“You want another?”
“Yeah, I’ll take one more,” I answered, tapping the edge of the bar. Trigger tipped the bottle of vodka over and refilled my shot glass, looking at his watch afterward and shaking his head at me. The ol’ coot was judgmental as hell, but as long as he provided me with drink, I wouldn’t complain too much.
Trigger had been the resident bartender for as long as I’d been alive, and well before then. He’d been a voting member of the club up until five years ago when he’d gotten into an accident on his bike. He ended up breaking his left hand, and although he healed up nicely, he was never able to ride after that. And because he couldn’t ride anymore, he wasn’t allowed to vote on any decisions the club made. Marek would often ask Trigger for his opinion on certain matters, mainly shit to do with the strip joints, but when it came down to casting a vote, he was out.
Trigger was well into his seventies, and I for one was okay with him not being out on the road with his bike. Before his accident, the bastard had almost run me over twice, both instances were in the club lot, but still. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, and neither were his reflexes.
Flinging the bar towel over his shoulder, he jerked his chin toward the door. “Prez is signaling for ya.”
Downing the shot, I shoved it toward Trigger before hopping off my stool. Not even two in the afternoon and already I started with the hard shit, but ever since the other night when I’d come face-to-face with Riley, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
I’d been selfish these past three years, and even a little before then, but now I was settled into the life of the club, I needed something more. I wanted to go home at the end of the day to someone who cared about me, someone who knew the real me. I was tired of women wanting to get with me because of who I was and what club I belonged to.
Riley had been my everything back then and I fucked it up when I chose the club over her. And the sad thing was, if I could go back in time and do it all over again, I wasn’t sure if I would make a different choice. I realized that sounded fucked up, but this club meant the world to me. But now I realized she did as well, or at least I wanted her to.
“You waitin’ on me?” I asked our leader once I stood next to him. There wasn’t another person alive I aspired to be like other than my ol’ man. He was fearless and direct when he needed to be but loving when the situation called for it.
I remembered when our pit bull Rosco died when I was in the fourth grade. It was my dad who hugged me. It was my dad who made me a photo book of all the pictures we had of Rosco and it was my dad who shed a tear right alongside me and my mom when we buried him in the backyard. Only a select few ever saw that side of him.
“For once, you’re not the last one in.” After leaving my phone on the table outside the room, something we all did so no one was distracted while inside, he clapped my shoulder as I preceded him into Chambers, the one room in the club that was strictly for club members only, the place where all decisions pertaining to the livelihood of the club were made. Most clubs referred to this room as Church, but we called it Chambers because as my dad would say, this was where we dealt out the justice. I believed that motto made more sense years ago when the club operated a little differently than it did today.
While at the club or dealing with club business, I called my father Prez, with the rare occasion addressing him as Marek. At home, however, I called him Dad. The same scenario had existed between him and his father way back when, as well as Stone and his dad. And like me, Lincoln referred to his dad as Stone while conducting club business but Pops or ol’ man while at home, the latter one just to get on his nerves because Stone hated being called ol’ man.
After taking a seat at the long oblong table, drumming my fingers against the edge, I glanced from one member to the next, wondering why we’d all been called to an impromptu meeting. On average, we met twice a week to catch up on the dealings of the club, but since we’d just gathered yesterday, I was surprised to be back at the table so soon.
Trigger strolled through the door, followed by Brick, which was who we waited on. There were eleven members present and accounted for, a full table, and even though Trigger couldn’t cast a vote, he retained his seat. Prez sat in the head seat with Stone at his left. Next to the VP was Ryder, then Jagger, then Trigger, then Lincoln. To the right of Marek, sat Tripp, then Cutter, then me, then Ace, and then Brick occupied the last seat on our side. There was one empty chair, belonging to Hawke, Tripp’s younger brother, who’d gone nomad almost a decade ago.
From the bits and pieces I’d heard, something happened to Hawke’s woman, Edana, back when the club was still at war with the Reapers, and he couldn’t get over it. Years after the feud was extinguished, their cesspool of a club started to rebuild, minus the original members who’d either been killed or were rotting away in prison. Members from other charters settled here in California, and their beef with us was rekindled, although not nearly what it once was. Either way, whenever Hawke had a run-in with one of them, the encounter never ended well. And despite these Reapers having nothing to do with what happened to his woman, Hawke sought revenge. And by revenge, I meant that one by one, the Reapers started to disappear. After the third incident, Marek suggested that maybe he needed to leave for a while because his actions were bringing heat back onto the club, and everyone’s families. Tripp had tried to talk some sense into him, but Hawke wouldn’t listen. Soon after Prez’s suggestion, Hawke changed his patch to Nomad and took off with his woman in tow.
I overheard Tripp telling Jagger recently that Hawke would be stopping by in a few weeks. He was always good for a laugh because whenever he got drunk, he’d say stupid shit but not realize it, which amused me. The last time he came around was nearly two years ago, so I looked forward to seeing him again.
“You’re all probably wonderin’ why you’re here again,” Marek started, looking to each individual member, almost like he was stalling for time before he divulged the reason.
