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I stayed silent.
Dealer nodded. "That's the first smart thing you've done since you got into this. Maybe there's a spark of brains in there somewhere."
He shared a look with Sonar.
The VP turned and called, "Twenty."
"Yeah." He had been waiting outside the door.
I wasn't sure what was going on and my heart began to race in anticipation. Is this the last day of my life?
Dealer said, "Untie him. Chain, too."
Twenty, a smart looking man with his crazed eyes, immediately obeyed. One of his patches read "Sergeant at Arms."
The president approached close.
For the first time since I had been captive, I felt real fear. This man held my life in his hands.
Something in his eyes, though, told another story. He said, "Why were you at that chapel?"
I looked at him like it was a trick question. "Getting married."
"Why that one?"
"It was the first one we saw..."
He lowered his face into his hands and scrubbed. "Fuck..."
Sonar remained quiet.
Dealer straightened, placing hands on hips. "You picked the wrong chapel, the wrong wedding suit, with the wrong vehicle."
"What does my—"
"A black Suburban? It's got government written all over it."
"So you are criminals." I had an ounce of courage, knowing I was going to die anyway.
Sonar snorted.
Dealer, however, looked serious. "You don't know shit."
"You're mixed up in drugs, aren't you? This is a drug operation—"
"What the fuck gave you that idea? Sons of Anarchy?"
"Well, that too, but your nametag—"
Dealer laughed. It was an honest laugh from the belly and he leaned back, growling out a guffaw that almost made me want to laugh with him. He shook his head and pointed to his patch. "Dealer because I'm a good card dealer. Learned in Vegas some years ago—"
"Oh, I see—"
Sonar scowled. "Don't interrupt the president. Ever."
I said quickly, "Sorry."
Dealer scrutinized me with piercing and knowing eyes that looked like they had seen a lot. "That's the second smart move on your part."
Kristy was hugging my arm. Her grip tightened.
I decided to remain quiet until I was addressed.
The president watched me, waiting, then appeared to nod slightly. "I suppose you're angry."
I bit my tongue.
"We fucked your wife. Three of us. Aren't you angry? I would be."
I gave a quick nod.
He cracked a smile. "At least you're honest." He looked down at my dick. "That's not the whole truth, though. And I'd hate to see little Kristy go."
I tensed, my hands forming into fists.
He noticed. "You want revenge? Want to teach us not to fuck your wife? Want to fight one of us?"
I growled but kept quiet.
"I should probably pay you that courtesy. She's a very sweet thing. Sweet, indeed. What say we clear a spot and I'll have one of the patches fight you. Just a clean fight. Let you hurt us back, huh?" There was a jovial twinkle in his eye.
I didn't know how to read that. But I could tell I was being offered a challenge. I felt I didn't have to take it, but to not accept would be to admit I was nothing. Always, I had been nothing. I had fallen between the cracks in school, having few friends. Always the loner. Always the last picked for a team. Always looked at as too tall, too slow, too not with anyone else. I didn't fit in with the druggies, the smokers, the jocks, the nerds... And neither had Kristy. Too small, too skinny, too smart, too quiet, too aloof.
No, neither of us had ever fit into anything. Dealer's words sparked a rage at myself within me. I was never good enough. I could never stand and say that I mattered. As tall as I was, I had lived with the stigma for years. My chest heaved, ashamed – ashamed of getting aroused seeing my wife taken in front of me. Ashamed of not having a job. Ashamed that even having the bad luck to be taken captive by this club had revealed my faults. I rose to my full height, determined to say I mattered. "I'll fight anyone here."
There was a reassuring squeeze from my wife that instinctively caused me to wrap my arm around her.
Dealer appeared pleased. "Stiff guy wants a fight."
Twenty chuckled.
"Get dressed and come out. Tell Twenty when you're ready."
"Will we be free to go after that?"
His eyes locked to mine, sparkling with something unsaid. "Ask me after."
~ ~ ~
I hugged Kristy fiercely. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes. They pulled my hair that first day, but after that they treated me gently."
"Even when..."
She nodded against me. "I'm sorry."
"You really wanted it, or did they make you say those things?"
She looked up into my eyes, searching.
"Tell me."
