by Never , M.
It’s good to be home. I park my Softail right in the center of it all where a sign reads “Baumer Prez”. Wiping a bit of dirt from the exhaust, I’m hit with a pang of remorse. I should fucking hate this bike as much as I hate him. He built it for me, but I just can’t bring myself to let it go. I love it. I loved it from the moment he gave it to me. A totally custom Softail Breakout, chromed to the max,
with big, tricked-out wheels and a wicked tribal paint job. He said he chose the huge twin cam engine because it reminded him of me. Explosive, powerful, muscular, sleek. Those were the words he used. That’s how he saw me. He built the bike in my image, and I was never prouder to be his son than the day he gave it to me.
I think there was one thing he didn’t realize, though. That engine also gives you a swift kick in the gut when you open it up. It has massive torque, just like me. And he felt my brute force when he announced his sudden retirement. When he all but shoved the keys to the kingdom down my throat and walked away.
I shake off the escalating anger. I’m here to blow off steam, not explode like a steam pipe.
I step inside and am met with an abundance of familiar faces. It looks like the whole club is in here drinking. There are hoots and howls as I walk to the bar. Slaps on the back and handshakes all around. It’s my first warm welcome in nearly two weeks.
“Slash.” Popeye rests his elbow on the bar top. “The boy is back.”
I take his hand and squeeze. He’s the only one who can call me boy and get away with it. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s a legacy member and like a second father to me.
“Just for the night.” I sit, and Popeye grabs me a beer.
“You ever coming back?” he takes the opportunity to fuck around with me.
“Of course. Who do you think I am, my father?” I take an eager sip of the ice-cold brew.
“You do possess a slight resemblance to his ugly mug.” Popeye laughs, and it’s a thick, gurgling sound.
“Go fuck yourself, old man,” I smirk.
Popeye laughs even harder, his gurgling voice morphing into a full-blown hack.
“Easy there. You’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”
“At least I’d go with a bunch of pretty ladies around me.” He winks his one good eye, referring to Harley and Davidson — not their real names, by the way — who are manning the bar with him. Really, Meghan — Harley, and Davidson — Vanessa, are doing all the work. He just hobbles around back there, getting in everyone's way and drinking up all my scotch.
“How ’bout a little fire, Scarecrow?” A rush of heat passes across my face. I instinctively react, leaning back and grabbing the offender’s wrist, yanking his body forward until his chest hits the bar top. There’s a thud on impact, and then a huge, howling cackle.
“Gets ya every time.” Breaker is in hysterics.
“Do you have a death wish?” I try to hold back my own amusement. Shithead is always pulling stupid stuff like that. “Messing with the Prez has its price.” I kick his legs apart and knee at his nuts.
“Yo, yo, yo, watch the family jewels.” Breaker uses his free hand to protect his balls. “It might be worth it, though. The look on your face.” His body shakes with the fit of his laughter. It’s infectious.
“I thought I lost an eyebrow for a second.” I haul him upright, then give his head a good shove.
“Missed you, brother.” Breaker puts an arm around me and nods to Davidson. “Hey, Pretty, a beer and a shot for the two of us.” He winks and smiles, laying it on thick. Breaker lays it on thick to any woman with a decent-sized rack and a pulse. He redefines the term man-whore.
Damon La Rue, or Breaker as we affectionately call him because he can either be a heartbreaker or a ballbreaker, depending on the day, has been part of the Baumer Mafia as long as I have. He’s one of my oldest friends. We grew up in this bar together watching our dads drink, fight, and womanize. Breaker’s father, Griller, passed away a few years ago. Terrible bout with cancer. But like a true MC, he fought till the end. “To misplaced dads and angel wings,” he toasts with the shot of Jack.
I ignore the misplaced dads comment and clink his glass to angel wings. I miss that ol’ man. Griller, I mean.
“You two gonna make out at the bar all night, or are we gonna play some fuckin’ cards?” a booming voice thunders through the room.
“Keep your fucking pants on, Bone.” Breaker picks up his beer. “I was getting in some quality time with my Prez.”
