Josh

 

 

Fresh from a shower and a fuck with Harlow, I feel better than any man should at the end of a night like this one. I’m flying high from the Percocet and the whiskey and the heavy feel of the leather on my shoulders. I took a lot of pride putting on my cut as I got dressed. Harlow watched me from the bedroom door, a small smile on her lips.

She’s worn that same smile almost the entire ride from the house to The Three.

“What is this now?” she mutters, squinting through the dusty windshield of the truck.

Lined up in front of the building are the members of the club. Everyone but Skeeze is straddling their bike, helmet on, ready to ride. The backlot is locked up tight and the sign on the front of the bar has been turned to CLOSED even though it’s only eleven o’clock at night.

Harlow pulls up next to the line of bikes, a frown on her face. “Looks like you’re going somewhere.”

“Good news or bad news that I’m carrying my gun?” I joke to cover the nervousness in my gut.

She doesn’t answer but her frown deepens.

Skeeze opens her door for her, letting in the cold night air. “You’re gonna have to camp out here until we get back or call a cab to get you where you’re goin’,” he tells her dully. “We need the truck tonight.”

“What happened to the party?”

“It’s happening. But not here.”

“Where then?”

“You didn’t used to be such a nosey bitch, Harley,” he comments, sounding annoyed.

“I didn’t used to give as many shits, Skeeze.”

“I’m sure Devo would be happy to hear that.”

She glares at him. “You can keep the fuck out of Devo and I.”

“And you can get the fuck out of the truck before I take you out,” he fires back, opening the door wider. “We got business, woman. Go.”

“Harlow,” I tell her gently.

She turns to me, fire in her eyes. She’s about two seconds from clawing Skeeze’s face off. She needs to chill or she’ll make the situation worse for both of us.

“Call a cab. Go to Lila’s. I’ll call you when I’m back.”

Her face softens but her eyes never stop burning. “Be careful.”

“Always.”

She grabs her purse, pushing out of the truck roughly. Skeeze has to step back to avoid being kicked as she drops down to the ground. I watch with pride as she rolls up close to him, daring him to say something. Do something. Begging him to push one more of her buttons and see if she doesn’t go off.

He knows her well enough to keep his mouth shut.

When she’s safely inside, the bikes growl to life simultaneously. Headlights snap on, blindingly brilliant. The men pull out of the parking lot one after the other in perfect unison. Skeeze falls in line right behind them.

We’re headed north, out of Opal.

For the first half-hour of the drive, Skeeze and I are content to ride in silence. Sage brush and sand rush by for thirty-seven minutes in the near pitch black outside the windows before Skeeze can’t take it anymore.

“I voted against you for Devo,” he tells me out of nowhere, his voice hard and quiet. I have to strain to hear him over the sound of the fleet ahead of us and the road beneath us.

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Not yet. You’re in now and someday you’ll get it, but you don’t yet, so don’t say that you do.”

I hesitate, not sure I follow. “Okay, man.”

“He’s always been there for me,” he continues, one hand on the wheel, his body leaned away from me; toward the door. “We had a bad run in with another M.C. in California two years ago. I took a bullet in the stomach. Devo should have left me. He had the chance to but he didn’t. He jumped in and got me, drug me out of there bleeding my fuckin’ life out. Took two in the leg doing it. He almost lost that leg because of it.” He sniffs sharply, shaking his head. “Then today you were talking about love. About how much you love Harlow and how you’d do anything for her, and I kept thinkin’ that’s what Devo did for me. That’s the kind of love we have in the club. He literally took bullets for me, so to see you fuck his woman behind his back like that…” Skeeze stretches his neck to the side, biting down on his anger. “A brother wouldn’t do that shit. He let you off the hook because Harlow was just a piece of ass for him, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“I agree with you,” I tell him earnestly.

“Yeah, well, don’t. I don’t want you to agree with me. I don’t want you to understand. I don’t want you here in the club, but Devo said you’re in so you’re in. It’s his beef, it’s his call, but I don’t fuckin’ like it. And I don’t fuckin’ like you.” He glances at me sideways, his mouth lifted in a sneer of disgust, his face painted red and green in the harsh light of the dashboard. “You’re a Prospect. You’re not a member yet. You’re a bitch and you’ll be a bitch until you’re sworn in. Ya feel me?”

I nod slowly. “Whatever you say.”

Skeeze looks away, satisfied.

I stare out the windshield with him, my eyes focused on the red taillights ahead of us. My heart is a metronome. Calm. Steady.

