I wanted to laugh, but I clamped my mouth closed and fought like a son-of-a-bitch to keep all traces of humor from my expression as I tried to think of something helpful to say. But helpful wasn’t really my thing. Thankfully, before the urge to poke the bear overcame me, Spade, Sage, and Tap showed up and we got on our bikes and headed out.
Wasp
MILITARY VETERANS DON’T always have the best reputations. We swear, we drink, we fight, we fuck, and sometimes we lose our goddamn minds. Although I never saw direct combat, I had plenty of brothers who did, and they say the hardest part of war is coming home. That’s why Link’s father formed the Dead Presidents MC… to provide support and structure to servicemen who came home too changed to go back to their old life. Jake founded the club, but since he took the reins, Link has been working his ass off to expand his old man’s vision.
Link wants to remind society that despite our issues, we’re still the good guys.
Sometimes even we forget.
Our club often feeds the homeless and runs toy drives, but Link’s been searching for other shit we can do. Other ways to make a difference and give our members a way to atone for some of the fucked-up shit they had to do while in the service. His latest idea was an anti-bullying campaign that had me, Havoc, Sage, Spade, and Tap walking into Helping Hands, a low-income preschool located only blocks from the club. This was our third visit to the school in as many weeks, and I was surprisingly excited to see the kids again. Judging by the hurried steps of my brothers, they were, too.
When Link first told us about the job, I thought it would be easy. Coming from a big family, I had all kinds of experience with kids. Hell, I’d been roped into babysitting my younger cousins more times than I could count. But nothing had prepared me for the pint-sized thugs at Helping Hands. The first day, we’d strolled into the classroom thinking we were hot shit with our speeches and prepared demonstration, but those savage little assholes saw us coming.
They kept interrupting us with questions about guns, how many people we’d killed, and inappropriate (but funny) body part discussions. How the fuck were we supposed to handle their curiosity without traumatizing them? Training sure as hell hadn’t taught us that. Determined, we tried separating the kids into groups so we could divide and conquer, but they ended up dividing and conquering us.
The second session went better. We hit up the dollar store and brought cheap little toys that we used to bribe them into listening and participating. Worked on the greedy little bastards like a goddamn charm. Today, we planned to see if we could keep their attention while spacing out the rewards.
Sage, the club shrink, said it was kind of like training dogs with treats.
Havoc reached the door first. He took a deep breath and looked us over. “Everyone ready?”
We slid our game faces on, channeling the A-Team or some shit like that. He opened the door, and we entered as a unit. Wearing fatigues and combat boots, marching in line, we looked pretty damn impressive. Black, Hispanic, Asian, Mixed, White, Link had created some sort of all-race super team, insisting the kids would better relate to someone who looked like them.
That’s what he claimed, but I had my own suspicions about his presidential motivations. I wouldn’t put it past the fucker to snap some pictures and put us in a calendar, so he could sell it for a charity. Hell, I’d even given him the name for it… Hot Veteran Smorgasbord. In response, Link had kicked my ass out of his office.
Some people have no vision.
My team checked in at the front desk. Today’s receptionist was new; a mousy little woman wearing a conservative floral dress and glasses. She took one look at us and I swear, her glasses fogged up. Her cheeks turned bright red and she immediately held up the paper she was writing on and began fanning herself.
Yep, all the babes would pay for our calendar.
“Hi, um, you must be the Dead Presidents.” Her reading glasses slid down her nose as she checked us out over the top of the form, her gaze flickering around the group like she was trying to stare at us all.
Broads dug men in uniforms. My bike and cut got me laid plenty, but if I ever hit a dry spell, I knew I could don my fatigues and I’d be drowning in pussy. Of course, my current dry spell had nothing to do with the willingness of babes, and everything to do with a certain brown-eyed beauty who wouldn’t give me the time of day…
Spade stepped forward, beaming a wicked smile at the receptionist. The Copper Penny’s lead bouncer always went for mousy little librarian types. “Yes ma’am.”
He gave her a little wink and she about fainted.
“Uh… the, um, same room.” She swallowed. “As last time. Please s-s-sign in here. Do you need me to… uh… show you? The way, I mean?”
She was so worked up, she could barely speak. Walking with us would probably give her a heart attack. We all signed the visitor sheet.
“No, babe, we got it,” Spade answered, still grinning. “Thanks.”
“N-n-no problem.”
He cast her one more look over his shoulder as we rounded the corner. No doubt Spade would have her number before we left. Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Havoc led us to the classroom of preschoolers who’d be entering kindergarten in the fall. We could hear the kids before we reached their door, and the sounds coming from that room made our footsteps falter.
Every single one of us had broken up our fair share of fights and dealt with veterans so far gone they didn’t even recognize us, but the door of that preschool classroom gave us pause. I took in the uncertain expressions of my brothers and let out a laugh, grabbing for the handle.
“Don’t be pussies; they’re just kids,” I said as I pushed through the door.
Shit was everywhere.
It looked like the kids had been in the middle of some art project when they’d gone mutinous. Papers, glue, and glitter covered the desktops and floor. Every single last kid was huddled under their desks, yelling “No!” on repeat from the top of their lungs, and the teacher—a new one I hadn’t seen before—had her hands over her ears and a look of terror on her face as she shuffled toward the door like she was preparing to escape or maybe call for back up.
No amount of military training could have prepared us for this shit.
