Outlaw Road (A MC Romance) (8 page)

He owed me.

I made my way down the main set of stairs and saw him scribbling something in what looked like a guest book. “I hope that's not us,” I called down to him, startling the thin man. “Probably best that I don't show up in any records on this side of the state.”

“Of course...” Roach sighed, placing the pen down and slapping the cover of the book shut. “And what the hell have you gotten into this time?”

“Nothing I can't get myself out of.” I rotated my right arm in big circles and stretched. It was a little sore from the rough ride and catching and hauling Flora. “Where's your bar?”

“The B's stands for
bed
and
breakfast,
not bar!”

Laden with disapproving disbelief, my eyeballs automatically ached. “You're joking.”

He fixed an expression that said he was serious.

I chuckled. “Okay, but I know you at least have a little whiskey kicking around. Do me a solid and fetch it for me, will you? It's been a hell of a day.” My pocket vibrated. I checked the number. “And I don't think it's going to get any better.”

I was expecting to eventually get a tongue lashing from Tee, but to have the president of the whole club call... Whiskey or no, this wasn't a call that I had the luxury of being unavailable for.

“Hey pres,” I answered, mustering up as much cheer as I could. Roach started to protest, but I frowned at him and motioned for him to leave.

Poet's voice was calm with confident authority. “You want to explain to me what happened tonight?”

“Not much to say, really.” Verbally shuffling was habitual. Being roundabout and vague was how I navigated all the heavy stuff in my life. “I'm sure Repo must've filled you in on most of it.” I turned my back on Roach as he entered the kitchen.

“Repo wasn't the only person to call me,” Poet replied ominously. “Tell me what happened after he left.”

“I stuck around to play some cards, but they didn't much like that I won. There was a little scuffle, nothing crazy. Once I took what was rightfully mine, I left. No bodies, though, I promise.”

Poet had a way of sharpening silence to a fine edge. “Just a little scuffle?”

“Yeah, mostly.” As soon as it left my mouth, I knew that it wouldn't be enough. I shook my head and followed up with the other half of the story. “There was also this girl.”

“With you, there always is. Can you grasp just how badly you fucked up tonight?”

“We had our disagreements, yeah, but I'm telling you... Lucky, he's a real asshole. You know how it goes, guys trying to make a name for themselves.” I tried to play the whole thing down as much as possible.

“Why is it that my enforcer was having disagreements in the first place? You were there as back up, that was it.”

I squeezed the phone harder. “I know, but I think the Knights are pushing more than just drugs and whores. At the very least they're running transportation gigs for a human trafficking ring. Maybe it goes deeper than that, and I know which side the Veins fall on when it comes to assholes like these.”

“You have any evidence to support those claims?” The sharpness in his tone made my cell receiver uncomfortably hot.

“It was mostly Lucky's tone and attitude. I think he has a partner, too. It's fucked, Poet. The Knights are goddamned animals, you should see the state of some of these girls. They—”

“His
attitude?
” Poet roared. “Your wounded pride jeopardized the lives of a hundred of our guys!”

I kept quiet. Few people could shut me up, and the president was one of them.

Remy Poet Daniels was the most dangerous man I'd ever met. For a while, the Steel Veins lost their way. Poet was the man who stepped up and ripped out all the weeds, something now referred to as the 'changing of the guard.' Poet brought this club back to the roots it was founded on. Because of that, I have nothing but respect for the man.

“You're a selfish prick, Ronin. You've never seen nor cared about the bigger picture, and that's why I fucking sent you! Do you have any idea how many guys we cut loose after the old guard was removed? Our membership has been cut down to almost half. We don't have the manpower to support your fucking sad conscience. The Steel Veins can't afford a war with the Knights, at least not right now. For the good of the club we had to call an emergency vote.”

His edge softened considerably, and he added, “I'm sorry, but it was unanimous. You're in the wind.” 

My chest tightened at his words. “Remy, I know I fucked up, but don't do this, man. You can't kick me out!”

