We’re silent as we head into the corridor leading to the large doors for Hell. I like that it’s not called Church like most clubs, not because I’ve found Jesus but because it implies a place of worship, and I don’t fucking worship Barrett.
As soon as we walk into the room my mouth dries at what I see sitting on the table in front of Barrett. It’s a pink carry-on bag, an exact match for the luggage I stole not too long ago. This was the bag Jaeger gave to us the night we took Slayer.
“Come and sit, boys,” Barrett booms. “Just the man I want to talk to,” he says as he looks at Diego. “How’s training going with our newest soldier?”
A few men snicker around the room as I slip into my seat to Barrett’s right. Diego sits across from me and folds his hands on top of the table, his forehead shining with perspiration.
“She’s doing well but not quite ready,” he murmurs.
“It’s been months.” Barrett holds out his hands to placate me. “Maybe I underestimated your ability to train.”
“She’s been through a lot,” Diego snaps, his eyes flashing with rage.
“I want her in this room one week from today, and mark my words, Montez, if she’s not, I’ll come get her myself.” His threat sends a chill down my spine, and by the slight widening of Diego’s eyes, I would say he’s feeling it too. “Here, give her this bag. Her brother packed it for her, but I took the money out of it of course. I should be compensated for housing the enemy’s daughter.”
Right here and now I make a choice. I will kill Barrett before the week is out.
The saying blood is thicker than water has never made sense to me. If a drop of blood mixes with water, it disappears. That’s exactly how I think of my brother. Malik Charles has never been one to show love to his family, even when we were kids, he was always cold and calculating.
I tried to be a good brother, but it was hard after Dad died. We were all going through different stages of grief, and at the time, I thought Mom needed me more. Malik seemed unaffected, he carried on as if nothing changed, and when our mother couldn’t find the will to get out of bed, he sneered and called her weak.
Our mother and Malik rarely saw eye to eye before the tragedy, so that rift between them only grew in the time afterward. Maybe I failed, and the one person I should’ve paid more attention to was my brother.
We don’t have that twin instinct I hear people talk about, we never had a solid connection, and I blame that on our parents. My mother spoiled me, paid more attention to me, and I knew I was loved. Malik had our father who was a bit more reserved and didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. They would sit together and watch the news, talking about horrific war crimes and the minds of serial killers. Their interests ran parallel and Malik slowly became like Father. So naturally, he and I grew further apart with no chance of finding our way back.
Our father wasn’t a bad person, he just firmly believed the family and home were to be kept by the mother while he would provide. He didn’t have a parental instinct in his body and while I do believe he loved us, he rarely showed it.
My finger absently moves to my cheek to dip into the scar left there by my brother. I’ve been wrestling with my emotions and thoughts since the night he stood over me and pulled the trigger without hesitation. At first, like everyone else, I thought he wanted to kill me. Why else do you shoot someone in the head? But like I’ve said, Malik is calculating and he has perfect aim, if he wanted me dead I would be.
Am I digging through a lifetime of cruelty in search of his humanity? Possibly. I drop my hand from my face and cross my arms over my chest. Regardless of all that, if he ever points a gun at me again, I won’t hesitate to fire mine.
I was just as affected as everyone else the day our bikes and clubhouse were torched, but not for the same reason. Sure, watching our home and beloved bikes burn was a kick to the stomach, but it was my brother standing behind Genni with a look of pure adoration that knocked the wind from my lungs.
Could the same woman who reached into my chest to squeeze my heart love my brother? Does he somehow love her back? Is he even capable of such emotion?
But the question that’s been most plaguing from the day he shot me in the face is: Did my brother want me to live?
Now the two people I am most curious about are together, and each day I find myself outside of their clubhouse or outside of Montez’s house. I don’t wear my cut and guilt doesn’t eat up at me when I leave it folded inside of the car I’ve rented. Nothing about me screams that I’m a biker in the Steel Dragons Motorcycle Club, which leaves me free to practically stalk the two people I can’t seem to get off my mind, and no longer do I feel an unrelenting loyalty to the club that became the family I always wanted.
The last time I saw Genni, before she was taken, she was unhappy and scared. I remember the bruises lining her throat and the fear shining in her dark blue eyes. The need to help her overwhelmed me and I still don’t know who was hurting her. I’ve asked Chino if he knows anything, but it only incites his depression further and he becomes a bubbling mess.
My guess is that it was a Hell’s March member. I know the rumors circulating are that they killed her father and then kidnapped her, but if that were the case, why is she still there with them and wearing their cut? I’m missing something and it’s right there in front of me, I just can’t put my finger on it.
Then there’s Malik. I’ve seen and heard him laugh plenty of times, but only when he was doing something sadistic. If I think hard enough, I can still hear his dark chuckle, the same one he had the night he shot me in the face. Never have I seen his face light up with pure happiness, his smiles and laughter never reached his dark eyes.
Until lately.
He smiles for Genni with his entire face. His head tips back with booming laughs whenever she says something he finds funny, and he’s always touching her in some way. A hand to the back, her arm looped through his, or his hand tangling in her dark hair when they kiss. They have so much passion, it crackles in the air around them, and it stuns me completely. I don’t know who that man is and it makes me wonder if I ever knew him at all.
I am also questioning the daughter of the man I once respected immensely. Maybe she was deceiving us all and everything that happened the night Vic was killed was her doing. Was her plan always to desert her family and turn to the enemy? Did my brother help her in some nefarious way? Were the bruises around her throat from him? I’m not sure what to believe. Genni was never really a part of the Steel Dragons world, but I do know the night I saw her in our clubhouse, she looked like she wanted to burn it all down, and she eventually did.
Every interaction I’ve ever had with Little Varga is imprinted in my mind and one, in particular, stands out. The night she questioned why I was sober because she had seen me flat-out drunk earlier at a bar. She hadn’t been lying, but did she know who it was even then? Then I come back around to the people involved. Cash and Kennedy.
Cash has been a Steel Dragon for over thirty years, he’s been put on a pedestal in the clubhouse because of how many brothers he’s saved from certain death as the club’s medic. Kennedy is on the other end of the spectrum from Cash. I don’t think any of us truly trust him, but we can all admit he’s good at his job as an enforcer. He’s brutal, apathetic, and completely insane. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume his loyalty has a price tag, but I wouldn’t have thought the same for Cash.
We don’t involve Kennedy in our Mass meetings because we’ve never fully trusted him to know the inner workings of the Steel Dragons, but we trust he could kill a person a hundred different ways for his brothers if needed. He’s fine with not knowing the details because he enjoys getting his hands dirty for the club and that’s it. I’ve always been wary of him, but Vic never seemed to be.
The front door to Diego’s house opens and my brother steps out, Little Varga not too far behind him. Their schedule is like clockwork and I tut at how dangerous that is. If Jaeger had his head screwed on straight and wanted to snatch his sister up for the crimes she committed against the club, he’d have no trouble at all. This is the time of day when they head to the old cartel warehouse and practice shooting. I’ve heard the guns popping off every time I’ve followed them. Which is often. Then after that, they’ll head to a deli just up the street from the warehouse to eat corn beef sandwiches and drink iced teas. Predictable and perilous.
