He was a social pariah, and I was his only friend. I knew that if he was out on his own, he’d get himself arrested, beat up, or killed within weeks so I left school and we moved to downtown Portland together.
Being flat-ass-broke, we bought old, beater bikes to get around town, which led to fixing those bikes, which led to fixing bikes for other people, which eventually led us to the Burning Saints Motorcycle Club, and our current lives as Minus and Clutch.
“Hey man… ah, we’ve got a quick stop to make before we go to the Sanctuary,” Clutch said. I could tell by the shift in his tone that I wasn’t going to like where we were headed.
Turns out I was right.
* * *
Cricket
“Don’t even think about it, asshole!” I yelled at the motorist attempting to merge into our lane.
My Uber driver flinched and covered his right ear.
“Don’t take your hand off the wheel, you’re gonna let him in! Don’t let him in!”
I was a fraction of a second away from grabbing the steering wheel and literally back-seat driving, when my long-suffering coachman shot me a look and said sternly, “Lady, if you do that again, I’m going to have to let you out at the nearest safe stopping place.”
“I’m sorry,” I grumbled. “I really am, I’m just very—”
“Late,” he finished my sentence. “Yes, I know. You’ve explained thismanytimes since I picked you up.”
He’d clearly lost patience with me and I couldn’t blame him. This poor guy was simply trying to do his job and I was sucking him into my vortex of chaos.
“I’m so sorry, it’s just that I’m meeting with someone I haven’t seen in a long time, and I’m a little nervous. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure why I agreed to meet with him. I know it’s going to get me into trouble with my brother, not that I really care what he thinks, because he’s being a big jerk. I know he’s only trying to protect me, but who asked for his protection? Not me, that’s who. I don’t need him or his stupid protection, or his permission for that matter” I said, sheepishly pausing to take a deep breath, now embarrassed by my outburst.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got a brother and he’s an asshole, too. What can you do?”
“My brother is not an asshole,” I snapped. “In fact, he’s as far from an asshole as you can get.”
“Sorry.”
I sighed. “No, it’s okay. I’m spiraling, and I must sound like a bitch… or a lunatic. Omigod, I sound like a spiraling lunatic bitch. I’m so…so sorry.”
I was even more nervous than I thought. I hated being late, but more so, I hated that my oldest brother, Hatch, could still make me feel like a little girl. He was going to be furious with me and I suppose he had good reason, but I still didn’t like the fact that soon he’d likely be sitting me down and scolding me for making decisions that weremineto make. I’m an adult and I didn’t need his permission or blessing to visit a family member if I wanted to. It’s true Hatch has had to act more like a father than a brother to me, and the fact he’s seventeen years older makes it worse, but I wondered if there was ever going to be a time when he’d start treating me like an adult. Like his equal. In fact, I really wanted to be treated like an adult peer by all four of my brothers. They were all older than me, and every single one of them was overprotective.
But what the hell does my uncle want?
When I was a little girl, my dad, my uncle Cutter, and their buddy Crow used to ride with the Dogs of Fire motorcycle club in San Diego. They’d been asked by the club’s president to start a new chapter in Portland and we were all going to move, but then my mother got sick and everything changed overnight. After she died, my dad was never the same. She was his heart and soul, and once she was gone, he went off the rails, eventually ending up in prison.
My uncle and Crow went to Portland as planned, but it seemed they had vastly different ideas of what a motorcycle club should look like. Crow stayed with the Dogs of Fire, and over time, became the club’s national president, and my older brother Hatch currently serves under him. For the most part, the Dogs have always been a clean club, consisting of mostly business owners, and ex-military types. They had very few local troubles and a good relationship with law enforcement.
My uncle Cutter, however, along with a group of dirt bags and petty criminals, started the Burning Saints, and they blazed a much more violent trail. Since then, I’d seen extraordinarily little of my uncle, so why in God’s name I’d been asked to meet with him is anyone’s guess.
“Okay, here we are,” my driver said as we reached our destination, failing to hide the relief in his voice.
“Thank you again, and sorry for the… um… backseat…driving…freak fest. I promise I’ll leave you a glowing review. And a big tip,” I said, slinking out of the car.
Moments later I found myself standing somewhere I never thought I’d be in a million years. I took a deep breath before pushing the grimy talkback button of the security box in front of me.
CHAPTER TWO
Minus
“Is this coffeeor motor oil, Phil?”
“I’m sorry, Clutch, I would have made a fresh pot if I knew you and Minus were… stopping by. Here let me make…”
