Swing
Tidals & Anchors MC
Yolanda Olson
Published by Yolanda Olson, 2015.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SWING
First edition. December 19, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 Yolanda Olson.
Written by Yolanda Olson.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Thank you
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Epilogue
Thank you
Coquette Graphics. You made the cover into something way more than I could have ever imagined and I appreciate your hard work on it!
My beta team. You guys are awesome for putting up with my crazy mind. As always, your feedback and enthusiasm with my projects is beyond appreciated.
My readers. Here it is; what you guys asked me for. I hope you enjoy part 1 of Tidals & Anchors MC!
Swing
Tidals & Anchors MC
Prologue
This wasn’t supposed to end like this. I was a goddamn outlaw in the most feared motorcycle club in the five surrounding states and here I was fucking tied to a chair, bleeding from the head, and eyes blindfolded, wondering when it was finally going to be over.
No one had come to try and save me and no one even probably knew I was missing. I had days like this when I would disappear until I felt like being seen again and they were okay with it, because I was their best Dealer of Havoc and they knew that after some jobs, I needed space.
I’m Nero fucking Rader; I’m not supposed to be a victim.
The worst part of all of this was having the sinking feeling that it was a set up. My brothers in Tidals & Anchors Motorcycle Club, one or all of them, arranged this little coup, but I couldn’t get my assailants to tell me who. Any time they asked me a question about a club secret, I would ask them who it was that set me up. Every response was a chuckle or a laugh, never a name.
The almost as worst part of this was that I could almost swear that my assailant was only one person. Someone who had a white mask over their face so I couldn’t see them before they blindfolded me, but by the body shape; the frame, the height, I knew it was a woman.
To say the least, I was fucking humiliated that I had been taken down by a woman, but I knew it had to be something personal if she was this committed to what she was doing to me.
The brassy taste that was in my mouth was starting to overwhelm me, so I spit out some blood and sat back against the chair. I hadn’t heard her footsteps in a while, but I knew that didn’t mean she was gone. She would often lurk in the shadows, if there were any, and just watch me. I couldn’t see it, but I would feel her eyes on me.
“Come on, bitch. Get it over with,” I grunted.
A chuckle was the response. Again. Every damn time I said anything, it was some form of laughter that greeted my ears. I wondered if the point was to make me crazy before taking me out. This was well too planned out for me to even think I’d be getting out of this alive.
I took a deep breath and held myself as upright as I could when I heard her hop down off of whatever the hell it was she had been sitting on. I listened as the sound of something metal dragged along the table before it stopped, being replaced by the sound of her footsteps toward me.
In an instant, I felt the edge of the knife she was slowly starting to twist into my stomach. I grit my teeth and refused to scream out in pain. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. That wasn’t who I was. I dealt this shit out to people that deserved it and because I was damn sure I didn’t, I wouldn’t give in. I wouldn’t cry out and I wouldn’t die.
Not here.
Not like this.
The one thing that was going to keep me alive through this was seeing the look on her face when she knew that she had failed and the looks on the faces of all of my brothers when I walked into the clubhouse again.
Heaven’s not going to be able to help them once I unleash Hell and I know just who to start with.
Three Months Ago...
One
The water at the bottom of the shower was turning a shallow cherry color. I hated washing blood off of my body, but it came with the territory. I ran my hands back through my hair, shaking out what was left of the shampoo and then whipped my head back. Nights like this weren't often, but when they came, things could get messy fast. I turned my body to face the shower head and let the hot water pour over me as I rested my hands against the wall. Even though the water was hotter than normal, I couldn't help but feel a modicum of comfort in the slight stinging pain.
After a few moments of just standing there reflecting on my night, I stood up and ran my hands back through my hair to get it out of my face, before reaching down and turning the knobs so that the water would stop. I stood there and watched the red water spin down the drain until it was almost all gone before grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my waist. I stepped out onto the fluffy bathroom mat and used one hand to wipe away the fog on the mirror.
I looked at myself and wondered why this had become so easy for me. Killing someone seemed like second nature now and it was never really hard for me to begin with for some reason. If anything, guns had gotten so boring that when the MC needed a specialized takedown, they would ask me to do it.
"Swing can do it."
"Let Swing handle it."
And I would. I'd do whatever my brothers needed me to do because that's just how it was. I pulled open the medicine cabinet and pulled out a tube of leave in conditioner. One small dab on my left palm, and I set the tube down on the sink, before rubbing my palms together and trailing it back through my hair.
I washed my hands off when I was done with that and put the tube back. I looked into the mirror again and locked eyes with myself as the fog desperately tried to hide me from myself. Again, I used my hand to clear a path on the mirror and cleared my throat as I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste.
I liked having these quiet moments to think about things. As I put a generous amount of paste onto the bristles, I looked into the mirror again as I began to brush my teeth.