“You almost castrated the Knights' president.” There was a deliberate pause to let the words sink in. “Severing ties with you was the only way to smooth things over with Lucky. The only way to keep from full on war breaking out.”

“It was one mistake. All I
have
is this club!”

“No. You lost that the second you let Repo walk out of those doors alone,” Poet growled.

This was a huge deal, I was crushed. I was so caught up playing checkers that I fucked up The Veins' chess game. Remy had every right to be pissed at me, but this was too far!

There was a resigned sigh on the other end of the line. “You know the news will go public the second I let the Knights know, but I'll push that to the end of the week.”

I could hear it in his voice that, although he was pissed at me, this was out of his control. Sure, he wanted to kick the shit out of me, but kick me out of the club? No, he understood what the brotherhood meant to me, even if I was just a nomad.

Remy said, “That should buy you a few days to get some miles under you. Disappear, Ronin. Find a quiet place and lay low for a while. You made a lot of enemies, and without the Veins to back you...”

He let the words drift, but in that space there was no vagueness. Without a club to watch my back, I was fair game for every asshole and old grudge to take a swing at. It might as well have been hunting season, and I was on the menu.

I was completely fucked.

“Yeah, I know.” I couldn't keep the bitter resignation from slipping out.

“We'll try to figure something out on our end, but until then, keep your head down,
brother
.” Poet's voice held more defeat than hope. Technically, I was no one's brother now, but it still felt good to hear the president call me that. It was his way of telling me that he was pulling for me, even if he couldn't support me publicly.

I folded the phone shut and took the heaviest breath of my life. Standing there, I was unable to think or move. The residuals from the conversation seeped ever deeper into my mind and heart.

My gaze drifted upward, not for any kind of prayer, but to will the ceiling to give way and crush me.

Loneliness gave way to something even more primal. I was extremely good at letting heavy shit slide right off me, usually with a joke and a smile. This time, I couldn't find the levity.

Like the red-tinted fog of dawn over an eerily calm lake, this time, there was no holding back the dormant anger from invading my.

My eyes glassed over. I stepped forward and launched a nearby wooden chair into the door frame that separated the fireplace from the foyer. Two thick, spindly legs broke off, the delicate backrest shattering across the floor.

One call from Remy, and that was it. I was nobody again.

I'd been riding for the Steel Veins since I got back from Afghanistan. All those years, and in the end, it didn't amount for shit. I'd spilled so much God damn blood for this club, both mine and others, and they were just going to hang me out to dry because of a little scuff up from a card game?

A
rigged
card game. One that I fucking won!

Everything was coming down around me. With a vote from some assholes that I barely knew, the only thing that mattered to me was ripped away!

I threw a punch into the nearest wall. Pulling my dusty hand from the drywall, I expected a shout of protest or a whine from Roach, but he must've fucked off while I was on the phone. That was fine by me, I didn't need his grief right now.

I brushed the plaster off my arm and my now worthless vest. After a moment, I searched Roach's desk. There was a forth of Jim Beam in the bottom drawer. I took the sad bottle and found a table and chair to sit at. Although it wouldn't be nearly enough, the bourbon was at least a good start,

How could they do this to a brother?

That's it, project. It's everyone else's fault, right?
My PTSD counselor's unwelcome, vaguely-patronizing drawl was a piss-soaked blanket that I couldn't peel off my mind. As much as I tried to ignore the memories of all the lets-talk-about-our-feelings-and-cry sessions from people that had never seen a day of actual war, some of the truths that bubbled to the surface were just too raw to dismiss.

After leaving the Army, this club was the only thing that has made sense. That feeling of camaraderie, of being part of something bigger. It's what got me into the military in the first place. And now, for the second time, I'd thrown it all away.

I tried to drown that rawness with whiskey, draining the bottle in big, molten sips. I hadn't eaten much, so the blessed numbing started setting in right away.

It didn't take long to finish the bottle, not that I was in a rush, really. Time crawled by. Fortunately, I had my demons and failures to keep me company as I sat alone in the foyer and reflected on my past.

