ANGEL_Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  Jude stopped sending me school pictures a long time ago. He hasn’t responded to a letter or an email from me in years. At seventeen, is he even still in school? A rush of guilt floods my system like ice water — just like it alway does when I think about that fact that I left him there in Indiana, alone with our parents.

  It’s not like my parents were abusive. At least not physically. Ever since I developed breasts and hit puberty, my mother and father’s main concern was that I would turn out to be a slut. That I would give myself to the first good-looking boy who looked my way, and end up getting pregnant by him. To prevent that, their main tactic was to call me a whore whenever they saw the slightest trace of makeup on my face. If I was late coming home from school or from one of my jobs, they would demand to know where I was, and accuse me of the worst sins no matter what I told them.

  One day, I just decided I couldn’t handle living there anymore. I was sure that whatever the world held for me outside of the walls of that house, it had to be better than staying.

  I knew Jude was too young to understand why I was leaving. I told myself that ultimately, it was better for him that I left. I knew it couldn’t be good for him, hearing the constant yelling, the constant arguments between my parents and me. I know the screaming got to Jude. I remember the way he would cry when my father would slam his fist angrily on the rickety kitchen table, or when my mother would spit at me in her native tongue that I was nothing but a slut. When I left, I told myself I was protecting him. That when I was gone, he wouldn’t have to hear his beloved sister berated like that. My parents were always more indulgent with Jude because he was a boy, and because he was the youngest. I had hope that they would be kinder to him as he grew up than they had been with me.

  As I listen to my mother’s clipped, angry voice over the phone, it dawns on me that I have no idea what my brother’s life has been like without me there. But whatever has been happening in my prolonged absence, one thing is clear. My parents are at the end of their rope. I can hear it in Mama’s voice. They’re done with him. And if I don’t take Jude in, he’ll be all alone.

  In silence, I try to focus as she tells me that she and my father will be putting Jude on the next bus out of Gary. I should call the station in Tanner Springs, she says, to find out when he will be arriving.

  And then, just like that, there’s a click, and my mother is gone.

  I stare across my tiny living room, my eyes unfocused.

  “Shit,” I whisper. “Shit.”

  Then, because there’s nothing else I can do, I call the Greyhound station in Tanner Springs. After which, I stand, grab my keys, and rush out the door to Jenna and Ghost’s house.

  3

  Angel

  Normally, the birthday of one of the Lords of Carnage kids isn’t such a big fuckin’ deal. But this one has turned into a huge event.

  Part of it is because Jenna and Ghost just moved into this new house on two acres of land, just outside of town. This party is an unofficial housewarming for them.

  Another part of it is that our club has been through a hell of a lot the last few months, due to an ongoing war with the Outlaw Sons MC.

  The Sons are a club to the north of us. They fuckin’ hate our guts. And we hate theirs. We got too much damn history to peacefully coexist, and we both know it. This state ain’t big enough for the two of us, like the old westerns used to say. They’ve been gunnin’ for our club for a long time now. The territory we occupy would give them a straight shot south to some very profitable drug and gun running pipelines, if they could take it from us. Strategically, getting rid of our club would be a big financial boon. Shit came to a head last year when what was left of another club — the Iron Spiders— joined up with the Sons, boosting their ranks and their manpower. The Sons started movin’ into our territory, first by tryin’ to pick us off one by one, then by starting up a sex trafficking ring right under our goddamn noses.

  Turned out, the ring got blown wide open, in part thanks to Beast’s old lady Brooke. At the end of it, the Outlaw Sons’ president, Dragon, went to prison. He bought himself a sentence of ten years, up in Youngstown.

  He didn’t serve more than a couple of months, though.

  Turns out, the Lords have friends inside Youngstown.

  Just before the end, I rode up there to see him. So I could look him in the eyes one final time. So I could see his face when I told him what was coming.

  “Fuck you, Angel,” Dragon spits at me through the glass partition. His eyes narrow, right before his mouth splits into a wide, wolflike grin. “The Sons will fuckin’ end you, whether I’m in here or not.”