Swing may be what the guys called me, but I was born Nero Rader, first and only son of Navy hero, Leon Rader and homemaker extraordinaire, Betsy Collins. Leon’s dad started the MC; he was a Navy man too. I chose not to follow in their footsteps. I guess it’s because I was a troubled youth or whatever, but Tidals & Anchors called to me as strongly as it did to them.
Commander Harold Rader was honorably discharged from the service sometime in the fifties with some of his Navy buddies and decided that they didn’t exactly want to be forced into retirement. Tidals & Anchors was an homage to their time spent at sea which was more often than not, and at first it seemed like a good idea.
When Grandpa aged out sometime in the seventies, Dad took over and drove the club straight to hell. I was born a little less than twenty years later and spent most of my childhood growing up around the guys that were now feared outlaws. My best friend, Dallas Quinn, was the new president’s son and we clicked almost immediately.
Seeing as though my grandfather started the MC, Dad should’ve been able to hold onto the presidency, but one too many bad decisions made behind the backs of the brothers, and he was unceremoniously tossed out on his ass.
Now Dallas’ father is starting to age out of his roll and there’s going to be
a vote soon as to who the new president should be. I know that the guys will most likely want to vote me in because of the lineage, but I don’t want it. I’d rather have it go to Dallas; he’s got his head on straighter than I ever had or will.
I like being the muscle that they come to when they need something really dirty done and honestly, I’m quite proud of my Dealer of Havoc patch. That would mean more to me than the president one.
With a sigh, I spit the toothpaste out into the sink and turned on the water. Cupping some into my hand I brought it to my lips and swished it around my mouth a few times, before spitting out the rest.
The vote was tonight. I didn’t want to be there but it was my duty and I couldn’t exactly refuse.
I turned off the light in the bathroom as I walked out and headed into my bedroom. I already had fresh clothes laid out and as I glanced at the clock I realized that if I didn’t get a move on, I wouldn’t be able to tell Dallas that the task that needed taken care of was complete.
Pulling my towel off, I gave myself one last quick rub down with it before I tossed it back into the bathroom. I craned my neck to see where it landed before I went to my dresser and grabbed a fresh pair of boxer briefs. I pulled them on, then went back to my bed and pulled on my dark blue denim jeans, my black, ribbed long sleeved shirt, and then my vest. I went over to my nightstand and picked up a hair-tie. Luckily, I had sisters so I was always stealing theirs. I pulled my hair back and looped it a few times, securing it into place before grabbing my knit cap and putting it over my head.
One last sigh was all I had in me as I walked toward the kitchen and grabbed the keys to my Harley. I stopped by the door and pulled on my heavy boots that were sitting next to my couch.
After I laced them up, I ran a hand over my face before walking out of my house. I could already tell that tonight’s decision wasn’t going to make anyone happy.
Two
The clubhouse was located in the middle of Bend, Oregon where most of us had been born and raised. It was located across the lot from Rader-Quinn Pawnshop; the largest and most lucrative shop in town.
As I pulled into the lot I saw that everyone was already there but my usual spot was left open for me to back my bike into. I turned it off and sat on it for a moment, before I used the tip of my boot to bring out the kickstand and let it lean onto it. I was just about to the front door when Dallas walked out.
“Hey Swing,” he called out with a nod. I smiled and followed him over to a set of benches where we sat on the table tops. He held out his pack of smokes and I took one, waiting patiently for him to let me use his lighter. After he lit his smoke, he handed it to me. Bringing it to the end of my cigarette, I inhaled deeply before I handed it back to him.
“Thanks man.”
He nodded again and leaned down, his arms resting on his knees. That was something he only ever did when he was in deep thought and I knew what he was thinking about; the vote.
I glanced at the top of his light brown hair and wondered how much shit he had put in it to keep it slicked back.
“How did it go?” he finally asked, picking at his fingernails.
“It went. Not as clean as I would have liked, but that’s one problem we won’t have again,” I replied, flicking ashes onto the bench.
He nodded and sat straight up. I took another drag of my cigarette, feeling his eyes on me. I was waiting for him to say something, anything, to make this less uncomfortable and he finally did.
“Good. Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want it?” he asked suddenly.
“Do I want what?” I asked, glancing at him.
“The chair.”
“No. Hell no. That’s the last thing I want,” I replied honestly. “What about you? Do you want it?”
Dallas raised his eyes to the night sky and smiled slightly. “I don’t know yet. But it’s going to come down to me or you and I just wanted to know if it was something you wanted or not.”
“That’s all yours, brother,” I confirmed with a chuckle.
We sat there silently smoking when a loud eruption of ruckus laughter from inside the clubhouse got our attention. I flicked the half smoked cigarette onto the ground and got to my feet. I scratched my beard and waited for Dallas to finish his smoke.
