Iron Jack is on the right side of this fight, what with the other club capturing an ex-Wild Hair woman, running meth houses that preyed on women like the two in the bunkhouse, and threatening Marietta. Not to mention, trying to run me off the road.
They made it personal.
The last thought makes me rev the engine, the sound rising above the motors of the other bikes. The rest of the Wild Hair follow suit, the roar echoing into the night.
I feel like a part of something again, something wild and important. That hasn’t happened since I left the military. There were bodies then, too, accidents, aggression, mistakes.
We’ll get fired on tonight, no doubt. Who might take a bullet? What would I leave behind if I went down?
Diesel, for sure. We’ve been tight since we left home at eighteen.
The bar, though, Diesel can manage that fine.
The rest of the family, especially Greta, who’s in the middle of an ugly divorce. She and her kid Caden come down occasionally when she needs an escape, like earlier this week.
But then I’m back to Marietta. What are we exactly? Fuck buddies? Definitely that. She’s a wild one. I’ve never been consumed by someone like I am with her.
There’s more, though. It’s that Disney princess look, that yearning for something bigger. I don’t know that she’ll find it dancing on a pole, though she’ll have fun on her way to figuring it out.
I’m not sure her thesis will do it either, not that she got it approved. She had to cancel her meeting this morning with her adviser since she’s not allowed to leave the club yet. I’m not sure if that hurts her case or not.
I can picture her spinning on a hillside like Belle, wanting adventure. Or Maria, climbing every mountain. She’s that kind of girl. The one who wants more.
Can I give her that?
Do I want to try?
As the Wild Hair ride deeper into the night, I realize, I do. I want to lift her up, show her to the world. Rally behind her. Make sure people pay attention.
I don’t know what that looks like exactly. How she’ll need me. But this hollow in my gut when I’m not around her, or we’re on the outs, tells me she’s the only thing that fills it.
Iron Jack lifts a fist, and we all slow down. We’re approaching the clubhouse road. It’s deep in the woods, more hidden than ours. Not a lot of escape routes. We all reviewed the map. This road is the only way out unless you take your chances in the deep forest.
We turn down a dirt road, damp and soft. After a half-mile, Iron Jack raises his fist again, and we all throttle down, then kill our engines, walking them along the earth.
He opens his fist, and we disperse into the trees, anywhere we can stash a bike, aiming them back at the road for a quick exit.
I head to the truck to grab my gun from the back. This is where shit gets real.
We walk along the road for another few hundred yards until we can see the lights of the clubhouse. Fancy idles slowly behind us in the truck, headlights off, the engine purring as quietly as a box fan.
Iron Jack motions for us to move out. We take the positions we studied from the plan put together by the Deity enforcer. I’m near the road, opposite Iron Jack, ready to cover the others.
I think he put me here because I have the most recent military experience. It’s a precarious placement. I’ll have to adjust on the fly based on what happens.
Fancy idles forward until just before the clearing. Iron Jack signals for him to stop. Chain takes the driver’s seat, and Fancy comes down. The rest of the Wild Hair have small incendiaries to make a ruckus and cause some damage. But Fancy has a big explosive to get everybody out before the place goes up in flames.
We’re aiming the bomb at wherever they park their bikes to cause the most havoc without straight out killing people.
Fancy straps on an enormous backpack and moves along the edge of the trees toward the complex. Iron Jack follows behind him, and I remain on the other side of the dirt road, ready to cover them with gunfire.
Chain slowly backs up to turn the truck around, ready to haul ass.
The plan is for Fancy’s bomb to be set up with a delay, and as soon as it goes off, and people start running, the rest of the Wild Hair will let loose. Then we retreat to the woods and get the hell out of there, knowing most of their transportation is wrecked.
Fancy disappears into the shadows near the exterior garage. About twenty bikes are parked in front of it. He’ll get a handleon the best location. It’s my job to manage anybody who might discover him.
We wait, the cool air a relief to my face. I haven’t had a moment like this in years, and as I shift my feet, I half expect to feel the crunch of sand beneath my boots. It’s the same anticipation of action, of danger, that I got in Afghanistan.
