There comes a point where I focus on the grain in the wood floor below me and think about how much work was put into sanding and staining the wood. I’d give anything to not have to think about how Rancid is violating my body yet again. Ten years of this and it never gets old. Constantly feeling as awful as it did the very first time.
Chapter Three
You are being presented with a choice: evolve or remain. If you choose to remain unchanged, you will be presented with the same challenges, the same routine, the same storms, the same situations, until you learn from them. Until you love yourself enough to say “no more”, until you choose to change.
~Unknown
Gamble
6 Weeks Ago . . .
Rancid kept me at his clubhouse in the Bayou for a little over two weeks. I thought after everything went down, I’d be lucky enough to leave the following day. What in the hell was running through my head? Of course, I wouldn’t get to go home when I thought. At the end of the day, Rancid was only getting started with his fun.
I was locked in his bedroom, chained up like a dog for fourteen fucking days. I was practically reliving my life when he first took me, chaining me up in that room the exact same way. Thinking back now, I’m lucky I never developed Stockholm syndrome like so many other women in my situation would’ve done. But how could I when my hatred for the man runs bone deep?
I walk up to the luggage collection at BWI airport and look for my black and white suitcase Murder was kind enough to get me after Rancid tore my carry on to shreds. Once I spot it I walk right up to it, pick it up and head toward the double doors that lead outside. Early this morning I gave Mammoth a heads up I’d be home around four and asked if he could pick me up in his Jeep Wrangler from the airport.
The bright blood red of his vehicle can be seen for miles away, so it’s easy to spot it as I start approaching the doors. He waves from the driver’s seat while I go through the doors and walk up to his passenger side door. I open it, and then open the door behind me to toss in my luggage before I hop in. “You’ve been gone a while,” His tone tells me he wants answers but is trying to be really sly in how he asks.
“Yep. As always, it wasn’t my choice to be away for so long.” Rancid made it a point to tell me before I left how no one here knows about Dog’s death. He said it should be pleasant news to bring home to my club, the President’s duty. I wanted to wipe the sick smirk off his face as soon as he said it but held myself back like I always do.
“You heard from Dog? None of us have seen him since you’ve been gone.” Fuck, Mammoth is diving straight into this shit.
“Mammoth,” I murmur lightly, placing my hand on his forearm. No matter how much I try there will be no easy way to say this. “Dog is dead. Rancid tortured him and stabbed his blade through his throat.”
“Fuck. You’re joking.” He doesn’t want to believe it. How can I blame him?
“I wish I was.”
“Why?”
“You know Dog wasn’t a fan of Rancid, or the way he does things.”
“Dog had put up with Rancid’s shit for years until he started fucking you. Then suddenly everything changed.” Mammoth reverses out of the parking spot and flies up the road, far surpassing the speed limit. I didn’t respond to what he said because he isn’t wrong. Dog’s entire opinion of Rancid changed when we started falling in love with one another. He grew to despise the man he relentlessly followed for years. I didn’t have a goal to make him hate Rancid, however I understand why Dog started to feel a certain way. How could you be okay with someone hurting the woman you love over and over again?
“I’m sorry. I’m just . . . in shock, alright? Seems to me like he gave everything up for you and I can’t figure it the fuck out. Your pussy isn’t that special. I can walk down the street in Highlandtown and find some bitch who wants me to shove my cock in her twat.”
“You apologize and then proceed to insult me.” I mutter, cocking a brow. Mammoth could really work on his interactions a bit more.
“Ravage is going to be pissed. Fuck, what is Rancid thinking? Killing our fuckin’ Prez and then sending you back here without someone else to take his spot.”
“Uh . . . actually, there’s more.” I start saying but stop.
Mammoth presses harder on the gas so much so that anyone within an earshot can hear his engine flying up the interstate. “Go on.”
“Rancid named me the Prez.”
Mammoth busts into laughter, looks at me for a split second before he pays attention to the road again. “You picked a shit time to start working on your comedy routine.”
