Chapter Three:
1983
Jesse
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist before smearing a hand across the mirror and taking in my reflection. My beard was starting to thicken up, finally. I rubbed a hand across it, thankful.
I had been an early bloomer, already starting to fill out into the body of a man by the time I was twelve years old. But it had been my damn baby face that had always been the giveaway to my age. Still was in many ways. But a beard—a beard would make that all better.
Butch’s fist thumped against the door. “Hurry up, Jesse! I need to piss!”
“Fuck off!” I called back, only half-joking.
He’d been out drinking until around five that morning, and had woken the whole damn clubhouse up when he got back in and started to party. Not that I minded too much—it wasn’t like I was some good choirboy in bed by nine, and of course he’d brought women and booze back with him, so who was I to complain?
“I’m gonna break it down if you don’t open up!” he yelled, thumping the door again.
I ignored him in favor of brushing my teeth and spraying on deodorant, because fuck him, that’s why. At some point he started to shoulder barge the door, but I still didn’t open up for him. A crack started to form down the center of the door and I smirked at it, knowing he’d catch shit from Hardy when he saw it. I was done then, so I reached over and twisted the lock before pulling the door open and letting Butch fall inside, hitting the dirty floor with a loud crash.
He groaned and rolled onto his back, putting his hands over his eyes, and I looked down at him and laughed. Butch never knew when to stop drinking, and he never could handle his liquor.
“Aren’t you supposed to be riding out later today?” I asked, kicking his leg with my foot. He’d only been back two days after a long stint on the road. It pissed me off that he was leaving again so soon, but it was what it was, and I wasn’t about to complain like a little bitch. He was my big brother, not my dad.
He groaned again and started to sit up. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Hardy’s gonna kill me.”
“Yep,” I laughed again.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” His words were slurred, but his plea genuine.
I helped him up off the floor, and he patted my shoulder and headed to the toilet before pulling himself out and taking a piss, one hand on the wall.
“Old enough to know better, brother,” I replied. “Besides, I did try but you were so caught up in snatch that there was no tearing you away.”
Butch finished pissing and tucked himself away, a sloppy grin on his face. “Yeah I was.” He shoved his long hair out of his eyes and walked toward me, and I high-fived him as he went out into the hallway and headed back to the main clubhouse. I trailed after him, not ashamed to be almost naked in front of any of the bitches there.
Like I said, I was filling out nicely and my almost-sixteen-year-old ass wasn’t shy about my body. I headed to the small kitchenette and brewed some coffee for us both before bringing it back out to Butch in the hopes that he’d sober up some more before he took to the road. He was lying across one of the sofas, an arm flung across his face again to blot out the light, and I placed his coffee on the table in front of him after clearing some of the bottles out of the way.
The place was a mess: women and bikers half comatose in every available space, and all of them practically naked. Looked like a damn orgy happened the night before. I wasn’t concerned with who was going to tidy up the mess, though; that was the women’s job, and they’d be up and sorting it soon enough.
It had been this way for as far back as I could remember. Partying, sex, drugs, alcohol, and then someone else cleaning up the mess for me. Butch and I had raised ourselves when we’d been brought there. Well, between the old ladies looking out for us and making sure we were always fed, and the brothers watching our backs making sure we were safe—but we’d done the rest. Can’t say we didn’t do a damn good job, either.
Hardy, our dad, practically never spoke to us—not unless it was to bark an order. Though I could tell he had a nicer streak for Butch than me. But most of the time we avoided one another at all costs. Ain’t nothing good ever came out of seeing my dad. He made sure we were fed and clothed and that we went to school, but that was where his parental responsibility ended.
Of course it was different for Butch. Now that he was a patched-in member of the Devil’s Highwaymen, he had to deal with Hardy much more—taking orders from him, going on runs, club business. But not me; not yet anyway.
I slurped some of my coffee down, and that seemed to rouse Butch. He sat back up and grabbed the coffee before drinking some. I opened my mouth to speak, but a loud banging came from the front door and both Butch and I stared at each other in confusion.
Men began to stir all around us, all of them coming out of their drunken stupors as the banging continued. Butch sobered up automatically, and he pulled out his gun and stood up before telling me to stay where I was. Of course I didn’t, and I followed him to the door as some of the older brothers came charging out of rooms, guns in hand. We both looked up at the screen above the entrance, the image showing us who was outside.
“You know her?” Butch asked, and I shook my head. “She looks about your age.”
I shrugged. “I ain’t seen her before.”
“You fuckin’ sure, Jesse? Cause she seems about your age, and Hardy will blow his nut if you’ve got angry teenage bitches coming around here causing shit for him!”
“Dude, I’m telling you I ain’t seen her before.”
The girl was looking down, her hair covering most of her face, but as she reached up to bang on the door again I got a good look at her face.
