Minus

“Who the fuck are you buying his weed from, Warthog? Willie Nelson?”

Cutter bellowed with laughter and smoke continued to pour from his lungs. “I forgot how funny you are when you’re not being so damned serious, Minus.” His laughter continued, and then turned to coughing; deep and violent, causing him to stagger back a step. Warthog immediately sprang to his feet, taking Cutter by the elbow, helping to stabilize him.

“I’m fine, goddammit!” Cutter protested, waving Warthog off, sitting down on top of his large mahogany desk, before continuing. “I’m serious, Minus. I’m retiring, and I want you to be the president of the club.”

“You want me to be...” I couldn’t form the words needed to complete the sentence. This was fucking absurd.

“And,” Cutter looked at Cricket, “I want her to help you.”

Cricket let out a gasp as she shot me a look of pure disgust.

“Well... what do you think?” Cutter asked, his arms stretched out, ready to receive the glory for bestowing his brilliant master plan upon us.

If earlier today, you’d asked me to make a list of all the potential reasons Cutter may have asked me here tonight, him giving me his president’s patch, with Cricket by my side, would not have made the top one million possibilities. By comparison, him killing me would have made the top three. After a few stunned moments I finally managed to continue.

“What do I think? I think you’re out of your goddamned mind. I think those doctors examined the wrong fucking end. I think you must have brain cancer instead of colon cancer, and that it’s rotting away your ability to form logical, rational thoughts.”

“Minus!” Cricket chided.

“You stay the fuck out of this!” I snapped, causing Cricket to rise to her feet.

She jabbed her finger repeatedly into my chest like an angry woodpecker. “Don’t you ever presume that you can tell me what to do, Jase Vincent. I wasn’t about to take your shit back when we were younger, and I’m certainly not gonna start now.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, stunned. I had no idea why she was pissed at me, when Cutter was the one that stirred up all this nonsense.

“I’m not the same person I was when you left, Minus. That naïve girl is far behind me; she’s a distant memory, so I’m not about to feed into your ‘big swinging dick just came back into town’ macho, alpha male routine.

I looked straight at her and grinned. “That girl may be a distant memory, but she clearly remembers my big swingin’—”

A slap in the face I could have handled without flinching, but she hit me with a fist; a good one, and she was wearing a ring. She cut me deep across the cheek, directly under my left eye. Blood immediately began to pour from my face, as I staggered back in surprise, throwing Cutter into another fit of laughter/coughing.

“What the fuck, Cricket?” I applied pressure to the wound as blood ran down my forearm.”

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again. In fact, don’t ever talk to me again, period.” Her eyes were burning with rage, and I’d never felt such a mixture of shame and desire before. At that moment I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. I also felt wholly unworthy of her and ashamed of the way I’d been treating her all night. I had been completely off balance since the moment I saw her. She’d always had that effect on me, and her presence here tonight, of all nights, was as disorienting as ever.

“Cricket, I’m sorry—”

“Save it,” she snapped, before turning to Cutter. “And you. I don’t know what your sick game is here, or how exactly you figure I fit into all this, but let me please assure you that I want none of it. I have my own life, and my own plans, and they most certainly do not include misogynistic biker assholes or working for long lost stoner relatives.” Her face softened for a moment. “Look, I really am sorry that you’re sick, and I hope you get better, but please don’t contact me again.” With that, she walked out the door, leaving the three of us silent as I bled all over Cutter’s carpet.

* * *

Cricket

I left the Sanctuary and called an Uber to take me home, however, in a moment of what I was sure would end up being identified as “Jase Vincent induced insanity,” I instructed my driver to veer onto the freeway and head north. My hand was throbbing. It didn’t feel like I’d broken anything, but it was swelling up just enough to remind me of what a lunatic I’d been.

Arriving at my brother’s home, I stood on the porch for a few seconds, debating whether I was going to offer my life to him on a silver platter. He was going to go ballistic, and I wasn’t sure I was in the mood to suffer through a lecture.