“Ever plan on shaving that?” he asked with a laugh.
“No shave November.”
“Swing, it’s April,” he replied.
“So it is,” I said with a grin.
Dallas flicked his cigarette and shook his head as we both started toward the clubhouse.
I went in behind him and glanced over his head to see what had caused the eruption of laughter. Dallas wasn’t short by any means, but neither was I and he came up to my shoulder. Sometimes I liked to remind him that even though he was a year older than me, that I was still bigger.
Whatever they had been laughing about, the joke seemed to be over once we walked in. I glanced over at Pardon, Dallas’ father, who was sitting at a table with the current VP, a somber look on his face.
Tidals & Anchors wasn’t a normal MC. We had age out rules and once you got there, you had to step down from the chair or leave altogether. It was my grandfather who set the rules forth and everyone had agreed to them.
I think everyone secretly liked it, to be honest. No one ever complained about it when it was time to vote someone out of a position, but the chair was always the hardest vote, because no one ever really wanted it. But something told me that Dallas did and I wasn’t sure why.
Pardon must have felt my eyes on him because he looked up at me and waved me over.
“Not you; just him,” he said to Dallas who had fallen into step beside me.
We exchanged a glance, to which Dallas shrugged his shoulders and went into the meeting room.
“Sit down, son,” he said, pulling out the chair next to him.
I obediently sat down where he had indicated. He waved the vice president away and sighed. I watched him run a hand back through his short graying hair before he looked at me again.
“This vote isn’t going to go the way anyone wants it too. I don’t plan on stepping down; I’ve got too much shit left to do here. There will be a havoc vote and if it’s unanimous, I want it to be you that does it.”
“It won’t come down to that,” I assured him, giving his back a friendly pat. “I won’t vote that way and neither will Dallas.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Swing. If I can’t keep the chair, then I want the havoc vote to go through. And I want you to take care seeing it done,” he replied quietly.
I stared at him. I didn’t know how else to make him understand that we wouldn’t vote that way no matter how much he wanted it. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing that I had killed Pardon.
Wait a minute.
“Dallas is going to be the new club president. He wants it, I can tell. Only the new president can put the last one down if a havoc vote goes through,” I reminded him.
“We’ll see about that,” he said as he got to his feet and walked purposefully into the meeting room.
Three
Twenty minutes later, everyone that was supposed to be in the room, finally was. I was sitting next to Dallas, and Pardon was at the head of the table gripping the gavel tightly in his hand. He was looking around the room waiting for silence, which he knew he would get without having to ask for it. Pardon was definitely the most respected president we had so far.
“You all know why we’re here today,” he started, setting the gavel down. “I’ve got a few things to say about that before we get started with the vote.”
Dallas cleared his throat and sat back in his chair expectantly. I leaned forward and clasped my hands on the table. I don’t know why, but I had a bad feeling about what Pardon would have to say.
“I know that we’re here because I have to step down; I’ve ‘aged out.’ Well, I think that’s bullshit. I’ve never felt better or stronger about leading thi
s charter. I think that even though the rules are there for a reason, they’re more like a byline, and this one needs to be done away with. I’m not giving up the chair.”
“Pop—”
Pardon held up a hand to quiet Dallas as he continued. “So, we all know what that means. If you’re all still hellbent on having a new president, then let me know so I can leave the room and you can have your havoc vote.”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun on that vote, Pop?” Dallas asked.
“No. That’s the only way to get me out of this chair,” he replied firmly.
“Alright, then I vote no,” Dallas said stubbornly.
“I’m with Dallas,” I agreed quietly.
“No one is going to say yes to that,” Ash, the vice president, chimed in. “If you’re going to be a stubborn old man, then we can vote on how much longer to give you, but that’s as far as it goes.”
Pardon nodded in agreement. “Just give me a year. One more year as the president of this charter and I’ll have all of my affairs in order.”
The entire table said “yes” in unison and I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. Pardon asking me to take him out wouldn’t have been easy or painless. I liked wet-work; guns were too quick for me, so when the club wanted someone to suffer, that’s where I would step in and take over.
Before Pardon had a chance to pound the gavel on the table, a loud commotion interrupted our meeting. I turned around in my chair and glanced through the blinds in the room and saw Ricki, Dallas’ mother and Pardon’s old lady, run toward the front door.
“What the hell?” Dallas asked, getting to is feet.
“Pardon!” Ricki called out.
We emptied out of the room and walked quickly toward Ricki to see what the problem was, when I noticed she was holding a small young woman in her arms. From what I could see she had long black hair, alabaster colored skin, and had cuts and bruises on her hands which were firmly gripping Ricki’s arms.
Swing (Tidals & Anchors MC #1) Page 1