“I’m new to the club,” I admit quietly. “I accept that. I have to earn my stripes and I will. I’ll prove myself to you. To everyone. I’ll be your brother, Skeeze, even if you don’t want me to be because that’s what I swore to be when Bear put this cut on my back. But Harlow has been with the club for three years. She’s paid her dues. She’s earned your respect, and if you ever talk to her again the way you did tonight, Prospect or no, I’ll kick your ass into the ground.” I look at him, my voice and face perfectly flat. “Ya feel me?”

His hand tightens on the steering wheel until his knuckles go pale.

“Whatever you say,” he grinds out.

After that, we’re both content to return to silence.

We keep it going for fifteen more minutes, until the boys ahead of us suddenly veer off the road in the middle of nowhere. Dust and sand flies up behind their wheels as they tear down an old desert drive leading to nothing. Skeeze drives us straight into the cloud they’re creating. Rocks ping the hood as we bounce through potholes roughly. I’m pretty sure Skeeze hits some of them on purpose and I try not to grunt in pain every time. I try not to give him the satisfaction.

“Where are we going?” I ask not expecting an answer.

Skeeze doesn’t give me much of one. “Your party, Prospect. I hope you like fireworks.”

I don’t know what to make of that so I don’t bother with it. I hold my tongue until we come to a sudden stop three miles later. The headlights on the bikes and truck die out, plunging us into the all-encompassing dark of a winter night in the desert. There’s nothing to see for miles. No houses. No cities. No farms. I don’t even know where the fuck we are in relation to Culver or Opal at this point, and when I pull out my phone to check the time, I notice that my signal has dropped off.

Skeeze jumps out of the truck without a word. I follow after him as fast as I can, shivering against the cold and wishing I’d worn more layers. If only I’d known I was driving out to butt-fuck-nowhere in the middle of the night, I would have prepared myself. Maybe not had that second whiskey with Harlow.

I round up with the rest of the crew around Bear. He stands big and burly in the middle of the group, watching the dark distance.

“What do you say, Kill?” he asks quietly. “About a mile? Maybe more?”

“Two at the least,” Kill replies, deep and deadly as a ravine; a real concern out here in the wild without light. If we’re going hiking, and it sounds like we are, we could easily stumble into a pit and break a leg. An arm. Neck.

“It’s hidden back behind that hill,” Hyde tells them, pointing at the faint outline of black on black. “Raw and I spotted three trailers. All of them cookin’.”

Bear nods grimly. “Then that’s where we’re goin’. Who’s got the gasoline?”

“Prospect,” Kill snaps at me. “Go get the gas can out of the truck bed.”

I do as I’m told without question. I lower the tailgate quietly to find a five gallon red gas can in the back. It’s filled to the brim, the weight of it dragging my arm down and sending my stomach muscles into spasm as I carry it back to the group.

Bear looks me over closely. “You gonna be able to handle that?”

I don’t think I can handle hiking two miles without the can, let alone with it, but I lie to us all and hope I can make it true. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. Follow Raw. We’ve gotta go in without light so watch your fuckin’ step, all of you.”

I start the hike in the middle of the group; Raw, Kill, and Bear at my front, Devo, Hyde, and Skeeze at my back. Within the first mile, Hyde and Skeeze get sick of watching me struggle and pass around to the front. They pull away easily, leaving Devo and I quite a bit behind.

“You can ask what we’re doing,” Devo tells me, falling in stride next to me.

I glance at his profile, sweat dripping down my forehead into my good eye. “What are we doing?” I pant.

“Getting a little payback for what The Black Hawks did yesterday.”

“I thought we had a meeting tomorrow to handle that.”

“We did, but Bear didn’t like that they took your phone with our contacts. He called their Pres tonight and told him he wanted it back immediately. They lied and said they didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“He took my word over theirs?”

“I guess he did.” He looks at me, his face too dark to see. “How’s that can? You want some help with it?”

Fuck yes, but I’ll never admit it.

I trip over a rock, staggering slightly to my left. “No. I’ve got it.”

“Don’t spill it. You’re gonna need it.”

“For what? What are we doing exactly?”

Devo points to the small hill that’s becoming clearer the closer we get to it. “On the other side of that ridge is a small camp of three trailers that the Black Hawks use to cook their meth. It’s the heart of their operation. If it goes down, they’re crippled for months.”

“And we’re burning them down,” I surmise.

Devo shrugs with one shoulder. “More like we’re blowing them up. You ever been in a meth lab before?”