Before I could act on any sense and leave, the front door was yanked open and Hatch stood in the foyer. “Why the fuck are you standin’ out here all alone, Cricket?” he asked with a chuckle.

I bit my lip. “Because I don’t know if I want to come in.”

He cocked his head. “Christina, get the fuck in here.”

I took a deep breath and walked inside. Hatch locked up and took my coat, and I hugged him. I think he was surprised, because it took a minute for him to hug me back. “Okay, what’s goin’ on little sister?” he asked, his arms closing around me like a vice.

“Cutter’s dying.”

Hatch took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know.”

I met his eyes in surprise. “You do?”

He nodded. “Come on, let’s talk inside.”

I followed him into the family room where his wife, Maisie, was curled up on the sofa with my niece, Poppy, watching a movie.

“Cricket!” Poppy said, jumping up. “Oh my gosh, you look so cute.”

I grinned. She always said that. It didn’t matter what I was wearing... case in point, tonight I wore jeans and a T-shirt, with my favorite Converse Hi-Tops. Nothing special at all. “Thanks, honey. What are you watching?”

“Princess Diaries.”

“Good choice.”

Poppy nodded. “It’s Mum’s favorite.”

I absolutely adored Poppy. She was, without a doubt, my favorite human being on the planet. Despite being a teenager, she didn’t have that angsty bitch thing goin’ on. She was sweet and adored our family.

“Guilty,” Maisie said, hugging me. “How are you, love? How’s work?”

“I’m good. Work’s great.” Maisie used to own Mann Industries, the company I currently worked for. She got me the job before selling it, and now I had been moved into the position of marketing manager. As happy as I was to be using the degree I went to school to earn, I can’t say I found too much satisfaction in my current day-to-day work life. Mostly, I was also trying to parlay the experience gained through my current position to launch my own business, I just wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted to focus on yet. I was truly grateful for my job, but there was an itch for adventure left unscratched in my life that was becoming harder for me to ignore.

“Cricket and I are gonna talk a bit,” Hatch said. “You guys finish your movie.”

“Okay, darling,” Maisie said, kissing him. “Cricket, say goodbye before you go, okay?”

“Of course,” I said, and followed Hatch downstairs to their epic finished basement.

“How did you find out about Cutter?” Hatch asked as we flopped onto the sofa.

“He summoned me.”

“To the Saints’ compound?” he growled. “And you went? Alone?”

I raised my hand and shook my head. “Nope. Grown woman here, big brother. None of the Saints would ever lay a finger on me, and you know it.”

“Goddammit, Cricket. The compound’s off-limits. Pretty sure I made that fact clear.”

“Pretty sure you’re not my boss, nor my parole officer,” I countered.

“Cutter knows the rules, Cricket. If Crow finds out about this, he’s gonna fuckin’ lose his mind.”

Crow was the president of Hatch’s MC, the Dogs of Fire. I loved my brother’s club. Cutter’s... not so much. Nor did any of the Dogs of Fire. There had been a long standing “bitter peace” between the two clubs, and me and Minus’s young romance didn’t help matters at all. Ultimately, it’s why Crow and Cutter made an agreement that family members wouldn’t darken each other’s doors. If my brothers or I wanted to see Cutter, we’d meet anywhere but one of the compounds. Cutter broke the rules when he summoned me, but I’d also broken them by going.

“In fairness to our uncle, Hatch, he is dying. It’s harder for him to get around in his condition.”

“You should have talked to me first.”

“Again, brother, grown ass woman here. I don’t have to ask your permission, I’m not in your club.”

He sighed. “Fair enough.”

I bit back a smile. I loved Maisie. She’d tempered my brother, and given him a peace he’d never had before. We’d had a tough life. Our mother had died when I was really little, then my father had been sent to prison after killing a man. Hatch had raised me and my three other brothers, alone, despite being barely an adult himself. I owed him everything. But that didn’t mean he still got to act like my dad.

“So, what did Cutter say?” he asked.

“He wants me and Minus—”

“What the fuck?” he snapped.

“Can I please finish?” I ground out.

