Ryatt
Friday nights were good money. But I wouldn’t be working tonight. I had to admit, my stomach was in my throat. The halfway house had a ten o’clock curfew. Because I’d never given Treena any trouble, she’d given me an exception for tonight. Of course, I’d lied and said I needed money and planned on making deliveries. Hanging around an MC would be crossing into the gray area of avoiding environments that would undermine my sobriety.
I’d given up on convincing anyone I didn’t have a problem. I’d just do quiet time, keep out of trouble, and wait it out.
As I approached the Heller Raiders MC compound, and rode through the gates, a shiver of adrenaline, feeling a lot like fear, slithered down my spine. I wasn’t on a Harley. I’d never been around a gang of bikers, and I had no misconceptions that I’d be violating the terms of my probation.
Bikers hung around an open fire in an old oil drum. A couple of other guys revved the engines of their bikes. They all tracked my progress through their compound. My blue R1 stood out as the oddity in a sea of Harleys and Indians.
An older man, one I’d seen with Kiss, waved as I rode between the rows of bikes looking for an empty spot. Remembering what McKelle had said last Sunday, I circled the building, following the worn asphalt trail and parked next to her BMW, a flatbed truck, and a couple of cars.
One of the guys waved me over as I rounded the corner of the building and followed the walkway. The main doors were propped open. People lingered in the opening. Music drifted on the air along with the mouthwatering aroma of barbecue.
“This is Kiss’s friend.” The name on his vest said Sully. He slapped a hand to my shoulder.
“You lookin’ to hang around?” an older man asked. The patch on his vest called him Butch. At least, I wouldn’t have to remember anyone’s name.
Three guys revved their engines, laughing, and drinking from longneck bottles. That aroma of seasoned meat came from smokers a few feet from the oil drum. Another couple of bikers flipped chicken and burgers.
A blonde walked out of the building. A black bandana tied up her hair. Black eyeliner rimmed her eyes, and she was covered in tatts. She wore the same leather vest as the guys, only hers declared her Sergeant at Arms. “I don’t need Rogue to bust your balls,” she said to the guy coming outside with her.
“Nah, because you have his in your pocket. Rogue’s a pussy-whipped motherfucker now. You domesticated him.”
All at once, everyone around the oil drum hollered, “Tank.”
“You’ll hand your balls over to my princess, too, just like the rest of us,” Sully said.
“Nah,” the man said. “Bristol is the only one handling my balls.”
Another round of laughs followed.
“Your old lady must be out of town,” Butch joked with Tank.
He sighed. “She lives in Vegas now. I came home and found out the house is in foreclosure. My shit’s gone including my wife.”
Butch wiped his hand across his mouth. “Dozer didn’t say anything. We could’ve kept up the mortgage while you was locked up. Club owed you that.”
“My kid didn’t know. He doesn’t talk to his mother. I can’t blame him. This is on me. And nothing I’m worried about tonight. I’m going to get high, get laid, and get into some trouble.”
“You are trouble,” Jazzy said. “No weed for you. I’m not getting between you and pussy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Jazzy snatched the joint from his fingers and took a hit. “And keep all your heathen behaviors out of the chapel. Rosie’s here.”
“Who’s the kid?” the biker they called Tank asked.
Jazzy slugged his arm. “Don’t fuck with me. Romeo’s club princess, and you’re not going to corrupt her so, clean it up.”
“Fuck, woman, you bust a man’s balls the first night he’s out. I’m not talking about the baby but the kid in front of me.”
What the fuck? He meantme. The man was huge. Weathered tattoos covered arms like pythons. The words death before dishonor weaved around a military saber carried in the claws of an American eagle inked his arm and shoulder.
I’d hate to meet this biker in a dark alley. He had a reddish-brown beard to his chest. Scars cut lines in hisface, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. He tried to take the joint from the blonde.
“You’re on parole,” she said.
Was she talking to me or the scary, badass convict?
“Willy said I got one night to celebrate. He’ll keep the PO off my back.” He took a long hit off the joint.
“If you piss dirty, Dozer’s going to kill both me and Romeo.” Jazzy smiled.