“No. Never.”

“They stink. You’ll smell the trailers before you see them. They’re full of explosive chemicals. A change in temperature, a little friction where there shouldn’t be, and boom – they go up in smoke.”

I cough harshly, my stomach lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Are there people inside?”

“Would it matter if there were?”

It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. Not really. Only…

“Are there kids inside?” I rephrase. “Families?”

Devo shakes his head. “No. It’s all Black Hawks.”

I start to cough again, doubling over. Devo stops to watch me. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay. Not even when I turn and vomit in the sand. He just waits until I’m done, I’ve picked up my can, and we start walking again.

My head is pounding. My mouth is bone dry. My stomach is a riled fucking mess, but I can’t complain. I can’t slow down. Especially not in front of Devo of all people.

I’m confused as hell as to why he’s the one to hang back with me. It feels almost supportive the way he’s pacing with me, silently keeping me going and filling in all the blanks Skeeze was more than happy to leave empty. Devo and I have said more to each other on this hike than we have over the last few months combined, and I know I should let it go and let it be whatever it is, but I can’t. No matter how much I’ve changed recently, I can’t kill the curiosity in me.

“Why did you vote me in?” I ask frankly.

Devo is quiet for a long time. He walks in silence as though he didn’t hear me, but I know he did. I assume he’s just going to ignore me until suddenly his voice fills the empty air between us.

“Because you’re good for her.”

That’s not the answer I expected. I don’t know what I thought he was going to say, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. Weird thing is, I understand it.

“I thought the same thing about you when you took her away three years ago,” I tell him, my voice reedy with exhaustion. “I thought, he can get her out. He can make her feel safe.”

“And now it’s your turn,” he tells me coldly, picking up the pace. Leaving me behind. “Don’t fuck it up.”

I walk the last mile of the trip on my own. No one checks on me. No one even looks back. I could have fallen down dead and they wouldn’t know it. It wouldn’t matter.

What does matter is that I don’t. I make it to the edge of the ridge where they wait for me and the gas, my body on fire and melting like soft wax with every step. Raw takes the can from me without a word, slapping me hard on the shoulder. It’s supportive and painful and I love and hate him for it.

No one speaks as we move slowly down the hill. It’s made of loose rock and sand. Our feet slide more than step down, surfing us on a dry wave to the base where I can see the light of the three trailers burning softly. If there are people in them, they’re asleep or passed out. Probably high as shit. They won’t feel a thing.

Raw runs quickly with the can, circling the first trailer, then the second. The third. He pours the gas around each one with precision and stealth, dribbling a trail back to us at the base of the hill. In the light from the trailers, his face is shining with sweat, his eyes wide and wild.

Bear offers me his Zippo. “You do the honors, Prospect.”

I take it without complaint or question. I know why we’re doing this. If those guys had had the chance, they’d have killed all three of us last night. Harlow would be alone. Ava would be an orphan.

That shit can’t go unanswered.

The steel casing on the Zippo is surprisingly cool against my skin as I turn it in my palm. I pop the top, exposing the wick and the strike. One quick flick sets it to burning.

I don’t hesitate to kneel down and touch it to the dark, pungent earth at my feet.

The strip of gasoline catches immediately. There’s a light whoosh as it ignites in a line leading toward the trailers, like a shooting star cruising across the sky. It dances blue and yellow as it runs eagerly around the camp. At first I wonder if Raw has poured the gas too far from the trailers to make them catch, but by the time it reaches the second one, the skirt around the wheels on the first have started to burn.

“Time to go,” Bear tells us gruffly.

Raw puts his hand under my arm to help me hurry up the hill. If he didn’t help me, I’d never make it. As it is, we’re the last ones to crest the ridge, and even at this distance, Bear isn’t satisfied. We keep running down the other side as the fires crackle behind us. Someone shouts. A door bangs. Then, just as Devo promised, BOOM!

The heat from the fire rises into the sky so high, we can feel it on this side of the hill. Black oily smoke clouds over the camp just as a second explosion rocks the ground under our feet. Then a third. I can smell it then – the meth. It’s sweet and disgusting, making me gag as we run. The night is bright with firelight that leads us away from the inferno. It’s an easier march without the can in my hand and a light at my back. Easier but not easy. Twice I have to stop to catch my breath. Both times, no one waits for me. Not even Raw.

When I make it back to the bikes, they’re already running and ready to go. As I hurry to the truck, Raw, Bear, Kill, and Hyde slap me on the back and shoulders.