“Minus was there?”

“Yes, but chill,” I said. “Cutter wants me and Minus to take over the Club.”

“Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me?” he hissed.

“Well, he was as high as a kite, so he’s obviously not in his right mind, but I figured you’d want to know what was going on.”

He dragged his hands down his face. “What the fuck is he up to?”

“On the surface, it looks like a dying man attempting to pass on his legacy... underneath, I have no idea. He brought Minus back, so it’s obviously more than it seems.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, I’m out. I have no intention of ever going back to their compound, or talking with Cutter, and I’d very much appreciate it if my big brother could fix it so I never see Jase “Minus” Vincent again.”

Hatch shook his head. “Fuck me, Cricket, I have no idea what to make of all this.”

“You think I do?”

He shook his head.

I rose to my feet. “Now, I’m gonna go hang with my niece and favorite sister. Please tell me you have beer.”

He chuckled. “Who are you talkin’ to?”

“And ice?”

“The beer’s plenty cold,” Hatch replied.

“No, not for my beer, for my hand.”

“What did you do to your hand?” he asked.

“Nothing big, I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, I just want to unwind.”

I grinned and led my brother up the stairs and back into the family room, where me and my ice pack settled close to Poppy, and we all watched the rest of the movie. Well, Hatch and Maisie snuggled close and she fell asleep, but Poppy and I managed to watch it and I ended up crashing on the sofa long after Poppy went to bed.

* * *

Minus

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Cutter said, as he walked around his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and small black medical bag; the kind doctors would take on house calls back in the day. “There should be some bandages, and ointment, and shit for your face in here. You can use my bathroom to clean up,” he said, handing me the bag, and motioning to the bathroom door.

“Cutter, what the fuck—”

“Just get cleaned up and meet me out there with the others. Just don’t take too long. You and I can talk about all this later. I’ve got to go talk to the club, and tell them what’s going on, but for now, let’s just keep this conversation, and its details, between us.”

I nodded, and he exited the office with Warthog in tow. I went to the bathroom mirror and got my first good look at my latest war wound. The minute I stopped applying direct pressure to it, blood would pour from my face. I was most definitely in need of a couple of stiches, and Cutter’s black bag had everything I needed, so I got to work.

Cricket was right to belt me, and I was happy to know that she’d become an even stronger person than when I’d last seen her. After tonight, she’d never believe how much I’d changed over the years, or how sorry I was about what just happened, but for now the sting of the suture needle would have to serve as my penance.

With Cutter’s whiskey serving as both antiseptic and pain killer, I got to work. When I was done, the bathroom looked like a crime scene, and my shirt was soaked in blood. I stripped it off, tossed it in the trash, and found a spare Harley shirt in Cutter’s desk drawer. I put my kutte back on, and with that, four crooked stiches and a whiskey buzz, I was ready for the ball.

“Holy shit, it is Minus!” A familiar voice called out as soon as I opened Cutter’s office door. Apparently, my presence at the clubhouse had not gone unnoticed.

“Hey, Grover. Long time, brother,” I said, greeting my old friend with an arm-wrestle handshake. Grover was one of the five I rode with back in the day including Clutch, Sweet Pea, and Ropes, who were brothers.

“I can’t believe it’s actually you, man. I thought I saw you come in earlier... holy shit! What the fuck happened to your face?”

I deflected his question with one of my own. “Hey, have you seen Cricket around anywhere?”

“Cricket? No man, I haven’t seen... holy shit! Did Cricket do this to you?” Grover was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and then went back for the rest of its family. “You’ve been in town for five fuckin’ minutes and you’re already up causing trouble? You’d better steer clear of Cutter, buddy.”

“Me and Cutter are good, for now I guess,” I replied.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Grover asked.

“Tell you what, Grover. I’ll let you know when I know. Now, where’s everyone else?”

“They’re in the great room. Come on, man, let’s go see what the fuck’s going on. God damn, it’s good to see you back home, brother,” Grover said smiling, one arm draped around me as we walked down the hall to the great room.

