is here because of the brotherhood. Some people just like to feel important.”
“Whereas you created the Bleeding Angels for the good of humanity?” I ask, raising my eyebrows as I look at him. I know that I should keep my mouth shut but I’m not an Angel yet and, in the meantime, I’m still going to be me.
Scar does the last thing I would’ve expected from him. He barks out a laugh and his eyes look genuinely fully of mirth. “You’re funny, kid.” His words and tone are appreciative and there’s something more in his expression, but I can’t quite figure it out.
We sit like that for a little while, neither saying anything, just weighing each other up. I notice that we’re both sitting in the same way, with our legs spread out ahead of us. I shift positions—I don’t want anything in common with this guy, even if it’s only the way that we sit.
“In answer to your question—no, the Bleeding Angels aren’t a humanitarian organization. This isn’t our answer to the UN.” He barks out another laugh and there’s a twinkle in his eye as he does. “We’re about freedom,” he confides in me. “The Angels are somewhere that you can be yourself, whoever that may be. You can do what you want to do, say what you want to say, and there’s no one to tell you that you can’t.”
Scar is someone who—if you didn’t know who he is and what he’s done—you’d probably find pretty charming. He’s likable. He comes across as a guy you could have a beer with and shoot the shit. But that’s only if you don’t know him. Still, I have to remind myself that he’s a dangerous man that has damn near destroyed this town.
“That all sounds great, but where do the drugs and the beatings and the killings come into it?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter. I can’t fall into the trap of being charmed by Scar.
Instead of growling at me or putting his knife to use, as I nearly expect him to, he just waves my concerns away like I don’t know what I’m talking about. “Sometimes to make an omelet you gotta break a few eggs. That’s all it is.” He shrugs as if nothing could be simpler.
“And you take the time to give this little pep talk to all the new Patches?” I ask, my dubiousness clear in my tone. “There must be at least three or four other guys that have just turned 20—do they have the honor of a little one-on-one time with you too?”
Scar seems to consider my questions for a little while. I’m still not quite sure why he’s letting me get away with being so challenging. From what I’ve heard of Scar, he’s not a man that hesitates in knocking you down if you do something that doesn’t work for him. “Not all men are born equal,” he says eventually. “Some of the new Patches are just that and some are… more important.”
I wait for him to explain, but at this he falls silent. I’m not really sure what to say or what to make of his words. The memory of Aimee asking why I was so important to the Angels flits across my brain, but I don’t hold onto it—the thought of her is still a little too painful.
“And what? I’m ‘more important,’ is that what you’re saying?” I ask, trying to make sense of what it is that I’m hearing.
“You could be, if you took control for once. You could be more important than a lot of these little punks.” Scar studies me as if he’s searching for something in my face. I’m not sure if he finds it or not.
When I don’t give him the response he’s looking for, or any response at all for that matter, he sighs and starts pacing up and down in the dirt in front of me. He’s restless and almost wolfish in the way that he moves. I know the feeling of needing to move to get the energy out—it’s something I’m pretty familiar with. It would drive my mom crazy when I would do it in the house, and she said she couldn’t stand it. It was one of the few things that really made her mad and I never could quite figure out why.
“You’ve been led around by your dick by this Winters girl. You’ve been all moon-eyed, trailing after her like a little lost puppy. It’s pathetic.” Scar fixes me with a stare to make sure that I’m aware he’s referring to me—that I’m pathetic.
“Being in love is pathetic?” I ask, standing up myself. There’s something about being looked down on physically that I’ve never liked. At least on my feet I feel more like an equal rather than a subject.
“Love.” The bitterness in the way that Scar says the word makes me wonder what the hell happened to him. “There’s no such thing as love. There’s sex and there’s hunger and there’s kidding yourself. That’s all. And you, my friend, are kidding yourself.” He shakes his head like I’ve disappointed him somehow and, in spite of myself, I feel a little angry for letting him down. What are you talking about, Summers? Get your head in the game. This is Scar, not fucking Santa Claus.
“What does Aimee have to do with any of this?” I manage to say her name without sounding like I’m choking on it. It’s a small victory, but it’s mine.
“It’s not just her; it’s all of them.” Scar makes an expansive motion with his arms as if to gesture toward the whole world. “Your momma, she let you do what you wanted to? Bill, that grease-monkey father of yours, he’s had you working in the body shop since you were old enough to hold a wrench. You don’t think they’re trying to control you? Just like that little piece of ass, Winters, was controlling you. She had your balls in her hand, boy, and when she had the chance she gave them a good squeeze.” At this Scar chuckles to himself, like the idea is the funniest thing he’s heard in a while.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but you don’t know anything about my family or Aimee. So I don’t know what ground-breaking point you’re trying to make here, but why don’t you peddle it over to some of the other patches? I’m not interested in buying any bullshit today.” The words come out in a rush of anger and I stand there breathing hard, shoulders squared, ready for whatever Scar is going to throw at me.