“Well, quality time is fucking over,” he vibrates with anticipation.
Breaker shakes his head, and his unruly hair flops all over the place. “You gonna do something with this mop?” I give it a tug. “Or just wait for it to get caught in something?”
“Oh, I’m definitely waiting for it to get caught in something.” He’s lewd. “Tangled up in ten fingers while Davidson over there is screaming my name.” He leans over and winks at her.
Davidson, or Vanessa, just rolls her eyes and serves another customer.
“Got a hard-on for that one, huh? She doesn’t seem to want to give you the time of day.”
“She’ll come around.” He blows a kiss at her. She ignores him like a pro. It isn’t anything new that the bartenders get hit on. That’s what they’re there for. Booze and boobs. And they’re called either Harley or Davidson so no one forgets their name when yelling for a drink. I made it easy for everyone.
Breaker and I finally meander over to a broad man with a thick, red beard and ponytail. He’s decked out in leathers and looks ready to kill — which is Bone’s normal appearance. Big, burly, and scary as all hell.
We follow Bone into the back room where several poker tables are scattered around. It’s been known to get pretty intense in here on poker nights, but tonight, it’s just us. Me and my boys. No bullshit, just cards and good booze.
I’m met with a warm welcome around the table. All the usual suspects are here. Breaker and Bone, of course, along with Hawk, Fender, Vet, and Tempest. Six of my favorite ugly mugs.
“Let’s get this show started.” Tempest shuffles the cards in a flashy display.
“Just a minute,” I hold him off. “I need to have a word with Hawk first.” Before this card game goes down, I need to know the status of his little investigation. It’s been radio silence on his end. Hawk and I head to the back door to talk. It’s a private entrance only utilized by the VIP members of the club. Once outside, I ask for the scoop. “Any word on Kira’s father?”
“Not much.” Hawk spies our surroundings. The rear of the building backs up to woods that the teenagers sometimes sneak away to drink in. Breaker and I had plenty of fun times back there. “I took a look at his financials and ran a background check. He’s an outstanding citizen.” There is extreme sarcasm in his voice. “He likes high-priced alcohol and high-priced ladies. Preferably at the same time. He also likes to gamble and has had several DUIs, which have all been mysteriously dismissed. He’s got friends in high places. And some pretty low ones.”
“Think he’s got one of those friends messing with Kira?”
“If he does, there isn’t a money trail. He’s not in the country at the moment, though. Perfect alibi if he is fucking around with her.”
“She said he’s twisted.”
“From what I found out, that’s true. Sparkly clean on the outside, dirty and disgusting on the inside. I read some of the transcripts from his divorce from Kira’s mom. Lots of abuse.”
“Physical?”
“All fucking kinds.”
“Kira, too?” I try to keep my tone even. I shouldn’t fuckin’ care about her past. I shouldn’t fuckin’ care about her at all. But that seems harder said than done.
“It didn’t say, but I can dig deeper.”
“Nah, that’s okay. Just keep your eye on him. I want to be ready if he is planning something. She’s convinced she saw someone that night.”
“And you’re not?” Hawk questions.
I shrug, fiddling with the thick silv
er ring on my index finger. “The cameras didn’t catch anything.”
“The power went out,” Hawk argues.
“Even so. They should have caught something, no? That place is rigged better than the Bellagio. And if someone was lurking around, security should have picked up something. Movement, anything. That property is huge. And just to magically appear on the back patio? Too easy,” I speculate.
Hawk rubs his forehead contemplatively. “In theory, yeah. That argument holds water, unless no one was there in the first place, and she just freaked herself out.”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
“I’m doing all I can. Utilizing every resource.”
“That’s all I ask, brother.” I clasp his hand in thanks. “Let’s get back before Bone has an aneurysm.”
“He’s looking to lose all his money tonight.” Hawk rubs his hands together, ready and willing to take it all.
“You look different,” I mess around with him as we walk back inside.
Hawk shoots me a crooked smile. “Shut the fuck up, man.” He knows exactly what I’m getting at. He’s sporting his contacts. That means two things. He’s out to get drunk and out to get laid.
