Chapter 4
After I first saw that bitch in my club, I didn’t think she would have enough courage to show herself here again. Guess I was wrong, because here we are, and I’m instantly thrown into a rage.
“What the fuck are you doing in my club again?” I’m on guard with my legs spread, arms crossed over my chest as I stare the doctor down.
“I was just leaving.” Her voice is quiet as the fear radiates off her. She should be scared; she has no business here. She doesn’t break eye contact, though, and that shows she doesn’t want others to see her intimidated.
“Hacker?” Hanger questions from my side.
My angry eyes never leave her. “Stay the fuck out of it, Hanger.” She goes to step around me, but I block her. “I said, what the fuck are you doing in my club?”
“Please, just let me go,” she begs.
Hanger steps between us. “Hacker, get the fuck out of the way and let her leave. I won’t tell you again.”
I step back, listening to my Prez, before saying, “You don’t come here again—if you do, you won’t be leaving so easily. Understood?” She bypasses the two of us without a response and hightails it out of the club. I turn my narrowed eyes on Hanger. “If she was here because of Writer, you’ll be lucky if he don’t die.” Writer was just in a bad motorcycle accident because he was too fucked up on the drugs he’s been taking.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? When has it ever been okay to threaten a woman? You get your shit together, brother. This isn’t just your club, and if she can help, then she will. You talk to her like that again, you’ll be dealing with me. Understood?” His brow cocks.
I have no reply because if she shows up here again I’ll make good on my threat. I gotta get the fuck outta here. Why does she keep coming back here? Why do they have to call her for every fucking problem? None of them know what she has done, how she destroyed my life, took everything from me.
I push open the door to go outside, my anger rising inside of me like a raging fire. I need a release and there’s only one place I know where to get it. I walk to my Harley, straddle the beast, and start it up, feeling the power come alive underneath me as I race against myself to the highway.
That night plays in my mind like a fuckin’ nightmare and has for the last twelve years.
The cold.
The ice.
The pain.
The words no one should ever fuckin’ hear.
Thirty minutes later I’m let into the gate, and I park my bike along the others before stomping to the front door.
“Where’s Snake?” I ask Storm, the Cobras’ Vice President.
“I’ll call him for you.” Since my club and the Cobras have an alliance, I have no issue stepping on their territory, just like they have no issue stepping on ours. If it was any other club, it would be a different story and no doubt lives would be lost. Someone puts their hand on my shoulder; I turn to see the scantily-clad whore standing there with a smile, but I’m not in the mood to deal with no fuckin’ bitch.
Laying my hand on top of hers, I squeeze, causing her to wince. “Did I tell you that you could put your hand on me?”
“No.” She shakes her head and tries to pull her hand out of mine.
“Then keep them off me and make sure every other bitch does, too. Understood?” She nods frantically. “Good, now move the fuck on.” I release her hand and watch as she scurries away.
“Hacker, what can I do for you?” Snake, the Cobras’ President, questions as he walks up to me.
“I need a fight.”
“Great!” He smiles. “Let’s go into my office and we’ll set one up.”
“No, I want it now. I need it now.”
“Follow me.” He leads me to his office and shuts the door behind us. “I’m not sure if I can get enough bids for now.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money. I wanna fight and I need to shed some blood. Find one of your guys willing to go up against me and let’s do it.”
His brow cocks. “You got anyone to wrap your hands?”
“Don’t need ‘em wrapped. I want bare-knuckle.”
“Christ, Hacker, what’s goin’ on with you? You know this isn’t how we do the fights.”
I ignore his question. “You gonna do it or do I need to go find one of your hang-arounds to send to the hospital?”
He shakes his head and lets out a deep breath. “Wait here.” He walks to the door and shuts it behind him.
I help myself to a chair and wait. Finally, the door opens, and I turn my attention to Snake as he stays at the open door. “Ace’ll do it. Come out back.” I nod once, stand, and head through the clubhouse to the back door.
The circle is already beginning to form, a mix of men and women ready to see punches thrown in the bloodbath between me and Ace. Finding Dodger in the audience, I remove my cut, hand it to him, and do the same with my black t-shirt. Removing my rings, I put them in the pocket of my jeans then push between the people in the crowd until I’m in the open center of the circle.
Ace is ready and waiting. Snake joins the circle and starts to go over the rules, but I tune him out. I know the rules; this isn’t my first fuckin’ fight here. Shaking my arms at my sides, I loosen up, roll my neck side to side, and focus on Ace. Once Snake steps back, I have my stance ready and begin to move in, as does Ace. I take the first jab, but he blocks it with his forearms.
Ace punches with his right, connecting with my cheek. My head turns to the side, but it doesn’t deter me any. I move in quickly, throwing a few strikes and landing half of them. He gets a good one in, splitting my lip, and the coppery taste of blood invades my mouth; I spit some onto the ground.
Ace’s eye is starting to swell shut; that’ll be his weakness, so I move into his blind spot and find an opening. My fist flies forward into the bridge of his nose, instantly breaking it, and blood gushes from his nostrils. The crowd goes crazy: clapping, yelling, and cheering.
He drops his guard to cover his nose, but I get him again, knocking him to the ground. Towering over him, I rain fist after fist, landing punch after punch. He’s no longer protecting himself; he’s knocked out, but I can’t stop.
I see the blood covering my hands.
I see the blood pouring from his face.
I see that night.
The cold.
The ice.
The pain.
The words no one should ever fuckin’ hear.
Someone pulls me away. “He’s done.” It’s Snake. “Go home, Hacker. Don’t come back looking for a fight until you got your shit together.” He pulls me out of the circle, and I shake him off without a response.
Dodger hands me my t-shirt and cut. I don’t bother putting them on, instead storming through the clubhouse and out the front door. Straddling my bike, I shove my shirt in one of the saddlebags and put my cut on. I start up my beast and head home to clean my wounds and drown the pain with a bottle of whiskey.