“I’m not fucking with you. If you don’t believe me then you can call Rancid yourself and verify my story. Hell, or call up Murder, Demon, Hatch or any of the others. They were all there to see it. They’ll fucking tell you.” I snarl, annoyed with the shitty bit of sarcasm I’m getting from the Baltimore charter’s enforcer.
“Fine. I’ll call Murder up right now.” Mammoth taps a couple buttons on his display and within five seconds a ringing sound is going through his speakers. On the fourth ring, Murder answers.
“Mammoth, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Just picked up Gamble from the airport. Says she’s the new Prez. Is she fuckin’ with me?”
“No, she’s telling the truth. She’s not fucking with any of us. I was there. Rancid’s word is law, as always.”
“Holy fucking shit. What else happened? There has to be more. There always is.”
Murder clears his throat, “Rancid might’ve announced to all the Prezs that Gamble is our own personal exclusive clubwhore. Said she’s off limits to everyone else.”
“What in the fuck?!” I’m starting to wonder if Mammoth’s vocabulary only consists of fuck.
“Seems Rancid doesn’t want to keep Gamble to himself anymore. Odd, isn’t it?”
“I’d sure say so,” Mammoth agrees with Murder.
“Gamble is here and can listen to this entire conversation,” I refer to myself in third person, pointing out I’m hearing every word.
“I hope you know the guys aren’t gonna take lightly to a woman being their Prez.” Murder says and I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or Mammoth until he says his name, “Mammoth, it’s your job to enforce the club so you need to keep her safe. Doesn’t matter what the others think. Rancid’s word is law.”
“Motherfucker. Why can’t shit ever be easy? Why do we always have to have some sorta issue or whatever?”
“Because life is a complicated beast,” I speak up.
“I heard a rumor that directly affects you, Gamble. Remember Hart from Petros’ charter in Nebraska?”
“Yeah, why? He went into hiding ages ago, right?”
“Yes, he did. On Rancid’s orders. Rancid called and told him to head up your way and patch into the Baltimore charter so he can start over.”
“Ugh, how fucking kind of him. I’m gonna have enough issues going on without someone else patching in.”
“Be glad I gave you the heads up. He’s been hiding up in a cabin in Montana so I’m gonna bet he won’t be down your way for a few weeks. He’s always been as slow as a turtle when it comes to shit like this.”
“I appreciate it, thank you.”
“No problem, just . . . be careful. Who the fuck knows the people that’re really on your side? I have a feeling someone ratted Dog out to Rancid and that’s what got him in the predicament he was in. Shit, he was one of the good ones, too. Gamble, thanks for ending his suffering the way you did.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mammoth snarls.
“She took the blade from his throat and shoved it through his heart. At least she gave him the opportunity to die without choking on his blood in front of his comrades and the woman he loved.” Murder defends me, now seeming like a chivalrous bastard. I could’ve explained to Mammoth and I’m sure he would’ve understood, but it’s nice to have someone who comes to your defense every now and again.
“I’ll make sure everyone at the club knows Gamble being our Prez is legit, and to respect her or they’ll have to go through me. Have a feeling a lot of them just might try to stir the pot, though. Gamble, we’d better get some big dogs out here to explain this is legit. They won’t accept it on your word and my own. Even if Murder calls in, they’ll have reservations.”
“I have an idea,” Murder says. I thought we dropped the call since we’re driving through a certain part of the highway where our service always goes out.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Let me call Ghost. Everyone is afraid of him, and I mean everyone. He’s the one guy who gives us all the creeps. If he shows up there and lays down the law, telling them to respect Rancid’s decision and you as Prez . . . fuck, I bet they’ll listen. I’ll get off the phone with you two right now and call him up. I’ll even try to get him on the next flight out.”
“That would be amazing. Thank you, Murder. I appreciate the kindness you’ve shown me more than I can express.”
