The city seems smaller than usual now we have enemies to constantly look out for. Enemies that we have no idea who they are or where they are. Enemies that take cheap shots using their advantage of hiding in the shadows.
Keeping my eyes wide open, around every corner and behind me all at the same time isn’t enough. I keep all my senses open and listen to my gut.
The prospect’s mom lives in the roughest part of the city, and we stop outside a rundown apartment building. A few of myfriends in school lived out here and my mom would never let me over to the homes for sleepovers. She wouldn’t even let me play out in these parts. We didn’t have much money and even less after my mother died and my dad spent years paying off her medical bills and then the funeral, but when she was alive, she always thought we were better than the people who lived here. It wasn’t because of who had money or didn’t. She always said it was because of choices made when you don’t have the means to find better. We were poor but we didn’t choose to worsen our circumstances. She also said to wake up everyday and fight to find better and when our time came to leave this world, we’d be able to look back and see that even if we didn’t strike it rich, we still lived rich lives.
I often wonder what she would make of the choices I’ve made in my life. Dropping out of school senior year. The way I acted in the only relationship I’ve ever had. In and out of prison for various crimes. Joining a Motorcycle Club and fitting in like I was born to be there. Deep down, I know she wouldn’t be proud of any of them. She would still love me, but she would wear a frown of disappointment often.
I’ve missed her and thought of her every single day since the cancer took her and when I see the prospect walking toward his mom who is waiting for him on the stoop, a pang of jealousy hits me.
I watch on as he talks with her for a few minutes and then hands her an envelope, of which I assume is cash.
I hand my father a similar envelope every month.
His mom doesn’t look as I expected her to for her age. She must be in her forties, but she looks in her fifties, but it’s easy to see she was once stunning. She still has a good figure and from where I stand, I can’t see any grey in her hair.
“How old’s your mom?” I ask the prospect when he returns to his bike.
“The fuck you need to know for?”
I shrug. “Just wondering.”
“Well, don’t.” He mounts his ride and asks, “Where do you need to go?”
“The bookstore on Clement Street.”
It doesn’t take long to ride through the city and takes even less time to purchase the books on Annabel’s list. I hand the store clerk her list and he walks around the store picking them off the shelves. With them safely tucked into my saddle bag, I move to leave when three bikers ride towards us.
“King, they’re not one of us. Different patches,” the prospect tells me like I don’t have a set of eyes of my own.
I see the exact moment they see us and go for the guns. Grabbing the prospect’s arm, I yank him toward me and drag us down, taking cover behind the nearest car.
It angers me that we have to hide but I want to live long enough to kill these motherfuckers.
I count six shots fired and two embed themselves in the car, before they ride off.
“Get on your bike!” I instruct the prospect.
I climb on my bike and with the prospect riding behind me, we give chase. They won’t be going back to their president and telling him we cowered behind a car. That we’re only alive because we were weak.
I draw my gun and rev the throttle as hard as it goes. Traffic becomes chaotic and the air is filled with drivers blasting their horns. I don’t give a shit. We fought for this city and it’s ours. It belongs to the Lost Souls, and no fucker is going to take it from us.
I aim my piece at the fucker riding behind and squeeze the trigger, stopping at the last moment when a van blocks my view. By the time we ride around it, the fuckers are gone.
“Fuck!” I holler in frustration.
Police sirens fill the air, and we ride for the club before they arrive. There are no more run ins before we reach the clubhouse, thank fuck.
I kill my engine out front and toss my keys at the prospect to park it round the back, grabbing the books before shooting through the front door.
Luca is sat with Angel and before I can tell him what’s happened, he asks, “Why am I hearing about a current shooting in the city?”
I take out a chair at his table and sit. “I know who’s after us.”
My statement gets Warren’s and Maxwell’s attention, and they hover close by to listen.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Angel grunts.
“Hades Hogs Motorcycle Club. Three of them just tried taking us out in broad daylight, in front of a number of witnesses. Witnesses that only saw them shoot. By the time we gave chase, and I drew my gun, they were gone.”
