Minus

“What the fuck is this?” I growled out to Clutch. Cricket stared back at me like I’d just shot her puppy. For about two-point-five seconds, then her eyes flashed with irritation.

“Or... Gee, Cricket, it’s nice to see you, too. Been a long time,” she shot back with a sarcastic smile that made me want to take her to one of the back rooms right now and chew her clothes off.

I said nothing.

“Hey there, Cricket. It’s... uh, good to... see you. It’s been... ah... a while,” Clutch stumbled over his words, ending with, “I’m gonna... go get a beer,” before disappearing into the mass of congregated Saints, leaving me alone, standing face-to-face with Cricket fucking Wallace.

I couldn’t believe she was here, or that she’d gotten even hotter since I’d last seen her. I was twenty-three at the time, and I had just been patched in, and given my club name. Cricket was barely twenty-one, and just started hanging around the clubhouse. Her family had been estranged from Cutter, and she was getting to know her long-lost uncle again. The reunion was short-lived, however, when I decided to get to know her myself. I’d gotten in way deeper than I’d intended, and although we tried to keep our relationship under wraps, I guess word got out.

When Cutter found out, I was sent away to the Savannah chapter, and Cricket’s brother, who rode with the Dogs of Fire, forbid her to be around the Saints ever again. To say I was shocked to see her standing before me now would be an understatement.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Okay, that one I’m going to take personally, Jase.” She crossed her arms. “Fuck you, too.”

Her reaction stung enough to snap me back to reality. For the first time, I was able to more clearly focus on the other occupants of the room. A who’s who of Oregon and Washington Burning Saints were spread out within the clubhouse’s great hall. Some old RatHound song was playing in the background, while a group played pool in the corner. It was all bros and backslaps, like some sort of goddamned family reunion. It looked like just about every patch from the pacific northwest was present.

My attention snapped back to Cricket.

“Where’s Cutter?” I asked as I pushed my way past her into the crowd. I tried to keep my head down and avoid eye contact with anyone. I had no idea I’d be walking into such a grand affair, and wasn’t prepared to play catchup with everyone in the room.

“I don’t know. I just got here about thirty seconds before you walked in,” she said. “Have I done something wrong to you, Jase?” she asked, staying a close step behind as I made my way through the throngs of old familiar faces.

“Minus. No one calls me Jase anymore,” I ground out.

“Oh, I’m very sorry that I didn’t refer to you by your super tough biker name. The last time I saw you, you were still Jase, at least some of the time.”

“What do you want, Cricket?” I asked, still refusing to look back at her.

“Who says I want anything? It’s been five years since we’ve seen each other, and I was only trying to say—”

“Six.”

“What?”

“It’s been six years since we’ve seen each other, and your uncle, my president, wanted it that way. As a matter of fact, so did your asshole brother, and as another matter of fact, I’m not even supposed to be talking to you,” I yelled over the din as I continued to scan the room for Cutter.

“Jesus, Minus. Do you still do everything you’re told? We were kids back then,” Cricket said, her airy laugh cutting through the masculine clatter of the room.

I shook off the intoxicating sweetness of her voice and spun around quickly to face her, causing her to take a small step backwards in surprise.

“Wrong!” I shouted. “Maybe you were a kid, but I was a brand-new patch being dangled off a bridge, while my bags were being packed for me. It may be ancient history to you, but I wake up in Savannah every day. My shit’s in a different time zone because of you.”

“Because of me? You’re saying it’s my fault that you...”

I heard very little of what she said to me over the next few moments. She was impossibly sexy, and I could barely focus on her words. I was also still white hot angry at the fact that she was here of all places. I couldn’t avoid her, I couldn’t fuck her, and I couldn’t leave.

“Jase, are you listening to me?” Cricket’s elevated pitch brought be back to reality.

“Minus,” I reminded, before adding, “and no... not really.” I turned around and started towards the back offices. “I’m looking for Cutter, and the last thing I need is you following me around like a puppy.”

“I’m not following you!” she yelled over the ever-increasing noise of Saintfest, or whatever the fuck was going on tonight. “Okay, maybe I am following you, but it’s only because I was trying to take the high road, and be nice; even though I have no reason to do so. You’re the one who should be apologizing to me, and instead, you’re being an ass.”