My only solace was the fact that I wouldn't be left in the wind for long. One way or another, this whole fucking mess was temporary. Either I found a way back under the Steel Veins' protection, or someone with a score to settle would catch me with my guard down and that'd be the end of that.

A hard rain loomed above me.

The alcohol drained, I sent the bottle gliding off the table. The tough glass thudded against the floor, still very much intact, before spiraling into the kitchen. I found myself grinding my palm into my forehead, as if I could push the doubt out of my mind manually. There was no escaping the truth of it all. My excuses were see through and stretched thinner than plastic wrap.

What the fuck was I thinking?
I scolded myself.
I should've walked away with Repo, but no, I was too blinded, like always
.

I was so full of shit that the smell of the lies nauseated me. Duty may have brought me to that meeting, but Poet was right. My pride forced me to stay.

Sometimes it was so damn hard to call it like it was. There was no honor in the way I fought for Flora, just self-serving pettiness. I'd saved her for all the wrong reasons. I couldn't let a slight against me go unpunished, and I'd used her as an excuse.

Because of that, both of us would suffer.

“What the fuck, Ronin!” Roach burst into the room from the kitchen and looked over the damages.

“Nah, fuck...” I wiped the water from my eyes before he could see. Fishing out a stack of twenties, I tossed it on his desk. I had no idea how much I gave him, it was probably too much, but I didn't care. It was only money. “Sorry, Roa— Sorry.”

He ran a hand over his thinning hair and grumbled something under his breath. His inspection complete, he walked to his desk with another half empty bottle of Jim Beam. Roach snatched up the money, flipping through it with the dexterity of an aging con man. Begrudgingly satisfied with the amount, he tossed me the bottle.

Within a few seconds I had the cap off, eagerly pulling swigs. I just wanted to drown in a waterfall of bourbon.

He lingered, then sighed and awkwardly asked, “Bad news, huh?”

Roach wasn't a friend, not that I had many to begin with. He was more of a useful associate of the club. Before the Knights of the Only Order set up shop here, another gang ran this area. For whatever reason, they didn't like Roach or the rundown motel he'd owned.

They'd occasionally break in and trash his place. They'd trash him, too, if he was there. I was the one to
politely
convince them to fuck off and leave him alone. Ever since then, Roach has always hooked me up when I rolled through.

Some time back, Roach's shitty motel burned down. With the insurance money, he bought this little gem. All things considered, Roach was a shifty guy, hence the nickname, but he always came in handy as a set of eyes in an area where the Steel Veins weren’t so welcome.

“Something like that,” I said in between sips. Roach shuffled uneasily, it was obvious that he had something else to say and it wouldn't be any more strained niceties. “The hell is it?” I looked up at him. “You wanna offer me your shoulder to cry on?”

The apprehension in his face soured, but his expression lightened as he began to speak. “I wasn't listening in...”

“You—” I shot to my feet.
I wasn't exactly discreet while talking to Poet, but eavesdropping on club business? A guy like Roach should've been smart enough to know that shit like that was bad for his health.

“Wait, wait! I wasn't listening in
but!
” Roach threw his hands up and shuffled backwards a step. “I may be able to help you out of your... situation.”

I was drunk, pissed off, and in no mood to have my patience tested. “Talk fast.”

“Okay, Okay. Listen, it sounds like that girl upstairs is nothing but a problem. I can take her off your hands for you, maybe smooth all this over with the Knights.”

“The fuck are you working with the Knights for? You switch sides on us,
Roach
?” I grabbed a wad of his sweater vest and jerked him towards me. “You know the Steel Veins' policy on rats.”

“I'm not working with them, but of course I know them! They come by every month to collect their extortion money—”

“Last I checked, the Veins compensate you for that.”

“As long as I keep providing information! How the hell am I supposed to give your MC what they want if I don't know the enemy?” Roach's explanation was quick and emphatic.

He was worried that I might put him through the same hole in the wall that my fist made earlier. I thought about it for a minute; Roach was sleazy by nature, I'm sure he would've deserved it, regardless.

I let him go. I wasn't thinking clearly, I was trying to solve problems, not make more.