“It’s nothin’, Gamble. Don’t think anything of it, alright? Dog was one of the good ones and he loved you so I won’t let any harm come your way. I can’t do much from Charleston but I’m only six hours away. You need me and I’ll put my ass on my bike and ride up. Now, I’m gonna get going so I can work some shit out for you.”
“Thank you,” I express my thanks again before Murder ends the call.
Chapter Four
Let them judge you. Let them misunderstand you. Let them gossip about you. Their problems aren’t your problems.
~Scott Stabile
Hart
6 Weeks Ago . . .
I’m not made for the snow, even if I am a Sicilian from Staten Island. I moved out to Nebraska at eighteen and stayed with the Lincoln, Nebraska charter of the Royal Bastards MC for almost seventeen years. What do I even have to show for it? Nothin’. I’m thirty-five, sittin’ on a couch that looks like it was in my nonna’s house in the seventies. Fuck and what I wouldn’t kill for some good cable and Aunt Maria’s homemade ravioli. I gotta admit, my ass misses the food more than anything else.
While I call my mother every couple of weeks, she’s damn sure to guilt me and hold how long I’ve been away over my head. She never liked it when I told her what I was gonna be doing with the MC, not even knowing what a damn motorcycle club was. She said it was like the mafia and while I told her it wasn’t . . . it is. The only difference is we’re trading exotic cars for Harleys.
Rancid, our fuckin’ weasel of a National Charter Prez gave me a call this mornin’ and told me I could stop hidin’ up in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. He’s a real piece of work and that’s keepin’ shit light. If I ever acted like this asshole, I would’ve been dead already and not by one of the clubs many enemies. My mother would’ve paid me a visit straight from New York and popped me for treating any woman like Rancid does.
He’s notorious for torturing women and raping them before he kills them. I’ve never been much of a fan of his but Petros was my boss. Only met Rancid once and I think he was gone within five minutes. Preferred it that way if I’m bein’ honest. It might just be my morals or the way I was raised but I don’t condone the type of shit he knowingly walks around doing.
In the past few weeks since I’ve been holed up in Montana, I’ve made myself known in the community. Hell, I went to a bar the first week I was here and ran into some fella named Zane. He was drowning his sorrows in top shelf bourbon, so figured he was my type of guy. Found out he’s the interim Prez of the Reapers MC and their clubhouse isn’t too far away. The night I met him I was bein’ a nosey bastard and asked why he was the interim Prez.
He told me his Dad just died and they hadn’t made anything official as of yet, but they would once everyone got over their grief. Thought that was kind of him, but you can’t delay the inevitable. When shit like that goes down people need to see they have someone in charge, ready to make harsh decisions no matter if it’ll hurt someone’s feelings or seem callous.
Seems to me like his club is still in shock at their momentous loss. I told him he needed to be strong for the rest of his people though ‘cause they look up to him. By the end of the evening I had a newfound friend up here. He started showing up in town every couple of days and we’ve been grabbing a beer together every Friday since. After the third time he apologized for not inviting me over to his clubhouse but explained it’s because he doesn’t have one. It all went up in flames right before his Dad passed. He’s currently waiting for the weather to warm up so the construction company can really start doing their job and getting everyone in his club settled again.
Fuck, that brings us to the same Podunk bar we’ve gone to every Friday since I’ve been here. I sit on the same couch we always do by the pool tables on the east side of the bar, nursing my bourbon on the rocks as I wait for my friend to show up.
He walks in the side entrance per usual and like the last time we met doesn’t even head up to the bar for a drink. I draw my brows together and give him a once over. “You trying to be the sober friend here, or is somethin’ getting under your skin?”
“Just not tryin’ to turn into a drunk. Feel like all I’ve been doin’ these days is drinking liquor. Need to stop it unless I’m throwin’ a party of some sort. You know?”
I nod, “Yeah, I get that. You have to show your people you’ve got your shit together. Can’t afford to slip up.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Bastard.” Zane must think his nickname for me is cute.
“I’m Hart, not Bastard.”