“You’re right, Cricket. I’m an ass. In fact, please do us both a favor and go do... whatever the fuck it is you’re here to do, as long as it’s away from me.” I stopped in front of Cutter’s office door, but before I could knock, the door swung open and Cutter smiled wide, extending his arms out for an embrace before gleefully shouting, “Minus! Cricket! How perfect that you’re both here at the same time. I’m so glad the two of you could make it.”

This was turning out to be one strange fucking night indeed.

* * *

Cricket

I don’t know what surprised me more, the fact that the love of my life was suddenly in front of me, my notoriously grumpy uncle was greeting me with a smile and a hug, or that his office smelled like Snoop Dog’s tour bus. All of it was way too much to process at the present time.

“Hi, Uncle Cutter, it’s nice to see you, too,” I said into his barreled chest, as he held me tight. I was mere inches away from Minus, who had also been entrapped in this surprise bear hug. My uncle’s beard and long hair reeked of pot smoke. He finally let go and I stepped back, smoothing my hands over my hips and glancing to Minus, who looked as stunned as I was.

Gorgeous, yes. Sexier than ever, yes. But definitely stunned.

He was a lot bigger... wider, really, since I’d last seen him. Leaving Portland appeared to have agreed with him. He’d grown an epic beard, and I itched to run my fingers through it. His face had the same chiseled features and he had the same longish, dark blond hair that he’d pulled back into a band. His eyes, though, God, those blue eyes still brought me to my knees.

“Look at you two!” my uncle exclaimed. “I always thought you two made such a beautiful couple.”

“Okay, what the fuck is going on here?” Minus growled out in obvious disbelief.

Uncle Cutter simply smiled even wider and said, “Come in, come in,” as he ushered us into his smoke-filled office. I could barely make out the one other person in the room, who was seated on one end of a large leather sofa.

“Please sit down. Don’t mind Warthog there, he’s kind of like my personal assistant, but he’s mostly here for the weed,” Cutter said laughing. “He keeps me flush with the good shit and I’m always happy to share. Plus, I’ve never believed that it’s good for a man to drink, or smoke, alone. Isn’t that right, Warthog?”

Warthog, who I thought looked a bit like Cheech, or was it Chong, simply smiled through his bushy black beard. Causing his eyes to disappear behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

“We’re not sitting, because we’re not staying,” Minus said, clearly pissed. “Actually, she can sit all she wants.” He motioned to me. “What the fuck do I care, but I’m outta here,” he said, turning on his heel.

“Sit the fuck down, Minus,” my uncle’s voice boomed, his goofy smile now completely gone.

Minus turned around slowly, but did as his president asked, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. This of course left only the middle spot between him and Warthog open, which I reluctantly took.

“Don’t be rude to my beautiful niece.” Cutter turned to me and took my face in his leathery hands. “It’s so wonderful to see you, my dear. Thank you so much for coming. It’s certainly no surprise to see what a beautiful woman you’ve grown up to be. More importantly, I understand you’re doing quite well at Mann Industries.” His eyes were soft, and his words tender. This was not the man I remembered, or the one I expected to see, not that I quite knew what to expect. I was also shocked that he knew anything about me or my work.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Good, we’re all settled in,” my uncle continued, his grin having fully returned. “Either of you wanna hit this?” He presented to us a large black glass bong, adorned with the Burning Saint’s club logo. “Warthog here had this made special for me as a gift. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Oh, boy, Cutter, I tell ya, I’d normally join you, but I just polished off a spliff in the parking lot before coming in. How ’bout you, Cricket? It’s 4:20 somewhere, right?” Minus mocked.

“I’m good, thanks,” I shot back through clenched teeth.

“Alright, Minus, you don’t have to be an asshole, she didn’t ask you to be here, I did,” Uncle Cutter said.

“And why exactly is that, Cutter?” Minus snapped.

“Hey, shithead! I may be high, but that don’t make me some peace-lovin’ hippie. You’d better stow that fucking attitude before I start rethinking you coming back here.”

“Coming back? What the fuck are you talking about? Who said anything about coming back? In fact, who said I wanted to be here at all?” Minus stood up.

