Thrash
An hour after dropping her off after spending the day with her on that beach, after wishing her ‘good night’ and kissing her like a fucking lovesick puppy, Alice is still on my mind. She’s a woman that burns with an ambition and motivation that resonates with me down deep to my core. She might be struggling to survive and take care of her mother, but she’s still got her eyes on the bigger picture. If she makes it through this mess, I know she’ll claw her way up to the top — it’s inevitable, she’s got the drive and the fire to be something better.
I pause in the parking lot of the Steel Horse Tavern, my helmet in my hand and thoughts of her dwelling in my head. Her ambitious attitude is an aphrodisiac and she’s taking hold of me as strong as any drug.
This is fast going from ‘just business’ to something far more personal. I’ve shown her sides of myself that I’ve shown anyone. And, though I just left her, I’m already thinking about the next time I’ll see her.
Shaking my thoughts clear, I step into the Steel Horse. The bar is full of life, practically every member of the MC is in attendance, except for those few running security and setup on the grow operation.
I shout out for a beer above the din of the crowd — Van Halen blaring from the jukebox, rolling laughter, and conversations carried out at a volume just below yelling.
Beer in hand, I sit down at a table across from Riot and Creole.
“It looks like someone got some action,” Creole says. “Good job, man.”
“I haven’t seen your mother in days, Creole,” I answer. “What makes you think I got lucky?”
“You’ve got that smile on your face, like a kid on Christmas morning right after he’s opened his presents,” Riot says. “Who was it? Did you go back to Chastity again?”
“You better not have, Thrash. You know that Hawk will take your scalp if you go back to fucking the sheriff’s daughter.”
I shake my head. “No, I ended things with Chastity a long time ago. She’d gladly take me back, she’s told me that plenty of times after I’d let her suck my cock, but there’s no way I can take that level of crazy full time. I’ve been Chastity-free for weeks, now.”
“So, who was it?” Riot says.
“Alice.”
Creole lets out a low whistle. “Hawk will kill you for that, too. She belongs to the Reaper’s Sons, man.”
“We’re being circumspect. Speaking of which, have you two been keeping an eye on the auto yard like I asked?”
Riot nods. “We have. Aside from Alice, they’ve got one other driver that they use for their Mexico shipments. We haven’t followed them much beyond that — we can’t get closer without being seen, and if we get seen, Hawk sure as hell will hear about it.”
As if on cue, Frank ‘Hawk’ Deacon bellows above the thunder of the crowd. “Thrash, get your fucking ass over here.”
“Rest in peace, man,” Riot says to me as I stand up, beer in hand, and head towards the table.
“I’ll light a candle for you, Thrash,” Creole calls after me.
“You rang?” I say as I sit down at Hawk’s table.
Across from me, Frank ‘Hawk’ Deacon sits, thick arms spread on the table in front of him, beard bristling on his face and his eyes flaring with angry intent. He might be a relic in my mind, but he’s a terrifying man in his own right, like some kind of forgotten idol to an old god of vengeance. Outdated, outmoded, but there’s still lightning in his fist.
Our club VP, Hunter ‘Bull’ Bennett — every bit a mountain of a man himself — sits to his right. Bennett’s not much older than me, and his brain's a lot quicker than his bulging biceps would imply. He’s a powerhouse, smart as hell, and not a man that I want to be on the bad side of, either.
To my right sits Emilio ‘Wrench’ Rogers, our club treasurer. He’s not nearly the same size as the other men, but he’s a crafty son of a bitch and has earned his nickname time and again through his talent at modifying and repairing our bikes.
The top three men in our club sit here, staring at me like I’m an inch away from an ass-whooping.
I wipe my cocky grin off my face as I look at all of them in turn. I know why they’ve called me over, and this is no time for attitude. Not unless I want to eat a bullet at the end of the night.
“Why do you think I called you over?” Hawk says.
“Why don’t you just tell me and cut the guessing game,” I say.
Though I have to be respectful to the man, I’m sure as hell not going to let him push me around. I have my limits.
“We’ve heard you’ve been spending time with one of the Reaper’s girls,” Bull says.
“What I don’t understand is, are you deliberately trying to be this fucking stupid? Or do you just not have the vascular capacity to keep blood in both your cock and your brain at the same time?” Hawk says.
“My cock is pretty damn big, Hawk,” I say. “It takes a lot of blood.”
He slams his fist on the table.
“This isn’t a fucking game, Thrash.”
“Look, Thrash, I get your desire to fuck with the Reaper’s Sons. None of us like those bitches. But things are in a delicate stage right now,” Bull says.
“Our grow operation is nearly up and running. It’ll bring in steady income once it’s online. It’s not legal, though. Pot is legal in California for possession in small amounts, and local law enforcement won’t normally care, but if we start shit up with the Reaper’s Sons and draw attention…” Wrench lets his voice trail off a bit.
I feel attacked on all sides, sitting here, but I drown my rising frustration with a long drink of beer.
“It’s against Federal Fucking Law and if you go pissing off the Reaper’s Sons, and get their president to lean on his friend, Mayor Tom Gardner, we’ll have the sheriff’s department and probably even the DEA breathing down our necks. Does that sound fun to you, Thrash?” Hawk says pointedly.
“No, sir,” I say. “It does not.”
“You need to take a step back from the Reaper’s Sons, and from that woman. Don’t go provoking them,” Bull says. “It’s a sensitive time right now. Did you know the Mayor decided to have a fundraiser party at The Smiling Skull next week? Most of the Reaper’s Sons will be there, along with at least half the fucking city council. Things will not look good for us if we’re upsetting the balance right now. Got it?”
“Understood,” I say. “Crystal clear.”
“And one other thing, Thrash,” Hawk says, giving me a level and threatening look. “Pack your things. I’m sick of you toeing the fucking line. For the time being — until I fucking say otherwise — you’re going to be living on-site at the grow op. You’ll oversee security. Watch the fucking plants grow. And if anything fucking happens, if a plant even so much as fucking wilts, it’s on your head. Am I clear?”
Great. Just great.
I nod, trying to not look like I’m absolutely furious. I get up from the table, expending every effort to bite my damn tongue and keep from lashing out at Hawk. “Is that all?”
“Go drink your beer, Thrash. You can move there tomorrow morning. Micro’s out at the site, we’ll let him know you’re coming,” Bull says, with a note of sympathy in his voice. “Maybe after a while, we can re-evaluate things.”
I know on some level he gets what I’m trying to do and respects the fact that I’m trying to keep the club — and myself — from being left behind. But this is Hawk’s show, he’s the president, and neither of us is in a position to challenge him at this time.
Finding a place by myself, I sit down to figure things out.
This is a huge blow, no matter how I look at it.
I’m confined to the damn grow op — a fucking farm set up in the decrepit remnants of a lumber yard an hour’s drive from town.
No fucking with the Reapers.
And worst of all, no Alice.
Fat fucking chance I’m following that.
I’m going to hit their operation. I’m going to do whatever it takes to rip that drug money out of their hands.
I finish my beer and slam the cup down on the table. I pass by Creole and Riot on the way out and stop at their table. I choose my words carefully — I can’t risk anyone else overhearing and passing on word to Hawk.
“Wait a few days. Then make the move. Take that driver out.”
They both nod.
I’m sick of waiting.
My plan’s in motion.
No one’s going to stop me from taking what’s mine.