But instead he closes the distance between us and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t make a mistake here, Jake. You have all the potential; you could be the next president of this MC. I’m not going to be around forever.”
My head jerks up at this as I process what Scar has just said. “What about Ryan? He’s next in line.”
“Ryan’s too much of a loose cannon. I need someone that I can trust, someone with brains and brawn. You’re someone the boys would look up to. They’d respect you. This could be yours.” Scar holds up his arms to take in the Angels’ complex. “If you want it, that is.” I’m so shocked that I’m not sure how to frame my reply. I don’t even know what it is that I want to say. “You don’t have to answer now. Just think about it.” Scar pats me on the shoulder in an almost fatherly way.
“What if I don’t want it? What if I don’t want any of it?” I ask, the question nearly bursting out of my chest.
This act of insubordination is the one that finally tips Scar over the edge, and he turns towards me as quick as a flash and raises his finger to me as if it were a weapon.
“Whatever you decide, Jakey-boy, you’re an Angel now.” His voice is deceptively low and calm, but I can see the fire brimming in his eyes. We’re almost exactly the same height and I can see that the hardness in my features is mirrored in his. “And no Angel lets a woman castrate him, you got that?”
I don’t respond. I just keep holding Scar’s gaze as if my life depended on it.
“Aren’t you ashamed? Humiliated at what that bitch did to you? How she came running here to fuck Ryan like the whore that she is?” Scar is taunting me and I react without even thinking.
I advance on Scar and grab him round the throat as if I’m about to throttle him. “Never, never say that again. You know nothing about it!” I roar into his face. I can feel my free hand shaking as the rage rides through me.
“Good, so there is some life in there.” Scar smiles in satisfaction as I realize that this had been some kind of sick test. I release his throat and he rubs it absently. “Good grip.” He sounds almost proud.
“Are you happy? That’s what you were pushing for, a reaction. That’s right, isn’t it?” I ask as the realization hits me.
Scar shrugs. “I just wanted to see that you had some fight in you. There’s no point in becoming an Angel if you’ve got a bigger pussy than your girlfriend.”
A laugh coming from behind makes me whirl around and I come face to face with the person that sets my teeth on edge.
“Speaking of your girlfriend’s pussy...” Scar jokes as he catches sight of Ryan. I want to blast the smile off of his face.
“Hey, Summers!” Ryan greets me like we’re long lost friends, holding out his hand for a shake. He looks up at me through his greasy platinum fringe, smiling like an innocent kid. “No hard feelings; we’re brothers now after all.”
I can see out of the corner of my eye that Scar is watching and judging the exchange.
“We are not and we never will be brothers.” I spit the last word out and leave Ryan with his hand in mid-air.
That crazy look that Ryan gets before he’s about to flip his shit starts to build, and I wonder how long I have before he pulls a knife on me.
“Have it your way, Summers,” Ryan says eventually, withdrawing his hand and sounding calmer than I thought possible. “Just remember that I own you now. You’re a new Patch, so your ass is mine.” The joy with which he says the words makes me wonder just how long he’s been waiting to have this opportunity. Probably too long.
“Ryan,” Scar warns, “That’s not how we treat our new recruits.” He folds his arms and gives his son a pointed look that speaks volumes.
I can see Ryan’s nostrils flaring out like a horse as he tries to get his emotions in check. He obviously hadn’t expected his father to discipline him in front of someone who, up to a day ago, was the enemy.
“You’ll have to excuse him, Jake. Sometimes he just gets a little excitable.” Scar speaks low, confiding in me as if Ryan wasn’t even there. “Now, it’s time for you both to get a move on. Why don’t the two of you take the opportunity to get to know each other?” He makes the suggestion all too casually.
“What opportunity? Where are we going?” I ask, eyeing Scar and still doing my best to ignore Ryan. Whenever I look at him I can’t help but think about him with Aimee and it just kills me. Or, I guess it would be more accurate to say, it makes me want to kill him.
“You’re becoming an Angel, so it’s time you got your first tat.” Scar sounds almost excited as he says the words, and I can’t help but wonder why he seems to be taking my particular patching so personally.
