As soon as we become comfortable and relax in living life, something happens to remind us we aren’t nearly as in charge of the outcome as we once thought we were; we’re simply along for the ride.

My life had been a full throttle all out run toward the sunset from day one, and it has never let up. From time to time I’d exhale; and when I did, life would slap my face and remind me I wasn’t in charge. Avery’s involvement in the killings wasn’t something I planned or expected, but I couldn’t do anything to change it. I did, however, have to try and find a way to make it taste good in my mouth.

After taking Avery home, Otis and I were sitting in the clubhouse attempting to figure out what went wrong, and how we ended up in the situation we were in. Without a doubt, Avery had saved our lives, and we both felt indebted to her for doing so. Having someone clearly save your life, and realizing it, was a humbling experience I wasn’t necessarily prepared to admit or accept; at least not yet.

Otis leaned forward and rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “I tell ya what, if she hadn’t been there, you and I wouldn’t be talkin’ right now. I can assure you of that.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right,” I said.

“Shit Slice, you know I’m right. That fuckin’ beaner was about one breath away from shootin’ us and finding that money on his own. She said that cocksucker started screamin’ Now! Now!” He paused and shifted his focus to the floor.

“You know, there at the end, when he was screamin’ like a mad man? That’s when she knew it was time. That fucker was done askin’, and you and I don’t speak fuckin’ Spanish. Hell, he was talkin’ so God damned fast, none of it could have made sense. It’s a good thing she speaks that shit.” He raised the beer bottle to his lips and took a drink.

Otis’ forearms were still covered in blood. As I studied him I thought of what had happened and who might have put the attempted theft into motion. To think of another Mexican gang attempting to rob the MS-13 was almost impossible for me. No one in their right mind would attempt such a thing. To cross them would not only be suicide, but an assurance your entire family and the families of anyone you knew would be murdered. I was having a difficult time believing the two Mexicans knew who they were robbing on that end. I had an easier time believing they knew who we were.

I rubbed my hands together clenched my teeth. As I felt my jaw muscles flex, I realized my frustration was reaching an unhealthy level. Typically, I tend to try and resolve issues immediately, before they have a chance to fester within me. The longer I wait to find resolution; the more liable I am to make a decision I may later regret. I sat, stared down at my hands and ran the events of the night through my mind.

I hooked my index finger onto the rubber band and began to play with it, “I’ve been thinking. There ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell those two fuckers knew they were robbing the MS-13. And, if they didn’t know that, it leaves me to believe they did know they were robbing us. The more I think about it, the more I think it stinks. Someone said something. And that something ended up in the lap of a Mexican gang. They didn’t come after the guns, they came after the money. And they knew we had the money. They were screaming at you and me, not the Mexicans. Are you following me?”

“Shit. Yeah I see what you’re saying. Fuck, you think one of our own said something?” he asked as he stood from his seat.

“If you already know the answer, don’t bother asking the question,” I said.

“I hate thinking of that, Slice,” he said as he leaned over the trash can.

I snapped the rubber band against my wrist. “Throw that motherfucker in the shop. God damn, Otis. You know by now I don’t want to smell that stinkin’ fucker. And I sure as fuck don’t like thinkin’ of it either, but I can’t sit here and be blind. It’s pretty simple shit to figure out. Well, now that some fucking beaner ain’t waving a Street Sweeper in my face. Wash that blood off your arms when you’re in the shop. Hell, you get pulled over on the way home, you’re gonna be in fucking jail.”

Without speaking, he nodded his head and walked out into the shop. We were both exhausted. The level of adrenaline from the situation we escaped from was so elevated, it had brought me to an all-time high. Coming down off of that high left me tired and feeling weak; and the few times in my life when I found myself feeling weak, it eventually left me feeling vulnerable.

As Otis walked into the office, I turned to face him and stared. I had nothing to say, but I wanted answers, and I wanted them immediately. Being in a motorcycle club exposes a person to all types of violence, activities, and situations which will make most people cower in fear. Over the years I had become almost immune to any feeling associated with exposing myself to violence or criminal acts. Being killed was an entirely different story.

“What are we gonna do about the girl?” Otis asked as he sat down.

He raised his hands to his face and began to rub his temples.

I sat up in my chair and stared. “What do you mean?”

“We owe her big time, Slice. God damn, she saved our fuckin’ lives. I was cleaning all the blood off my arms, and thinkin’. It kinda freaked me out. But if she hadn’t gone…”

“We owe her ass big time,” he breathed.

I narrowed my eyes and stared. “You want to buy her a thank you card or get her some fucking flowers? Or maybe a box of fucking chocolates?”

