And the feeling of doing so on my chopper, with its added horsepower and sleek black look—the Reaper with a scythe and a pointed finger emblazoned on both sides—was unlike anything else I could ever have. We got into the MC world for the brotherhood, but we stayed in it for the bikes.
We arrived at our destination, Brewskis, an absolute dump of a place—but our dump of a place. It was a place for groups society considered the dregs and losers of the world. Prostitutes hung out on the corners, drug deals went on behind, and sex was had in the bathrooms on the regular.
It was a weird place, though, because it was about the only place where the Saints and the Reapers had a sort of unspoken agreement not to attack each other. Almost all of the hookers were in the employment of the Saints, and many of the drug deals which went down had their fingerprints all over them. But because what happened at Brewskis stayed at Brewskis, we never really pushed to get them out. The locals knew full well what went down and never went, not even in desperation at a late hour. In return, we could go there and drink without worrying about keeping the peace in the town.
The Saints and Reapers would have the occasional death glare, sure, but it was the equivalent of the DMZ between the two Koreas. Neither side trusted each other, and there was always the risk of the bad guys pulling some stupid bullshit, but by and large, there was an uneasy truce to it. Both sides understood the consequences for breaking this truce would be fatal.
I put my kickstand down on the close side of the building, the better to make a getaway in case anything happened, just as Patriot pulled up and parked behind me. I made it obvious I was packing heat in my back pocket, just so Patriot would have the assurance I’d brought something, but I was much more interested in seeing if he had something. When he confirmed that he had, I felt much more at ease.
The one time you felt brave was when Shannon was in danger.
Maybe that’s why I’m so scared of battle. Because the one time I was brave and fearless of the enemy, the woman I loved got killed. Who would die next in a battle?
Me?
“We really gotta open up our own shop,” I joked. “I’m tired of going to the neutral land to have drinks.”
“Yeah, because Bottle Revolution will really take us in, man,” Patriot said with an eye roll. “If you want to hang with the families and have fancy beer while you talk literature with them, be my guest.”
“Eww, no,” I said with a snort. “I’d rather go to the other side of this bar and ask Lucius’ daughter to suck my dick.”
“Really?”
I chuckled. His daughter, Lilly, was quite attractive, and she was close to our age... but there were so many reasons that was a stupid idea, it wasn’t even worth listing them.
“Of course not, you think I’m that fucking dumb?” I said. “But for real, we’re never leaving Brewskis. We can go to Bottle Revolution when this place burns down.”
We loved the bartenders for the strong drinks, pointing out which women weren’t in cahoots with the Saints, and for just generally being cool and chill as fuck. I’d instituted a “no transactions” rule at the place because of how many girls and dealers worked for the Saints, but I knew the bartenders would never fall for the attempted charms of some of our dumber members.
They were there to make strong drinks, get tips, and go about their day. They didn’t give two fucks if we were Knights, Saints, Reapers, Falcons, Saviors, Wolves, or some other distant club that I hadn’t run in circles with.
We opened the door to see the place completely empty, save for our favorite bartender, Jess. Wearing what looked like a mid-riff leather jacket that just barely covered up her chest, spiked green hair running from her forehead all the way down, and torn up jeans, she strummed the bar as we approached. It was a favorite game of mine to guess what kind of look Jess would have—she was like a chameleon, able to pull off the down-to-Earth, homebody look just as easily as she could a punk rock look or whatever she had now.
She was very attractive when she just had her normal look, but I’d made it clear to the officers and club members none of them were to hit on her. She was too valuable to us as an ally of sorts.
“Gents,” she said. “Long day?”
“It’s never a long day with the Reapers,” Patriot said.
I opened my mouth to object, but decided better of it, mostly because we weren’t there for bartender therapy but for discussion amongst ourselves.
“Well, it’s a good thing your fan club isn’t here,” she said with sarcasm as she pointed to our go-to drinks, two Yuenglings. “Last thing I need is for you assholes to be staring at each other across the bar and scaring away business.”
“Please, we’re your number one customers,” I said as I pulled out twenty bucks in cash. “We scare away the fools who stumble in, order some drinks, and then leave without tipping you more than the round-up.”
Jess rolled her eyes, drawing a good-natured laugh from both of us.
“I come in here every day wondering whose ass I’m going to have to chew out,” she said, putting the bottles on the table. “Luckily, Lane, I like you. Unluckily for you, I also like Lucius when he’s in a good mood. So, nothing’s ever permanent. But that also means I get to watch the same people land on the curb ass-first. It’s so predictable which one of you guys I have to kick out.”
“Did you bet on us?” Patriot asked.
“Nah. Pretty boy over here won’t let himself get too drunk.”
Pretty boy. Jesus, does even the bartending staff think I’m too cool for the club?
“And since you’re with him, you’re not going to do anything stupid,” she said. “But, my bet was on whichever Reaper walked in here without you.”
“And why is that?”