“Ready for some shit?” Tempest resumes shuffling the cards.
“Let’s do this.” I settle into my chair and get comfortable for the ride. He shoots two cards out to each of us. I check my hand on the sly. King of hearts and a two of diamonds. Not a terrible start.
I watch the faces around me, reading each and every one of them. We’ve been playing together for years, so I know their tells. Most of the time. Hawk is the hardest to read. He’s got a poker face as stone cold as my father’s.
I push the thought of him directly out of my head. Not tonight Satan, not tonight.
Hawk and I both throw in the blind, or initial bet, and then we’re off to the races. Bone calls, Breaker calls, and Vet and Tempest fold. Tempest throws out the flop. King of diamonds, three of hearts, and six of clubs. Things get interesting pretty quick. A round of bets go again. I raise, with a pair of kings. Bone raises, Breaker folds. Tempest flips the turn card, and it’s a jack of spades. Bone’s lip twitches, and I know right then he’s got something in his hand. But I don’t go down that easily. I throw in, wanting to see where this is going to go. Tempest turns over the river, and my pulse strikes my throat like a whip. This is what is so addictive about poker. It’s a high-speed chase right at your fingertips. As fast as it is slow, I hold my breath, waiting to see what card is shown. A king of clubs stares back at us all. Bone’s face turns a lovely shade of red as he pushes all his chips forward.
“All in,” he growls like a lion.
We all shake our heads. Bone loves poker, but he isn’t the best at it. He’s a go big or go home kind of guy, and when it comes to the game, he goes home a lot.
I call.
He snarls like a bull. “There’s no way, Slash.”
“We shall see, Bone.” I urge him to show his cards, and he does. By slamming his hand down on the table, causing everything atop of it to shake like an earthquake just hit. “Two fucking pairs.” He stands, shadowing the green felt in front of him. There lays the fourth king, the king of spades. Part of his hand. Along with a jack of hearts, as well.
“Impressive, Bone.” I calmly turn my cards over one at a time. The two of diamonds first. Bone barks a laugh. He thinks he has me. Poor guy, when will he learn? I turn over my second card and reveal the king, and the table breaks out in rumbles. Three of a kind.
“Fuck no.” Bone slams the table again. “Fucking no.”
“You had a good hand, man, but mine was better.” I collect the large pile of chips haughtily.
Bone lets out a roar. He’s a sore loser. Always has been.
“Drill it down a notch, man.” Breaker pulls at his arm. “It was only the first deal.”
“I’m going to take all you motherfuckers down.” He pulls out a wad of cash from his back pocket and tosses it at Tempest. “Cash in.”
Tempest does as he asks, shaking his head slightly. We are all thinking the same thing. Bone is going to walk out of here broke, drunk, and pissed the fuck off.
’Tis life.
After the first high-flying hand, the next seems to move at hyper-speed. Before I know it, I have a hefty stack of chips in front of me and a nice buzz. This is just what the doctor ordered. Vet wins the next hand, and even Bone gets in on one or two. He still has the shortest stack in the bunch, though.
I check my watch, dreading the time. Quarter after eight. I remind myself to slow down so I can drive, but I really wish I could just stay here and drink my face off with the rest of these guys. None of them seem to be letting up anytime soon.
“Brewski, brewski, brewski, brewski.” Breaker tosses fresh beer cans around the table. I catch mine but put it to the side while Vet, Tempest, and Bone all crack theirs open. My action doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You done drinkin’, Prez?” Tempest fishes. He’s as rugged as Bone, lots of bright, gnarly tats all over his hands, plugs in his earlobes, and dark, slicked-back hair.
“Just takin’ a break is all.” I concentrate on my hand, wanting to avoid the subject at all costs.
An acute silence passes around the table, causing me to grind my teeth. I can hear their judgmental thoughts. They don’t understand what I’m doing. Hell, half the time I don’t even understand it. I just know Kira needed me, and my fucking conscience ordered me to go to her. I didn’t have any choice in the matter. Of course, I wouldn’t tell them that. The Prez not having a choice when it comes to a woman? Preposterous. That would be weak and pathetic, and I am neither of those fucking things.