  “That remains to be seen, shithead,” I reply. “Seen by someone else, that is. Not you, of course. By the end of today, you ain’t gonna be seein’ anyone, ever again.”

  “You cocky piece of shit,” he seethes. “You ain’t the first man who’s tried to kill me. You ain’t the only one who’s got people on the inside.”

  “Yeah. But I’m the only one who’s got the guards for your block on our club’s payroll.”

  Dragon’s gaze falters, just for a split second. Then the mask is back again.

  “It ain’t gonna be quick. Or painless,” I continue. For the first time, I let my hatred of him show in my face. “I paid for the premium package. And the cleanup afterward.”

  Dragon cuts his eyes away. I can tell I’ve pierced through his bravado.

  “And one more thing.” Shifting in my seat, I lean closer until my face is only inches from his. “Your club, and every last man in it, is goin’ down,” I murmur into the phone, low enough that has to strain to hear me. “I will personally make sure that every one of them suffers. That the last words each and every one of them ever cries out is to curse your name, and beg me for a mercy that will never come.”

  “The Sons will never beg you for anything!” he roars. Behind him, the guard yells for him to be quiet. “This ain’t over, you cunt,” he hisses.

  I stand, letting out a short bark of laughter. “It sure as fuck is for you, though. I’ll always enjoy the knowledge I was your last visitor. Have a nice life, Dragon. What’s left of it. If you’re a prayin’ man, now might be a good time to start.”

  Turning, I hear the flat thud of his fist as it connects with the glass.

  I smile.

  Vico, our source on the inside, got the word out to me the next day that the president of the Outlaw Sons was about as ex-president as they get. Guess I’m more of a dragon slayer than Mariana knows, I think with a grim chuckle.

  Now, with Dragon gone, the Sons are headed up by their VP, Razor. They’re limping along, but they’ve brought in a bunch of new men very quickly. And they’re out for blood. Our blood.

  No matter. The Lords are up to the challenge. Nothing short of total annihilation is acceptable. With our new chapter to the south, and an alliance with the Death Devils to our east, we will stop at nothing. We will eliminate every last one of the Outlaw Sons. Failure is not an option.

  Today’s party marks a third event, as well. One I’m keepin’ to myself.

  This weekend marks one year since I was elected president of the Lords of Carnage MC.

  I was more than happy being Rock Anthony’s VP, for going on ten years. Even though the two of us had started to clash more and more over club decisions toward the end, I didn’t have any ambitions of taking over as president. But then something unimaginable happened. Beast and I found out that Rock had betrayed the club. It was a betrayal so serious that once it was out in the open, there was no other course of action that could be taken.

  The Lords voted unanimously for club justice. Rock Anthony was removed as president. Exiled from the club, and sentenced to death.

  It was my first act as new president.

  It was an act that will mark me for the rest of my life.

  Since that day, I’ve devoted every waking moment of my fucking existence to making sure the Lords are the strongest club possible. And that I’m the strongest
leader I can be. At the beginning of the war with the Outlaw Sons, we couldn’t afford to look weak. As soon as they heard our prez was dead, they started a full-blown assault on our club. It had taken all our manpower, all our firepower, but somehow, we managed to keep the club alive, and strong.

  And now, we’re back on top. At least for the moment.

  And I intend to keep it that way.

  An hour later, I’m on my third beer, sittin’ over in the shade by myself. The most raucous twelve year-old boy’s birthday party on record is in full swing. The music is loud enough that every neighbor within a two-mile radius can probably hear it. Booze is flowing freely, kids are running the fuck around, dogs are jumping on children, and everyone is generally having a great goddamn time.

  The smell of cooking meat wafts through the air from the club’s giant-ass grill, brought here specially for the occasion. Hawk and Brick are manning the grill, serving up hot dogs and hamburgers to clamoring kids. Off to one side, Hawk’s wife Samantha is trying to corral their son Connor over for something to eat. Sam’s a local photographer, with a thriving business in town. She and Hawk met when Jenna hired Sam as the photographer for her and Ghost’s wedding. Connor is the biological son of Hawk’s brother’s junkie ex-girlfriend. When Connor’s mom OD’ed, there was no one else to take him in. Even though Connor wasn’t his brother’s kid, Sam and Hawk decided to foster him, and eventually adopted him. In the seven years since, he’s gone from a basically silent toddler to a super-charged, confident ten year-old.

