Tru Murphy

by Gypsy Reed

  “It’s wasted on him,” KC added harshly.

  I shrugged Mitch’s arm off; I didn’t know why they were so hard on Butch, and I didn’t know why there’d been a fight. I didn’t care who started it, but it was really cool to watch my man end it. I just felt like everyone should be treated fairly, and from what I could see, that wasn’t the case. They weren’t coming down on the other guy, Big, and he had been fighting too.

  I stepped towards him, “Do you want to hold Sinclair? He always makes me feel better.”

  He looked into my eyes, “You’re sweet, Sara Jane. Raincheck?”

  “Okay.” I don’t know why I did it, but I hugged him.

  Tru and Mitch looked like they were about to pounce on us.

  “I’m going to head out.” He said pushing me away.

  “That’s the best idea you’ve had tonight.” Someone said behind me.

  As I watched him go, it made me sad, “Bye Butch.” I shouted so he could hear me.

  “Later Sara.” He waved back.

  KC

  I DOUBTED MITCH would give Butch any more chances. I agreed with that. I hated it for Butch; I was once like him. I know what it’s like to have this beast growing inside you. He rubbed people the wrong way, I still did that. I was just in a position to not give a fuck about it.

  If I heard one more time that he was no outlaw; I was going to crack a few skulls. The thing is that no one ever gave him a chance because everyone liked Big. He was just that type of guy you wanted to be around and have at your back. Butch had a real problem with authority, and what nobody got or let sink in was that he might be even more outlaw because of it. Still, even outlaw bikers got rules. We break some, but mostly we don’t. We worked together, and Butch struggled with that. Someone fucked him up a long time ago, put that chip on his shoulder, and some shit can’t ever be scraped off.

  Why the fuck he wanted to live this far out and isolated as shit was beyond me? His yard, if you could call it that, looked like a recycling bin, all beer cans. I kicked them out of the way as I trudged to the door of his crappy little camper.

  I knocked once on his door and didn’t wait for an answer. His tiny little trailer was empty, his clothes missing except for his cut, which he left hanging on the only chair.

  “Dumb motherfucker!” I slammed my fist into the wall. “Fuck you, Butch Bradshaw.”

  It ate at me, and it annoyed the fuck out of me that it did. After all, we did for Butch. Hell, how many times had I gotten Mitch to give him another chance. We let him in, I would have handed him the keys myself. If he’d ever gotten his head out of his ass long enough to let himself fucking have it. The only man I knew that liked to hurt himself as much as Butch did; was the one I looked at in the mirror every morning.

  Fuck him to hell and back. The brothers were right? But ain’t it kinda outlaw to skip out on a group of outlaws? No more chances. You don’t come back from this. Second chances aren’t unheard of in the Knights of Mayhem’s long history. But Butch had used that up already, now he was done. I hated feeling like an ass for sticking up for him so many times when Mitch was going to cut him loose. Seriously? I thought Butch had it in him to be great, maybe even be VP someday.

  Now he needed to stay gone. The kid was stupid smart; I knew I’d never see him again. Because even though he always broke the rules in the club, he knew them well.

  I maneuvered his rough as hell driveway, which was more a dirt road with potholes. I opened the throttle up on my bike and listened to the roar as I tore down the highway. The feeling of my bike and the open road sent my adrenaline into overdrive. Fuck yeah. I didn’t know where I was going; I didn’t much care. I just needed to ride.

  Tru

  I NEVER IMAGINED MY life would end up fun. Never thought I’d laugh as much or at all, really. But when you hear the two people, you care so much for, love so much you’d die for them or kill, laughing. You laugh too. I didn’t waste time, because I had done that for a decade. I couldn’t get it back, but I had a future now. It’s never too late to stop being a selfish asshole and just start living.

  I married Sara less than a month after we got home. I gave my son the name Sara wanted him to have. My father’s name- Sinclair Murphy. Now Sara has that name too. Making everything legit sat right with me. I think my old man would have approved.

  A few weeks ago, a man in a suit came to our door. Before I could cave his face in Sara stopped me. I can’t say she remembered him fully. But things are coming back to her slowly in fragments. He said his name was Thomas Abernathy, and he was Sara’s lawyer. It had taken him a considerable amount of time to locate her. The reason for his visit was her estate. Sara had enormous wealth. Some from her parents and also from her deceased husband as well. Sara could have asked him a bunch of questions about her past that I’m sure he’d had the answer to. But she didn’t.

  She said she didn’t need to know who Sara Hastings had been. She was Sara Jane Murphy now, and it made her proud.

  Last night when she didn’t come to bed, I found her asleep on our couch with her journal in her lap and a pen in her hand. I saw what she wrote, not being nosy, it was there in black and white:

  It takes a Tru man to heal a heart he didn’t break and raise a baby he didn’t make.

  After reading that, knowing the way she thought of me, like some kind of hero, I fucked her in every position we’d never tried. Every time she came I told how much I loved her and Sin, so she’d never forget. I’ll never let her.