“How’s pick-ups been, Vet?” I spin the conversation right quick.
“Fine. Better than fine, actually. Envelopes have been heavier the last couple of weeks.”
I nod. That’s what I like to hear.
The table folds, and it’s my turn to deal. I shuffle the cards with all their curious eyes on me. Tempest opened a fucking door, and all six of them scurried inside like the wet rats they are. They have questions. They want info, but I am reluctant to give them any.
I deal the cards, spinning out two to each of them. Tempest and Vet throw in the blinds, and we go around the table. Hawk and Vet call, as does Breaker. Bone folds. I barely see my cards. I fold, as does Tempest.
I turn the flop, and it’s a beautiful sight. A pair of jacks and a queen. Hawk, Vet, and Breaker all sit up and pay a little more attention. Things just got interesting.
Hawk raises, and both Vet and Breaker call. There is some serious tension mounting. I flip the turn card, and it’s an ace. Holy fucking shit.
Hawk raises, and again both Vet and Breaker call. I’m tempted to check my cards because I need to know who has a fucking jack. Hell, even a king. This hand is fucking juicy. I’m pissed my thoughts ran amok and I threw my cards away.
With a pounding heart, I go to turn the river card over when Bone interrupts me. “So, Prez, you gettin’ any of that high-priced pussy, or what?”
All eyes land on him and then me. They are salivating for an answer.
“Seriously, Bone? In the middle of a deal?” I hiss.
“Just upping the ante is all.”
“Is that what you’re fucking doing?” I growl, clutching the cards so tightly in my hand they bend.
“Well, are you?” Breaker adds fuel to the fire.
I want to cut his tongue out with a dull knife.
I elect to remain silent and turn the card over, but no one is interested in the game anymore. They’re all interested in where I’ve been dipping my stick lately.
“C’mon, Slash. You don’t just up and disappear if you aren’t eating the caviar and drinking the champagne,” Vet throws his two fucking cents in.
“It’s none of your goddamn business who I’m fucking.”
I’m hit square in the face with a flashback of my father. He was just as secretive and shady about Kristen. Disappearing
for days on end with no care or explanation. It pissed me off. It pissed me off so bad that he felt he couldn’t trust me. Trust any of us. For half his life, this club had been his family. But he chose to keep her existence to himself. Because of the scrutiny, maybe? I’ll never know. Kristen and Kira are so different than anything men like us come into contact with. They live on another level. A level many of us look down upon. Prissy, spoiled, selfish. That’s how women like them are seen. Slumming with guys like us just for a good time. A one-night stand to tell their snotty friends about. “I fucked the bad boy,” I imagine them saying. And yes, all of us at this table are bad boys. As bad as bad can get, but along with the bad also comes some good. They all have something to offer, and maybe if women like Kira looked past the leather, tattoos, and loud bikes — past the scars on their faces — they would see what makes up the man inside.
Something suddenly dawns on me. Maybe Kristen did. Maybe that’s what drew my father to her. And maybe Kira could do the same.
“He’s totally not fucking her. Look at his face. He’s got the worst case of blue balls,” Breaker obnoxiously proclaims.
I realize then I’m scowling. Am I that fucking obvious? I might need to start working on my poker face.
“Fuck you all.” I send the cards in my hand flying across the table like the Queen’s deck in Alice in Wonderland. “Poker night is over.” I stand up and drain the last of my beer. “Give my winnings to Harley and Davidson. They’re gonna need it with this crew.”
I walk out with my blood simmering and my boys in my rearview. So much for blowing off steam and a stress-free night.
I strap on my helmet and turn on my bike. There are a pile of different sensations gyrating through my body. I want to hit something. I want to ride fast and tell my father to fuck off. I want Kira’s arms around me and her hands clutching my chest. I want to be alone and I want to be with her all at the same time. I want to stop feeling like a million broken pieces. I want worlds to merge but am terrified of the outcome.
I want to be the man I was three years ago. I want Kira to know that man, but I don’t know how to go back, and I don’t know how to move forward.