  Sam barely manages to get half a burger into Connor before he’s off and running again. In his haste to get back into the action, he pretty much barrels over little Sienna, Brick and Sydney’s copper-haired five year-old, knocking her to the ground. A lot of little girls that age would start to cry, but Sienna just picks herself up and runs right after Connor.

  Over by the picnic tables, Sydney is wrangling her and Brick’s two year-old twins, Landon and Logan, both of whom are the spitting image of their dad. It’s a rare day off for Sydney, who owns a local coffee shop called the Golden Cup. She came to Tanner Springs from New Jersey a few years ago, to start a new life away from her past. When an ex-boyfriend tracked her down here, Brick was there to make sure he didn’t succeed in doing what he came here to do.

  Alix and Eden are over there, too, helping Sydney with the twins. Alix is Gunner’s old lady. She’s cradling their one year-old daughter, Olivia. Eden is Alix’s sister, and she’s with Lug Nut. Eden is a recovering heroin addict, after being kidnapped and forced into prostitution by a guy she got messed up with. Gunner, Lug Nut and the rest of the club rescued her, and Gunner’s ma Lucy helped her detox.

  Sitting here watching everyone, it’s strange to think about how much time has passed since Jenna first came back to town. Six of my brothers have met their old ladies and started families. Three of them, including Rock, met the reaper. And now I’m president of the club. In a way, I’ve gone from being a son, to bein’ a father.

  As much as I don’t miss Rock — as much as I know he had to meet club justice for what he did to the Lords — this wasn’t what I signed up for. When he asked me to be vice-prez all those years ago, it never really occurred to me that I was looking at being president someday.

  And it’s fucking true what they say. Even with all these people around, sometimes it’s goddamn lonely at the top.

  I finish my beer and stand up to go grab another one, feelin’ fuckin’ morose. On the way I pass by Beast and Thorn, who are sitting over by the garage, shooting the shit. Thorn is gesturing with his free hand as he talks, and keeps turning his attention to a point across the yard, where his old lady, Isabel, is helping round up some of the young kids.

  “Don’t you get enough of checking out your wife’s ass at home?” Beast growls.

  But Thorn just laughs. “Are you shitting me?” he fires back with a grin. His Irish brogue is getting stronger, as it always does when he’s been drinking. “With an ass like that, how is any man to ever get enough of it?”

  Beast and I follow his eyes. Obligingly, Isabel bends over just then, offering us a spectacular view as she scoops up an errant toddler. I have to admit, Thorn has a point. God bless America and clingy sundresses on a summer day.

  “Am I interrupting something?” A sarcastic female voice says behind us. I drag my eyes away from Isabel’s ass to look over at Beast’s old lady, Brooke. She’s standing next to Beast’s lawn chair, one hand on her hip.

  “What?” Beast asks innocently, but he’s suspiciously close to cracking up.

  “If looks could undress,” Brooke challenges, “Isabel would be running around here without a stitch of clothing on.”

  “Now that’s a lovely thought,” Thorn muses. “A truly lovely thought. Surely you’re not jealous, then, Brooke?” He cuts his eyes to her and slides them down her frame. “I’d gladly include you in the naked old ladies group.”

  “Hey,” Beast, growls. “Watch it.” He slips his hand around Brooke’s waist and pulls her possessively toward him.

  “Hey, have any of you men seen Jewel around?” Brooke asks, ignoring Thorn. “I brought a pair of shoes that don’t fit me that I thought might be her size. I thought she was going to be here today?”

  “She hasn’t shown up yet,” I tell her. “Jenna mentioned she was supposed to come help set up. Maybe she’s just running late.”

  Brooke frowns. “Huh. Well, hopefully she’ll show up later.”