“Who said you had a fucking choice in the matter?” Cutter asked, also rising to his feet. The two men were now standing toe-to-toe, mere inches away from each other. They both stood well above six feet and were menacing in their own ways. Uncle Cutter was as ‘old school’ as they come, and had a commanding presence. Shocks of white streaked through his jet-black hair and beard, giving him a severe, yet regal look. His arms were sleeved in blurry, aged tattoos, and rings adorned his gnarled fingers. He appeared to be the kind of man that knew when to bark, and when to bite. No doubt, years of leading the untamable had earned him that.

Minus on the other hand, was more like a dormant volcano, waking up after a long sleep. He seemed calm on the outside, but I could sense molten anger bubbling inside him. Some of that anger began to flow out as he challenged my uncle. Seeing this look on his face brought back a flood of memories. His beautiful features, forming into a Viking-like scowl. His fists, balled up at his sides, caused his biceps to swell. As hurt and confused as I was, I could not stop myself from feeling an instant, and overwhelming attraction to him. I had to force myself to look away.

“So, it’s more of this shit again? You tellin’ me where to go, where to live, who I can and can’t see. Is that why you brought me here, Cutter? So you can prove to me that you can still fuck with my life? And why the hell is she here? I thought I was asked here on club business,” Minus shouted.

I wanted to be pissed at the way he said “she,” but at this point, I had some of the same thoughts. Why was I here? Why had my uncle asked Minus and me to be here at the same time, when he’d done everything in his power to separate us and keep us apart six years ago? And why had he been so recently baptized in tie dye?

My uncle said nothing for several seconds, but quietly motioned for Minus to re-take his seat, before finally breaking the silence. “I’m dying.”

“What the fuck?” The tone in Minus’s voice immediately shifted from anger to concern. I gasped, my hand reflexively covering my mouth.

“I have CRC.”

“What the hell is that?” Minus asked with a slight drawl. His time spent in Savannah, clearly evident.

“Jesus, Minus, you sound like a goddamned hillbilly,” Cutter said with a chuckle.

“Colorectal cancer,” Warthog sang out, in a mock country singer voice, to a cheery tune that did not fit the lyrics.

“Yup. Asshole Cancer, stage four,” Cutter said. “It’s bad, I’ve apparently had it for a long time, it’s spread and it’s gonna kill me pretty soon.”

I sat stunned, not knowing what quite to say. My relationship with my uncle was complicated and fractured, to say the least, so I was at a bit of a loss as to the appropriate way to act. Plus, I wasn’t quite dealing with a “normal” guy here.

“How long have you known about this?” Minus asked.

“Not long. A couple months. I’ve been keeping this real quiet. Hardly anybody knows,” he replied before adding, “And no one here tonight knows. No one outside of my old lady, Big Frank, and of course, Dr. Warthog here.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Minus asked.

“Nothin’. Not a goddamned thing I can do about it. It’s aggressive, it’s having a fucking party all over my insides, and it’s not like the club has a health plan to pay for it. Hell, before we started getting’ patched up by Doc Eldie, I hadn’t seen a doctor since I was a kid. Probably why I’m in the state I am now. She was the one that spotted somethin’ was wrong with me, but by then, it was too late.”

“Then why are you telling us?” I asked.

“Because tonight I’m announcing my retirement from the Burning Saints,” he said.

“The hell you are,” Minus replied.

“It’s true. Hell, Minus it’s not like it’s my choice, it’s the law. If you can’t ride, you can’t wear a patch, and I can barely walk around the block without passing out and pissing myself, let alone ride.”

“You wrote the law. You started this club.”

“I remember, I was there.” Cutter smiled.

“So, Big Frank takes up the staff tonight?” Minus asked.

“Nope, can’t do it. Big Frank’s even older than me, has two bum knees. In truth, he hasn’t been able to ride for six months. We’ve been letting him slide, but the staff can’t go to him. Now, with me kickin’ the fuckin’ bucket, it’s a good time for both of us to retire.”

“And not ride off into the sunset,” Warthog added, to an approving nod from Cutter.

“Okay, so Cricket and I could’ve heard about all of this along with the others when you make your big speech or whatever,” Minus said. “Or better yet, we could have heard about it through the grapevine and spared the travel expense, so why the private pow-wow?”

Cutter smiled once again before sparking his lighter and taking a huge pull from his bong. He tilted his head back, exhaling slowly, once again filling the small room with a thick, nauseating smoke. He then set his glassy eyed stare directly at us.

“How would the two of you feel about running a motorcycle club?”