“So all that crap about taking control of my own life and doing what I want to do, that was all bull? I have to be tatted just like every other Patch?” I know that I’m challenging Scar, but I feel a little more confident in my position than I did. He’s made it clear that there’s something I have, or something that I am, which interests him. I figure that gives me some power, no matter how small.
A toothy smile spreads across Scar’s face and he waggles his finger at me. “I know what you’re trying to do. Like I said, you’re a smart kid, Jake.” His voice is appreciative as he comes towards me and throws a companionable arm around my shoulder as if we were buddies. “It’s a nice try, but just remember you came here of your own free will. We didn’t force you. You decided that being an Angel was a better option than whatever you had waiting for you out there.” For the first time I can’t hold his gaze, and instead I look down at the floor, knowing that what he’s saying is true and feeling a little ashamed that I had been so reckless. “So don’t be so resistant to everything. Your tattoo is a symbol that you’re with us—that’s it.”
The sincerity in his eyes encourages me to believe him, but the lighthearted words and the amiable way that he’s behaving completely disagree with all that I’ve heard and believed about the bikers.
“So what’s the symbol? What am I getting tattooed onto me?” Scar and I are focused on each other, as if Ryan isn’t even there.
“Well, like I said, the Bleeding Angels is a brotherhood.” Scar walks over to stand between Ryan and me and puts a hand on each of our shoulders. “So your brothers have chosen your tattoo.”
Now I understand why Ryan had been more or less content to keep quiet during the entire exchange. This was the carrot that he’d been given before this whole conversation even started. He’d been able to decide what permanent mark I put on my body. This must have been a dream come true for him.
“Do you know what it is?” I try to convince myself that if everything Scar had been saying to me was true, then he wouldn’t allow Ryan’s own petty sense of vengeance to interfere with me becoming an Angel.
Scar nods slowly, looking between Ryan and me. “I think it’s pretty fitting. You’ve finally found your way home. You know where you belong now. That’s what your tattoo is going to be about.” He looks satisfied with himself, and nods at the both of us dismissively before beginning to walk away. But then he suddenly turns around and snaps his fingers, having just recalled an important detail. “I didn’t talk about your Patch initiation. We’d got so carried away with everything we’ve been talking about I totally forgot.” He shakes his head as if he’s giving himself a hard time over having forgotten something so important. “Once you’ve had your tattoo drawn, you’re halfway to becoming a member of the Angels. You have to pass your initiation to become a full member.”
I know this much from all the stories I’ve heard and the initiations that I’ve seen. They could be anything from breaking into someone’s house to stealing a car. Whatever it was, if you planned on being able to walk out of the complex again, you had to do it. “No” is never an option.
“So what do I have to do?” I ask, readying myself for whatever they might have in store.
“Tonight, you go out to Sunny Side Up, that god-awful diner where your little girlfriend works, and you take everything out of the till they’ve got. And if the Winters girl is there and you need to slap her around a little to get what you need, that’s okay too.” Scar smiles encouragingly at me, but the idea makes me sick to my stomach.
“That little slut of yours, you’re done with her. Am I right?” Scar asks, ducking his head down and looking into my eyes. When he sees my hesitation he brings out the big guns again. “After the way she humiliated you and came running over here to Ryan like a bitch in heat. You still want to tap that? What was it she said to you, Ryan?”
“Said I was the best she ever had,” Ryan confirms, shrugging like he can’t help his sexual powers of persuasion. “Told me how she’d never had it so good, especially when I put it in that sweet little ass of hers.” Ryan smiles as he sees the expression on my face change. I want to scream and punch and vomit all at the same time as his words sink in. “You never had her there, did you, Summers? You missed out, I’m telling you man. Maybe you can have another go-round if you don’t mind me having had her first. I’m a pretty democratic guy; I don’t mind sharing.” He smiles leeringly, enjoying the abuse.
“That’s what I’m saying, Jake.” Scar tightens his hold around my shoulders, leaning closer to me. “She’s nothing—just a goddam whore. And you’re an Angel. You’re the shit, so she should consider herself lucky to lick your boots.” Scar’s voice is low and his eyes are clouded with something that looks a little like nostalgia. I’m not so sure that he’s talking about me and Aimee anymore. I wonder who the woman is in his past that’s made him so jaded.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say to Ryan, and I see Scar’s expression of delight at my change attitude.
“Like I said, you’re a smart guy, Jake. I knew you’d see sense.” The leader of the Bleeding Angels claps me on the back and nods for Ryan to lead me away.
As Ryan takes me towards a bank of motorbikes that look like they’ve been recently buffed and shined, I think about everything that Scar has said to me and I wonder how things have spiraled so far out of control so quickly.