Zane chuckles lowly, “Yeah. I keep hearing Rancid’s name being mentioned. Wanna tell me what that’s about?”
“If I knew what you were referring to, I’d tell ya. Care to fill me in?” I take a decent sized sip of my bourbon and wait for Zane to answer me.
“Rumor on the street is he’s involved in some pretty heavy sex trafficking. What do you know about that?”
“I don’t have any firsthand knowledge, but I’d be lying if I said it isn’t something he’d do. He’s the lowest scum of the earth you could imagine.”
Zane nods, “That’s what I thought you were gonna say. Two sixteen-year-old girls went missing in town. Police believe they were targeted for trafficking.”
“And you think it was Rancid, all the way up here?”
“It’s a possibility. I just keep thinking about it, and why in the hell would he send you to Billings when he knew this is Reapers territory? I think he might’ve sent you to distract me while some of his even fouler members went hunting for teenagers.”
I want to tell Zane that could never happen, but I can’t. It’s right up Rancid’s alley. “When did they go missing?”
“A week ago, after you were settled up in my town.” Zane’s tone isn’t accusatory, but I know how he’s telling me in a subtle way I need to get moving. I’m distracting him and if he is right Rancid could strike again.
“He called me this morning and told me I could patch over in our Baltimore charter. Told me to get on the road, actually.”
Zane scoffs, “I hate it when I’m right, but I think I am.”
“Sorry, man.”
“You have nothin’ to apologize for. Rancid could be as bad as Grizzly, if not worse.” Grizzly, the fucker who blew up Zane’s uncle, killed his dad’s girlfriend and lit their clubhouse on fire.
“I have to agree with you,” I mutter, downing the rest of my drink. “You have my number so don’t be a stranger. Hope you don’t think I have anything to do with what Rancid is planning.”
“Nah, if I did you’d be dead already. I’m sure you can believe that.”
“I not only believe it but count on it. I’ll be heading out in the morning to Baltimore, but I’ll take my sweet ol’ time getting there. No reason to rush.”
“Alright, well safe travels my friend.” Zane and I stand up at the same time and give one another a brotherly hug. If I look at the positive side of things, at least I’ll be getting
some decent fuckin’ cable soon.
Chapter Five
Her courage was her crown and she wore it like a Queen
~@therandomvibez
Gamble
4 Weeks Ago . . .
Ghost is supposed to be showing up today. Sly, our prospect went to go pick him up from BWI about two hours ago. My guess is they’ll be back here at any given moment. I’m both nervous and excited to see him. He’s a typical man’s man, however the sense of darkness that surrounds him is terrifying. He’s the only member in the entire club who doesn’t have an entire tattoo on his body. One time I asked him about it and he told me tattoos are recognizable. It gave me a better insight on what type of man he is— the type who will do anything, and I mean anything.
The last two weeks have been difficult. That’s putting it lightly. Mammoth has been the only person in my corner after hearing Rancid named me Prez. We asked Ghost to come out here sooner but he was caught up with something back home. In the meantime, I called my friend Ripper, who’s the Prez of the Central Texas charter. I explained everything that was going on and he told me how the rumor mill of the Royal Bastards already got back to him. He heard pretty much the same thing, only with more exaggeration.
Ripper rode out to come visit me a week ago, essentially telling everyone here to get the fuck over the fact a woman is now the Prez. None of them dared say a thing to him, but I know it wasn’t because they were finally believing I’m a capable person for this job . . . if that’s what I can even call it.
Much like Heavy, he got his name from the size of his cock, or rather what he can do with it. Word on the street is he rips women in half. Ripper’s currently sitting on one of the metal barstools, chatting it up with our most popular resident clubwhore, Razz. It’s short for Razzberry, and the color of her hair. She’s a real looker, so whenever brothers come in from out of town, they always wanna piece of her. It makes Peaches and Jugs hate her a little more, I think. Peaches has strawberry blonde hair and Jugs got her name from her G sized boobs.
Bet On Me: Royal Bastards MC: Baltimore #1 Page 3