Otis stood from his chair, lowered his hands from his face, and shook his head. “You know Slice, you’re the president of this club and you’re my best friend. But I got to be honest on this one. You’re a real prick. That fuckin’ girl saved us. She didn’t wash your sled or have new soles put on your boots. She shot two motherfuckers who were tryin’ to shoot us. Hell, she coulda took that sixty grand and ran. And they’d of killed us for sure. But she didn’t. I know she was scared to death. Hell, she ain’t one of us and she sure as fuck ain’t used to being in the shit we are.”

I stood up and began to speak. “We can sit here all night…”

Otis raised his hand in the air. “I wasn’t done, Axton. This is you and me talkin’. Steve and Axton. That girl saved my fuckin’ life, plain and simple. No real way around it. There’s sayin’ it, there’s understanding it, and then there’s believing it. And I’m tellin’ ya, when I was cleaning the blood off my arms, I come to believe it. Yeah, buy her a box of fuckin’ chocolates, you asshole. Send her a fuckin’ card. But I can tell you what I’m gonna do.”

“I’m gonna make God damned sure nothing ever happens to that little girl, Axton. Ain’t no motherfucker on this earth ever gonna harm that little bitch. I owe her my life. You do whatever your heartless ass thinks is best. But you know what’s best for the club? Do ya? I do, and I have my fuckin’ doubts about you.” He hesitated and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and flexed my biceps. “You doubting me, Otis?”

Otis uncrossed his arms and chuckled. “Keep flexin’ on me, Axton. It’s just you and me here, remember? I’ll wad your fuckin’ ass up and toss you in the street. Do I doubt you? No. Not really ever. But on this deal? You fuckin’ right I do. That girl needs taken care of. She needs to stay on our good side. Here’s the deal…”

“You know why I ain’t got an Ol’ Lady? You know why?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Because I ain’t found one I can trust. That’s it. Now, why ain’t you got an Ol’ Lady? And before you answer, I’ll tell ya. Because you’re an asshole, and you don’t let yourself believe one won’t fuck you over. Hell, those ratty-assed bitches you had in the past were just that, ratty-assed bitches. Ratty-assed bitches can’t ever be trusted, but it doesn’t mean all bitches can’t be trusted. Now you tell me the reason,” he said.

“So now we’re talkin’ about Ol’ Ladies? I’m trying to figure out who fucked us over, and you’re talkin’ about having an Ol’ Lady? And you want to question me?” I growled.

“You didn’t answer my fuckin’ question, Axton,” he said.

“Fuck it. I’m tired. I’m going home. But I’ll say this.” He paused and slowly walked toward the door.

As he reached for the door, he turned to face me. “You said that night in the bar she was off-limits. Well, make a decision, boss. I’ll remind you, we got bylaws and we got em for a reason. They’re posted on the wall behind ya in case you forgot ‘em. But you ain’t claimed her as your Ol’ Lady, you ain’t got her wearin’ a Property Of patch, and you sure as absolute fuck don’t have an “X” by your name. So, as far as the club’s concerned, she’s fair game. If you don’t make a move, I sure as hell will. You want to know why?”

He walked through the door and into the shop.

Before I could respond, he stuck his head in the opening between the door and the door frame, widened his eyes, and began telling me his thoughts. “She’s gorgeous. She’s got guts. She don’t take shit from anybody. She stands up for what she believes in. She don’t run her mouth like a teenager, and…”

“Because that little bitch has got my back,” he said as he nodded his head once and pulled the door closed.

I lowered myself into the chair and removed my notepad from my jacket. I drew a line down the center of the page. I moved the pen to the left side of line and hesitated. I felt the need to make a list of the people I could trust one hundred percent and the people who I wasn’t sure of. To think of someone being in the club and not being able to be trusted was a difficult thing for me. At some point in time, I trusted each and every member enough to vote them into the club. Now, to consider one of my brothers turning against me was a difficult thing to imagine.

I faced the wall and stared at the list of members. After studying the board for a few moments, I turned around, closed my note pad, and removed my jacket. I needed to clear my mind. I walked to the door, flipped the light switch, and gazed out into the shop. My bike sat beside the van we had used to make the delivery with my cut hanging from the ape hangers.

I gazed at the cabinet on the left side of the shop and sighed.

You’re tired Axton. Take some time to think.

I sauntered over to the cabinet, opened it, and removed a lick ‘n stick seat and a clean rag. After I methodically wiped the dust from the rear fender of the bike, I cleaned the seat’s suction cups and pressed it onto the rear fender. I glanced at my watch. 1:22 am.

If Avery was anything like me, she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. After my first shooting, I didn’t sleep for two days. If for whatever reason she was able to sleep, maybe she was more valuable than Otis indicated.

There was only one way to find out.