  Just then, Jenna comes out of the house and yells, “Okay, everyone! Time for presents and cake!” Immediately, a stampede of small people rushes toward the long table that’s been piled with gifts of different sizes.

  From out of the crowd, the birthday boy emerges. Noah, a younger, ganglier version of Ghost, bows his head bashfully and slinks over. At Jenna’s urging, he picks up his first gift. Noah looks like he’s trying to decide whether to let his excitement show, or whether he’s too cool for that now that he’s almost a teenager. Eventually, the onslaught of presents is too much for him. As he demolishes the wrapping paper on each gift, his grin gets bigger and bigger, the kid part of him winning out over the budding adolescent. Jenna snaps enough pictures of him to fill an entire photo album, if those things even exist anymore.

  Half an hour later, there’s a pile of gift wrap on the ground and no more presents to open. Noah turns away from the gift table, but then Ghost strides up with a medium-sized box in his hands.

  “Here you go, son,” he intones. “From me, but also from the club.”

  Noah tears into the paper covering the square package, and lets out a yelp of excitement when he sees the gleaming object underneath.

  “A helmet!” he crows. His young face breaks out into a smile so wide it almost hurts to look at him. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

  In an instant, the helmet is out of the box and on his head. He looks a little bit like an alien, with the huge sphere topping his scrawny pre-teen body. I can’t help but chuckle at the sight. The Lords and their families break out into spontaneous applause. Smiles of approval appear on many of my brothers’ faces.

  With that, the present-opening part of the party is over. Jenna and a few of the other old ladies move over to the cake table to start cutting up pieces for the kids. Noah breaks away from the crowd and comes racing over to me, yanking off the helmet as he runs.

  “Look, Uncle Angel!” he says proudly, thrusting out the object in his hand.

  “I saw,” I nod. “You’re pretty excited about that, eh?”

  “Hell yes!” he cries, and then glances over at his mom guiltily. “So I can finally ride with you now!”

  It’s been a bone of contention between Noah and his mom for a long time that Jenna won’t let him on the back of a motorcycle. Apparently, she’s decided that twelve years was long enough for him to wait.

  “What about riding with your dad?” I ask.

  “Yeah, that too,” Noah says impatiently. “But your bike is cooler!”

 
I burst out into loud laughter. “You watch yourself with that language,” I joke. “Those are fighting words. Your dad’s likely to ground you for life, talkin’ like that.”

  Noah grins at me happily. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

  I snort. “Okay. Our secret.”

  Jenna comes up behind Noah and slips an arm around his thin shoulders. “So, you’re pretty excited about that helmet, eh?” Her voice is resigned, but she still smiles down at him.

  “How’d he finally wear you down?” I ask her.

  Jenna blows out a breath. “Are you kidding me? Between Noah’s dad being Sergeant at Arms and his uncle being prez, I held out as long as I could. I’ve just accepted that motorcycles are in his future.” Noah races off to show the other kids his new prized possession. “That boy’s got bikes in his blood,” Jenna murmurs.

  A small commotion off to the side makes Jenna turn her head toward the driveway. My eyes follow hers just in time to see Jewel, our club’s bartender, rushing toward us.

  “Oh my gosh, Jenna — I’m so sorry!” she blurts out as she approaches. “I know I was supposed to help with the set up!” Jewel’s wide, blue eyes look panicked. “I meant to be here way before the party started!”

  Jenna steps forward to give Jewel a hug. “Don’t worry about it,” she smiles kindly. “Honestly, I had plenty of help.” Jenna waves a hand toward the festivities. “Just come on in and enjoy yourself.”

  “I have Noah’s present in the car. Have you already done gifts?” Jewel asks, looking around.

  “Yes, a few minutes ago. But I’m sure he won’t mind having one more to open!” Jenna winks.

  Jewel lets out a breath and shakes her head ruefully. “I’ll go grab it, and then I can get to work,” she replies. “Is the bar out in the garage?”

  “This ain’t a work day for you, Jewel,” I interrupt. “This is a party. You’re off the clock.”