  We have everything we need with each other and our boy. We don’t really need all of that money either, so we put most of it in a trust for Sin. We both agreed it would make his life more comfortable, and that was what mattered most, anyway. Love is what Sara, and I thrived on most, and we had that in spades.

  Butch

  IT MIGHT MEAN I’M A fucking coward for leaving. Then again, it might just mean I grew tired of the bullshit. I thought that’s what I wanted years back. I thought it would be easy, but there ain’t no such thing. Anything worth much doesn’t come easy, Granny Bradshaw would tell me. Only getting hard is the story of my life.

  Listen to me piss and moan, sound like I need to change my tampon, for fuck’s sake. You know what you do when life seems intent on never giving you a fair shake. You make a new life. Cut and run, I know it well, the childhood I had, I’m a fucking expert.

  I left the Mayhem I once so desperately wanted to be a part of several states behind me. I never once looked in my rearview. I put Texas in my past the same way right before I met KC Carter. Leave your ghosts in the past where they belong.

  I met a cute girl, Trish. She’s too good for me, but I wouldn’t be Butch Bradshaw if I didn’t take advantage of a situation when it presents itself for the taking. I got a good job, one that pays well because as long as I was prospecting for the club, I made very little. How could I earn a living when I was always running errands for those fuckers? Been able to save up at least half my paychecks, cause I can live cheap. I did for years.

  Money will come in handy, too, Trish is pregnant. I got a plan for us, and we’re leaving for a new place soon. I always wanted to see Chicago, Trish has some family there.

  My work uniform chafes a bit, but not in the physical sense. I always preferred denim and leather. I kiss Trish goodbye, and she tells me to be careful. Women worry too much.

  I work my graveyard shift, shoot the shit with my coworkers, eat lunch, take my scheduled breaks, until the moment I’ve been waiting nearly a year for, finally arrives. I walk the line, then move swiftly and duck into the prisoner’s cell. I retrieve the make-shift rope tucked down my pants. It’s been bugging the fuck out of me so long, I sigh. It took Trish and me quite some time to fashion it from the inmate’s uniforms I stole. It took longer to make sure it would do the job. Trish is still pissed at me for the trial tests. I had to know it would hold a man’s weight.

  I wrap it around the inmate’s neck and have it cinched tight before he wakes with a jolt of alarm. His
salt and pepper hair mussed and roosterish. He may have been drooling in his sweet dreams. Now he’s awoken to a nightmare, his last.

  I lean in real close to his ear and say, “Got a message for you, Nate, from Tru Murphy and the Knights of Mayhem. No one’s untouchable bitch.” Then I tighten it more and more until his eyes bulge and he stops trying to breathe. His fight was pathetic, I lift his old ass and tie the end of the rope over the bars and let him hang.

  They won’t find him until the next count, and by then my shift will be over.

  This outlaw ride will continue in Hummingbird-Knights of Mayhem MC-Book II!

  Thanks for reading, I hope you continue this book journey with my outlaws.

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  Kansas

  1975

  A successful run does not mean an easy one. Karma can fuck you nine ways to Sunday, even on the good days, when you’re an outlaw.

  “Scoot over, bitch.” West crowded into the diner’s booth. Dust from their leathers fogging the air like smoke.

  “If you could ride like you run your mouth brother, we’d be home by now.” Big pushed him back, West narrowly avoided toppling onto the grimy floor.

  KC sat with his legs stretched, back against the wall, motioning the only waitress at that time of night over to their booth. “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can get back on the road, then I won’t have to listen to you two whining pussies.”

  “Coffee?” tucking stray strands from her beleaguered bun behind her ear, their waitress, Nadine her name tag read, sized up KC.

  Their Prez Mitch once referred to KC as a pants messer. On initial observation of their VP, women soaked their panties and men shat themselves. Look up grave motherfucker in Webster’s, and there’s a mug shot of KC Carter. Man only ever cracked skulls, rarely a smile.

  “Three. Steak and eggs all around.”

  “How do ya want that?” she inclined closer to their VP.

  “Rare and easy.”

  “Any dessert?” A flush infused her tired face making her mousiness instantly more attractive.

  Big’s attention divided between the crass innuendo at their table and the disheveled girl a few booths down.

  “Anything special on the menu?” KC gave her the look, the one that melts panties and promises.

  “Like what?” her eyebrows peeked, a gap-tooth smile splitting her face. The Knights of Mayhem VP wasn’t picky with a piece of tail. He claimed there were only two kinds of pussy, old and new.

  KC didn’t do old pussy.

  He beckoned her closer then whispered in her ear. Her mouth fell open, eyes sliding closed, face turned the same shade of red as the vinyl they sat on only a few moments prior.

  West snorted, reclined back, accidentally kicking KC under the table, who pulled away from a very flustered waitress, only to pin West with a dead man’s stare.