Her eyes shifted left and right, looking everywhere at nothing. Looking for escape. She trembled and said, "I don't know... At first I was scared. Dealer raped me. Then Viking. And Big Pizza. But Dealer came back and he was...so gentle." She trembled harder in my arms. "I felt as if he were protecting me, like I was something of his he could never mistreat." Her tears flowed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."
"So you liked it," I choked out.
She nodded. "Not for the sex, I think. But because I felt included. I felt special. I felt wanted. Safe. Does that make any sense?"
More than you know. "I think it does."
"Can you forgive me?"
I stroked her hair. "You were raped—"
"Not after that first day, I wasn't."
I sighed. "They used you."
"At first, yes. But then it wasn't like that. Dealer only allowed Viking to be with me one more time. Then it was all Dealer."
I felt angry, hurt that my wife had liked him and he had tried to take her from me. But at the same time, my dick began hardening and she felt it.
She grabbed my cock gently, looking up at me hopefully. "I'm glad you liked it, too."
I didn't like it. Not one damned bit. But then, that wasn't true, was it? I panted, feeling my dick becoming erect again.
She whispered, "It was hot watching you cum as you watched me. It felt like freedom – like I didn't have a care in the world. I felt special, just like when that pastor married us a few days ago."
I felt her sincerity. "When we leave, will you miss him?"
"Dealer?" She looked hurt. "I felt so wanted..." Things went unsaid.
I finished dressing, wondering if I had already lost my wife. I felt ridiculous in my black suit pants and white shirt. It was the only thing wearable for my wedding. I couldn't afford a tux. I looked at my jacket as I left the room; it was over the back of a chair outside the door. No wonder they thought I was government. Black suit, black sunglasses, black Suburban. Fuck, what a mess. And I thought I was just looking cool.
There was a grizzled old biker standing next to Twenty. His tag said "Gunner." A long, thin cigar hung unlit out of his mouth, though it had been lit at some time before. His eyes were glassy and squinted. Another patch said, "Chaplain."
Twenty grunted. "You ready?"
Gunner said, "Give the boy a minute with me, will you?"
Twenty said nothing, just gave the old man a look and then walked off. We were in some kind of a large building, old, with two corridors that went off left and right. But we were centered in a large room with couches and chairs. A pool table near the left wall had two biker women leaning against it.
I figured this must have been a hotel of some sort at one point. The hallways contained doors set close together.
Gunner said, "Heard there was a big mistake milkshake. Quite a mess."
I grunted sourly.
He said, " 'Blessed men pass through valleys of weeping.' You know that verse?"
I said, "Huh?"
"It's in Psalms. I take it you're not a Bible-reader?"
"No, I have one, but—"
"All of life's Wisdom is found there, son. You might try getting use out of it some time."
"Oh..." I felt uncomfortable at admitting I hadn't read it.
"Men who believe enter places of weeping. Happens to everyone. But blessed men pass through – to the other side. Remember that." He pulled the cigar from his mouth and squinted at me. He also had a patch that said "1%."
I pointed. "What is that? 1%?"
He smiled. "An award that's pretty fucking rare. It's earned by those who show extreme commitment to biking and the brotherhood."
I was confused. "Brotherhood? Like in Sons of Anarchy?"
The cigar went back in the mouth and a gnarled finger stabbed at me gently. "Best advice you can get about that is to forget everything about what you see on TV. A motorcycle club is nothing like that shitty show. For the most part. But yes, everyone wearing the patch is a brother or a sister—"
"You have a woman wearing a patch? I thought—"
"Don't interrupt your elders, boy. Especially those among the brothers. Yes, we have a lady patched; she earned it. Any of us in here would drop anything to come to the aid of one of ours in need. We're that tight. Tighter than you can know."
Kristy squeezed my arm and trembled. "I've never felt that, except with Jim."
Gunner's face cracked into a smile that showed a range of pearl-colored teeth. "The old ladies had good things to say about you."
She perked up. "They did?"
I wanted to steer her away from a precipice I feared. "Are you guys into drugs?"
Gunner's smile died and his look turned hard. "Fuck no we aint, I swear to that by God Almighty. We fight the attempts. We face the gangs coming out of the city looking for new territory. That was why we took down that preacher at the marriage chapel. He was a front – an advance scout feeling for buyers."