No one said a word, too busy lookin’ at each other, as if the guy sitting next to us would have the answer. The last time we were called into Chambers unexpectedly, it was to let us know that there was a run-in with two Reapers outside the Underground, and while nothing ever came of it, the older guys were concerned about the consequences of the fight. No one was killed, but tension was high for several weeks afterward.
Some shit I understood and some I didn’t, but us younger guys were kept in the dark when it came to the club’s past, most of the incidents, at least.
“It’s come to my attention that a couple Reapers showed up at Indulge the other night. They scared several of the dancers who were in the parking lot, and thankfully two of our security were getting off their shift, so they took care of them.”
“Took care of ’em?” Jagger asked, frowning at the prez’s choice of words.
“Not that.” Marek shook his head before continuing. “Our guys roughed them up a bit, but it wasn’t hard to do seeing as how they were drunk. They took off soon after.”
Stone leaned closer to his best friend. “Did they say anything?”
“The typical shit. That the Knights won’t rule this area forever and that the Reapers are gonna take over soon. Same bullshit as every other encounter with them.”
“What does that even mean?” Ace asked, leaning back in his seat while paying close attention. Hell, all of us were hangin’ on every word our leader spoke, although the older guys seemed more tense, their shoulders raised, and their brows drawn inward. “We don’t rule anything. We just have the strip joints and the bar. We’re far from monopolizing shit.”
“That club should’ve died with Psych a long time ago, but like cockroaches, they keep coming back,” Trigger said, slapping the table in irritation. Ryder, Jagger, Cutter, and Tripp all nodded; their understanding of the way things used to be unified among them.
Looking around at all the members, I noticed a disconnect of concern between the older members and the younger ones. My curiosity wasn’t enough for me to question why because I was already aware that any question I posed would either be ignored or shut down.
“While shit between our clubs isn’t what it used to be, we’ve still had dealings with them. So, just be careful. We’ve worked hard to get this club on the right path, and even though I’ll always do what it takes to keep everyone safe, warring with the Reapers again is the last thing I wanna do.” He pointed toward Brick. “That being said, since you worked there before, I want you to talk to the guys at Indulge. See if anything else happened. Then talk to some of the girls. Make sure those bastards aren’t threatening any of them. Be thorough.”
“Will do, Prez,” Brick responded, his eyes lighting up with the task. Brick had initially been hired on at Indulge as one of the bouncers, and while I’d never tell anyone this, I was man enough to admit the guy was intimidating. Most of us had tattoos, but the one in the center of his neck was borderline ominous. Maybe it was the skull design, the face of the image looking like it was lit on fire from the inside, or maybe it was because he was huge, even bigger than Tripp, who stood at six foot four. And if I had to wager, I’d bet Brick weighed anywhere between two sixty and two eighty, all of it muscle. By no means was I a lightweight, standing at six foot even. I worked out every day, and while I’d had many a woman compliment me on my physique, he was in a whole other category. Let’s just say, I was happy the man was one of us.
Brick had struck up a rapport with several of the members of our club and after two years had inquired about joining the Knights. Because of his loyalty, Marek approved him to be a prospect, and after a year, he was patched in as a full member. As it turned out, that day coincided with his twenty-fifth birthday. That was five years ago.
“If anyone doesn’t have anything else,” Marek said, looking around the room and waiting for a moment, “then I got some shit I gotta take care of.” The boom of the gavel sounded, excusing us from the meeting.
“Hey, you comin’ over?” Linc asked, walking next to me as we exited Chambers.
Grabbing my phone from off the table, I swiped the screen to see if I had any missed calls or texts. Nothing. But what was I expecting? That after just one time of seeing and talking to her, albeit not very productive, that she would light up my phone? No such luck. Riley was even more stubborn than I was.
“For what?”
“Swimmin’. It’s hot as balls out there. I’m gonna invite a few people.”
While the weather in California was pleasant, some days it became unbearable. Then again, I supposed if anyone walked around in a heavy leather cut, they’d get hot, too.
“Is your sister gonna be there?” I hadn’t so much as mentioned Riley to Linc in I didn’t know how long, so when he looked confused, I wasn’t surprised. Although, he didn’t say anything about my inquiry.
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“Wait, don’t you have a fight later?”
“Nope. Got pushed back till tomorrow night,” he replied, walking ahead of me to talk to Jagger.
“Hey?” I called after him. He turned around. “I’m leavin’ my bike here so I can work on it later. Can I catch a ride? Did you bring your truck?” Linc loved to ride, but sometimes, depending on what he had going on, he drove his SUV instead.
“What if I said bike? Then you’d have to ride bitch.” He smirked and I couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me or not.
“I’d rather walk.” I headed toward the garage to tinker around with one of the plugs on my ride before we left.
“I got the truck. Leavin’ in ten,” Linc shouted before he disappeared with Jagger.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I fumbled to retrieve it, hoping it was from the one person I couldn’t get out of my head. Again, I wasn’t sure why because hell would freeze over before Riley reached out to me. Opening the screen, I saw a text.
Tripp: It’s a no go for Linc’s fight tonight
Me: Just heard
Tripp: *middle finger emoji*
Well then… I supposed that’s that.