“Good work, Rook!”

“You’re one of us now, Prospect!”

I fight the urge to smile like a proud toddler who just learned how to use the toilet as I throw myself into the truck with Skeeze. I hold on tight as he peels out, heading back up the dirt road to the highway. The bikes flank us this time; three in front and two behind.

Skeeze doesn’t speak to me the entire way back, but I don’t need him to. I’m in my own head, riding a new high of adrenaline and excitement like I’ve never felt before. I’m freaking out. I’m flying.

I’m fucked.

When we make it to within a mile of Opal, we spot police lights. They’re up ahead, parked just outside the club. My asshole puckers, my heart slamming to a halt in my chest.

“Is that for us?” I ask anxiously.

“Probably, but keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, alright?”

“Oh really, Skeeze? I shouldn’t go confess to the cops that I just blew up three goddamn trailers full of meth in the desert? You think that’d be a bad idea?”

“Fuck you.”

“Eat shit,” I growl, getting grumpy.

I’m tired, I’m stressed out, my drugs have worn off and I hurt like a son of a bitch. It feels like this night is never ending.

I pull out my phone to call Harlow and see if she’s still at the club, if she knows what’s going on, but I’m immediately hit with a million messages.

All of them are from Golden Meadows.

“The fuck?” I whisper.

“What?”

I hit redial, calling them back and ignoring Skeeze.

They answer just as we close in on the club and I can see that the lights aren’t in the parking lot. They’re on the bridge beyond it.

“Golden Meadows Retirement,” a woman answers tiredly.

“Hey, yeah, this is Josh Stratford. My grandpa, Russ Stratford is a resident there and I’ve had several missed calls from you tonight. Is something wrong? Is he okay?”

The woman shakes her fatigue, immediately going into business mode. “You’ll need to talk to the manager on duty. Let me page her. Just one moment.”

“No, don’t put me on ho—”

She puts me on hold.

“Ah, you bitch,” I mumble angrily.

“Something wrong with your Pops?” Skeeze asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know yet. She didn’t tell me anything. It could be he fell out of bed trying to go to the bathroom. He’s done it before.”

We pull into the parking lot behind the three bikes ahead of us. I watch out the window with interest, eyeing the busy bridge. Two cop cars and an ambulance have clogged the small space. Flashlights spark off the surface of the water below. Men in yellow emergency vests scale the steep side of the bank, wrangling a dark gurney.

The sight makes me dizzy.

“Mr. Stratford,” a woman speaks into my ear. “Thank you for calling me back.”

I snap out of my haze, looking away from the bridge. “What’s happened?”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you—”

“What happened?” I demand sharply, my chest burning like acid.

My anxiety spiked with the gurney on the bank, some part of me connecting the dots that I haven’t even seen yet.

“Your grandfather left the home tonight,” she explains gently, her voice going muffled. Distant, like I’m underwater. “We don’t know how or why, but he walked out of town.”

“He went to the bridge.”

She pauses, stunned. “How did you know that?”

“Because I’m here.” I fall out of the truck, walking numbly toward the road. “I’m at the fucking bridge. I can see the ambulance.”

“Mr. Stratford, I’m so sorry. I can’t explain what happened. I don’t understand why he would leave like that. Why he would go to the river of all places.”

“Strat!” Bear shouts after me.

“Is he dead?” I ask the woman on the phone.

“I’m told the paramedics did everything they could to revive him, but he—”

I drop my phone on the ground, letting it slide from my shaking fingers as I step onto the solid surface of the road. It feels like it’s pitching and rocking, like a boat at sea trying to cast me off. The lights flash against my eyes painfully. The guys shout behind me, asking me what’s wrong, but I can’t answer them. I can’t remember how to talk. How to think. How to breathe. How to live. All I can do is stare straight ahead at the black bag being pulled up the bank. The bag with a body inside.

“Strat!” Bear shouts in my face, his hands on my shoulders. “What’s wrong with you, son? Where do you think you’re going?”

“The bridge,” I whisper.

“No. You’re not going to the goddamn bridge. It’s swarming with cops and you stink of gasoline.”

“He’s dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

My legs go out from under me. Bear grunts as he takes on my weight, lowering me slowly to my knees. He goes with me, his eyes holding mine.

“Who died, son?” he insists, his voice almost gentle.

“Pops.” I gag on my own throat as it closes in on itself, everything inside me caving. Crashing down. Tears spring in my eyes, burning like smoke. “My pops is dead.”