Just as we joined the others who’d already assembled, the floor shook with three loud thumps, immediately causing a hush among the rowdy crowd. Not a single Saint moved, or even dared blink. This was tradition among brothers; a sign of respect. Every Saint present knew the sound of these blows came from Red Dog’s staff.

“Fifteen years ago, a brother named Red Dog laid down his life for this club.” Cutter’s voice boomed as he broke the silence, staff raised high. “All of you in this room have heard of him, and what he did in sacrifice for his club. Many of you rode with him. A few of you, like me, were there when he died. Red Dog’s staff has become a symbol of leadership for our club, and a symbol of assembly. So, with this staff I officially call this meeting to disorder!”

The staff landed on the floor, three more times, causing the room to erupt in cheers and clinking bottles.

“Alright, you filthy fucking animals, calm down,” Cutter said, and the room began to hush. Warthog brought Cutter a high barstool, and took the staff from him.

Red Dog’s staff had started its life as a county hospital crutch he’d needed after a bad crash. Over the years, it had been modified several times, including extending and reinforcing the base, and once he’d died, affixing Red Dog’s actual skull on top. No one was sure how the club had obtained Red Dog’s skull, but there were many rumors and stories on the subject.

“I know you’re all wondering why the fuck we’re here tonight, and I also know that you’ve all been gossiping like a bunch of bitches since I called the meeting, so I won’t kill you with the suspense any longer,” Cutter said to laughs all around, as he kept direct eye contact with every Saint in the room. “Brothers, the time has come for me to hang up my riding gloves. I’m retiring as president of the Burning Saints.”

Clutch shot me a genuine look of surprise that let me know he had no idea this was coming. I simply shrugged back. Why would Cutter intentionally keep his Sergeant at arms in the dark, and yet try to give me, someone he hates, the staff?

“That’s not all,” Cutter continued. “Due to some serious health issues, it turns out I may not be with you brothers for much longer. As it turns out, I don’t have a whole lot of road ahead of me.”

“Bullshit, Cutter! Can’t nothin’ kill you!” a brother named Wolf shouted, with cheers from the crowd.

“I appreciate that, boys, I do, but it’s true. I’m too sick to ride, and we all know the code. If you can no longer ride, you can no longer hold office, so it’s time for the staff to go to someone else. Normally, that person would be the club’s VP, but we all know that Big Frank here is a lazy bastard, and has apparently worn out his knees doing God knows what.”

The crowd laughed as Big Frank raised his hands in mock resignation. I laughed too, but my head was throbbing. Partly from Cricket’s right cross, but mostly from the mental strain of trying to figure out what the fuck was going on here.

The crowd of assembled Saints murmured among themselves as they too processed the news. This was a big deal in our world. Cutter wasn’t only our president, but the club’s founder, and a change in leadership would clearly bring about huge changes for the club itself. Knowing all of this made our earlier conversation even more puzzling. Cutter and I had never seen eye to eye about the future of the Burning Saints, and he’d made it very clear that my input about such matters was not wanted.

Cutter fixed his gaze directly on me, causing me to sweat through my borrowed t-shirt, before saying, “I’ll announce who Red Dog’s staff will be going to very soon. I’ll be meeting with the presidents of the Nevada, Savannah, and Florida chapters soon, but I wanted to tell you all face-to-face, beforehand. Please rest assured that I have this club’s best interest in mind, and that I will continue to serve and protect this club until my dying day. I love every one of you brothers and it’s been an honor to ride with you.”

Warthog raised his beer and shouted, “To our commander and chief! Long live President Cutter!” and the place went ape shit.

The next several hours contained some of the most violent debauchery I’d ever seen at any club gathering. Ladies showed up, as did a few cases of the good stuff. The Saints were in a state of mourning, and sex, booze, drugs, and rock and roll were gonna help ease the pain, even if it killed them. I spent most of the evening catching up with old friends, and matching them shot for shot. I don’t normally drink to excess, but I was gonna do everything in my power to erase this nightmare of a day.