I gaped. "Are you serious?"
"Serious as a fucking shot to the head. That's how we handled him. Dumped a gang body in there with him. Made it look like a drug quarrel."
I made a face. "And the cops didn’t see through that?"
Gunner laughed a deep wheeze like a sixty year old Chrysler trying to start. "You don't know much about Keystone, do you?"
I shrugged. "Not really..."
"Much of the population is God-fearing people. So are the sheriff and his deputy. You beginning to catch my drift? They look the other way and we keep the shit out of the area."
I bent my head towards him, trying to understand. "You fight against drugs?"
"And gangs. And sometimes the CIA."
I laughed. "You're shitting me."
His look was serious, but there was light in the old man's eyes. "The fuck I am."
"The CIA?"
He gave a quick nod. "They've tried once to set up an operation here."
"What did you do?"
He flashed teeth. "That's club's business. Not for outsiders."
I jerked at the word "outsiders." It left a deep sting inside that made me blush.
He frowned. "Don't go all butt-hurt, boy. Club business is club business. The way it is. Now, you gonna fight? Or are ya gonna slink outta here like a scared little chicken?"
"I'm not scared."
He grunted. "Good for you; we respect that. Though no one woulda cat-called you for declining."
"Who do I fight?"
"Whoever you want."
"Is this to the death?"
He wheezed laughter again. "Naw, just a bit of fun and we recognize you have a beef."
Dealer came up to me from behind. He stood at my side, his eyes swiveled to me. "You ready?"
I nodded. "Do I get to fight you?"
"No, it wouldn't be fair."
I stood taller. "I can fight."
"I'm not doubting it. What I mean is, I'd let you win. We did you wrong and we aren't that way. I'm responsible for what we did, so I can't give you an honest fight."
I felt somewhat humbled by his admission. For having been captive for three days, I was being treated like a real human being. Someone who had as much value as anyone else. Suddenly, I was at a loss. "I don't know who to fight."
"Your wife tells me you learned karate. You also fix computers."
"Make them, usually."
He nodded. "Why don't you try our bouncer?"
"Your bouncer?"
"If you do good against him, I might offer you a job."
A wave of something I'd never felt before washed through me. "Are you serious?"
He chuckled. "Unless you can't stand the thought of working for us."
I felt a weight on my shoulders, but not one of worry or pressure. I felt the weight of responsibility in a way that made me want to give my best. "I'll fight your bouncer."
Dealer just stood there, looking at me for a minute. I thought I might have answered wrong. I noticed Sonar come around from his other side, slowly, a curious look to his watchful face. His lips worked behind his black beard, chewing on a thought. Finally, Dealer said, "Clear a space! Call out for a pitfight!"
The biker women in the room cheered and hooted. The few bikers in the room laughed happily.
I didn't know what the hell I was getting myself into. Serious hurt? Pain? I didn't know. Even more curious, my Kristy seemed to approve. She gave my arm a squeeze and launched a kiss to my cheek.
Two of the women hurried off, calling out "Pitfight!"
Sonar was tapping on his phone. "Word sent."
Chairs and tables were moved. At what looked like a hotel counter that had been turned into a bar, beer mugs were filled and set out.
Dealer talked to someone out of earshot and the other biker straightened. It was Gripper. He looked surprised and looked at me, then nodded.
I wasn't sure what to expect as he approached. I said, "You the bouncer?"
The biker grunted. He was the one with arms like logs and a chest that put even mine to shame. But his was muscle; mine was mostly flab now. Still, I knew how to move. He said to me, "Karate, huh?"
"Kenpo."
"What's that?"
I almost snorted, but kept it back. "Chinese Kenpo Karate. Not much different from other forms of karate."
"Ever fought in a bar brawl before?"
I swallowed. "No..."
He winked. "It's a different world. Don't worry; I won't break anything on you."
I laughed nervously, trying to sound nonchalant. "That's good to hear..."
He shook his head and moved away.
Kristy had walked over to Grannie at the bar and they were talking with heads close. The older woman's eyes darted about, scanning the room as they talked.
Not sure what to do except wait, I did some minor stretching exercises, but I felt like a fool.