Guys like me, we didn’t do normal well. Some part of me, for better or worse, craved the uncertainty, the violence, the danger.
Prospecting for an arms-dealing biker club would ensure I experienced those things, but also some stability financially.
After time in prison, then a damn halfway house afterward, both where I lived on pennies, the promise of a steady income was what intrigued me most about the bikers.
Once I was in, though, it quickly became bigger than that.
I hadn’t expected a biker club to feel like a family. Yet that was exactly what they were. A family. And I’d unwittingly become a part of it.
Suddenly, there was shit I’d never had before.
Homemade soup from one of the OG old ladies when I caught the fucking plague one winter. A stocking full of candies I didn’t even remember telling anyone were my favorites. People taking care of me when I got shot.
I hadn’t been prepared for it.
And that shit got past my defenses.
It mattered.
They mattered.
While I didn’t dare to call them family, knowing how much of an outsider I was, I orbited around that family circle.
I didn’t want to lose that.
Not even if I was sure Gracie was the kind of woman who wrapped a man up in arms and legs and cried out in his ear as she came.
“Fuck,” I said, dragging a hand over my short hair and exhaling hard.
“That bad, huh?” a voice asked.
Turning, I saw Matteo Grassi making his way over toward me.
He was about what you’d expect of a mafia guy in this area: tall, fit, well-dressed, traditionally good-looking, and a little mysterious. Though Matteo lacked that hard edge that his brother, the capo dei capi of the crew, had.
“Huh?” I asked, then realized he was talking about the weeds under my feet. “Well, it ain’t good. But if I managed to get rid of the mint one of the princesses planted in the backyard, I can get rid of this shit.”
“Any chance you can get rid of it and get new grass growing before June? That’s our busiest month. Until then, we can have photographers choose other areas. But this spot is popular.”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t take that long. Point me to your groundskeeper, and I can give him a plan.”
After that, my afternoon was spent discussing plans with someone who I assumed wasn’t an actual groundskeeper, but a mafia associate.
I guess when you had such a dangerous business, you didn’t want outsiders in your inner circles. It was probably why the club never hired outside contractors to do anything. It seemed like over the years they’d had various club members master everything from plumbing and electrical to roofing and general construction.
After the associate brought me back to the main building, Matteo and I got to bullshitting, and I lost track of time.
The next thing I knew, I was looking outside, and the sun was starting to set.
Matteo walked me to the door but hung back when his phone started to ring.
So I walked around the back of the building, taking the long way back to the lot, just enjoying the grounds and the quiet.
Well, the relative quiet.
Thumping from the barn was stripper song after stripper song. Given the guests, I imagined it was a male stripper in there putting on a show.
Why the thought of Gracie being in there seeing that made a strange, tight, uncomfortable sensation move across my chest was fucking beyond me.