  “Fuck man, sorry, VP. Just tired, feels like we were riding for days.” West yawned while stretching a second time, more carefully.

  “Pussy.” Big mimicked, scratching the recent growth of blonde stubble on his jaw. His stature made it impossible to find comfort in a booth he did not fit in, as such was the life of a man of Big’s stature.

  “You are what you eat,” West said as their coffee arrived.

  KC gave a subtle tilt of his chin “Leave the pot.”

  “It’ll get cold.” The frumpy waitress warned.

  “It won’t last that long.” Big’s attention returned to that girl who sat all by her lonesome.

  “Kay.” She smiled coyly, sashaying away as KC watched her plump ass jiggle.

  The girl who held Big’s attention wore a skullcap, which made her appear younger, best guess? Barely legal. Her eyes met his, she gave him a chin lift. An acknowledgment that meant something different in outlaw circles. Ninety-nine percent of the population think they know what it means, they don’t.

  The waitress brought their orders, Big said: “That girl over there, she here long?”

  “For a while actually. Some random trucker dropped her off. Boss don’t like people loitering, but it’s cold out, and she wasn’t even wearing a coat.” Her empathy didn’t extend to the point of acknowledging the girl’s hunger or doing anything about it. Big found that evident by how the girl avoided watching the three of them eat.

  “Get her something to eat,” KC growled around his mouthful of eggs, he gave Big a very brief glance.

  The waitress had the decency to look chagrined before she approached the girl.

  Big had an eye for detail, especially concerning women. Like he knew for a fact, she wasn’t a Lot Lizard. They usually could afford a meal. Whores doll themselves up, this chick probably didn’t own a tube of Chapstick. In his youth, Big knew hunger, so it didn’t sit right with him to eat in front of a starving young woman.

  After the waitress left her, she met his eyes and mouthed the words “Thank you.”

  He gave her his warmest smile and returned the chin lift. She held his eyes a moment longer stirring her cocoa.

  The door opened bringing with it a bitter draft of frigid air. The soft twangy notes of a country song from the jukebox, couldn’t disguise the pathetic nature the door chime issued.

  Like a death knell.

  The man that entered could be a trucker or any countless number of things, all of them wrong. Outlaws have a radar, letting them instantly know fellow travelers on their wayward side of the law. Big could smell trouble, like bacon scorching on cast iron acridly foul yet shamefully hunger-inducing all the same.

  West yammered on with a mouthful of food. KC ignored him, only grunting occasionally. Big couldn’t hear what the grease stain said to her, but noticed that whatever his words, unhappiness was the result.

  “Just give me my bag Vince.” Her voice held an angelic lilt to it, but her face was as stoic as their VP’s.

  She followed him outside; the guy glanced back in a bullshit obvious move that spoke loads more than his devious intentions, of that Big was certain.

  “Get up man, let me out.” Big watched her through the window as she disappeared from his view.

  “Fuck you, I ain’t done eatin yet,” West complained.

  “Yes, you are.” Big shoved him out, this time he landed on the filthy floor.

  “Fuck you Big sonofabitch!”

  “Brother, you know what you’re doin?” KC looked up, setting his utensils on top of his half-eaten plate.

  He didn’t answer his VP, which was usually a mistake. Truth was, he didn’t know what he was doing. Big only knew he had to do it.

  He exited the diner, bracing against air cold enough to cut as he surveyed the parking lot. Flurries swirled in their fall to the coarse gravel, creating a dynamic yet beautiful contrast to the blackness of midnight.

  Next to a dull gray delivery truck with no identifying decals stood the wearer of a skullcap and the misfortunate who seemed
set on antagonizing her.

  Visibly shivering as he refused to relinquish her property. Doubtful a coat was among the contents of the duffle, too small. Reluctant to get closer to the asshole. Smart.

  Big’s pace increased, only a few feet remained between them, “Give the lady her bag, scab.” Man, he looked like something offensive Big couldn’t wait to scrape off.

  No recognizable apprehension showed on her antagonist’s slick mug. He’s either a moron, lacking the instinct most possess for self-preservation or connected.

  “Ain’t none of your fucking business scooter trash. Mayhem are pussy.” He spat at Big’s size 14 shit kickers.

  “I know I don’t look it, but I’m more of a lover than a fighter. Name’s Big cause everything I do, I do that way, or I stay the fuck home. That’s a personal rule most men should follow. If you want to be a man, you lack that problem. Pickin on a girl and shit. I think we both know who’s the cunt.” He returned the favor, hocked up a phlegm glob then hit him with it between the eyes.

  Dropping the bag, the greaseball bowed up curling his hands into fists “I don’t give two fucks who you are cornbread or who the fuck you with. You just stepped in shit, and too big and dumb to know it.” Nothing about his physical stance belied he was anything but ready to throw down.

  Big looked down at him, hearing the gravel crunch under booted footfalls behind him. The guy finally had the common sense to look nervous as he backed down.