Rough & Real

by Hayley Faiman

  “I’m old, brother,” he murmurs.

  I sit down next to him with a groan. “I feel you,” I chuckle.

  He shakes his head. “Nah, this last bit, with my girls. I think I’m ready to hang up my cut,” he mutters.

  I blink, feeling surprise and yet, not. The man is almost eighty years old, I don’t blame him for wanting to relax a bit. His children are almost grown, and they’ll be leaving the house soon.

  “What’ll you do?” I ask propping my elbows on my knees.

  He shrugs. “Always thought Fury would take over the club,” he murmurs. “He’s got his own shit, and four kids to take care of in Idaho. I wouldn’t ever ask him to leave the life he has there. I thought I could wait it out until Bailey was ready, but I’m fuckin’ tired,” he admits.

  I wrap my hand around his shoulder and give him a squeeze. “Nobody would say shit if you hung up your gavel, Pres. We all love you, and you’ve run this club like a well-oiled machine for a long fuckin’ time.”

  He nods but doesn’t reply and we sit there for a few minutes in silence. “How’re the girls?” I ask quietly.

  “Hangin’ on, but fuckin’ barely,” he states.

  I grunt in acknowledgment because my Rosalie is about the same. “I’m heading to Humboldt to unload that new shipment,” I murmur. “See you Friday night?”

  “Yeah,” he admits, but he doesn’t look excited about it.

  I squeeze his shoulder again as I stand to my feet and start to head back down to my bike. As soon as I’m straddling my bike, I look up and notice that MadDog is watching me. He does look fucking worn, but he looks resigned too. As though he’s ready to move on, and like I told him, nobody would say shit if he wanted to quit tomorrow, if he wanted to name a new President.

  This life is fucking brutal sometimes, and he’s lived it for a long fucking time. He’s due to relax, enjoy the rest of his year and his kids and grandkids.

  Standing next to my bike, I look toward the docks. The air feels… wrong, just like the last time I was here, I feel like I’m being watched. I don’t know what it is, or why, but something in my gut is telling me that there is something very wrong about to go down here tonight. It’s probably nothing, probably just remnants of the bullshit that just happened with Rosalie and the girls. I try to shake it off and get on with my business.

  Tinker pulls up next to me and kills his engine before sliding off of his bike. “You haven’t started yet?” he asks, looking from me to the shipping container of merchandise.

  “Nope,” I answer.

  We walk together to the container and I watch as Roach climbs out of the driver’s side of the waiting truck. He unlocks and opens the back, then does the same to the container so that we can get started.

  “Where’s the dock worker?” I ask as my eyes search the dark shittily lit area.

  Roach shrugs. “He was here when I pulled up. Took his money and I haven’t seen him since. Probably had a hot date to spend his cash on,” he chuckles.

  We get to work, knowing that it’s going to take at least a couple of hours to get everything transferred over to the truck. By the time we have the truck loaded, I’m hot, sweaty and physically exhausted. I don’t mind it though, it’s a nice change compared to how I’ve been feeling lately, which has been on edge and restless.

  “You headed back to the club?” Tinker asks as we walk to our bikes.

  I shake my head. “Nah, gonna go home,” I murmur.

  He grins and straddles his bike, looking back at me before he starts his engine. “Good to see you two getting your shit together,” he chuckles.

  I flip him off and he laughs a little harder before he starts his engine and then he and the truck are gone. I don’t leave right away though. I decide to make my way to the edge of the dock and look out at the black water. So many changes have happened in such a short period of time and I’ve been so fucking lost for so long that I just need to take a moment to breathe.

  My back straightens when I hear a sound behind me. It’s unmistakable. The sound of a gun being cocked. I don’t move, not even a twitch, as I wait for whatever my fate will be.

  “So, you killed a bunch of little boys. Good for you,” the voice laughs.

  “But you’re a man?” I ask. “Pointing a gun at the back of my head?”

  He growls and tells me to turn around. I don’t recognize the man that I come face-to-face with. Perhaps I should, but I don’t recall anything about him. I wait for him to speak, not wishing to give anything about myself, or my lack of recognition away if possible.

  “You have no clue who I am, and I suppose you shouldn’t,” he mutters. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have sent boys to do a man’s job. That was my own doing,” he murmurs. I wait, silently, wondering what he’s going to say next.

  He tips his head to the side and watches me. Waiting. “Your daughter wasn’t supposed to be involved. Just the old man’s,” he mutters. It’s then that I know that this has nothing to do with anybody but MadDog, whatever this is.

  “You probably don’t even know my brother, but MadDog and Fury do since they killed him a few years ago,” he mutters.

  I shake my head, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about and then I lift my eyes to his and really look at him. He’s white, tall, bulky in the center, and mean as shit looking. “The boys were supposed to load up those bitches of MadDog’s and bring them to me. Then Fury’s were next. Of course, you can’t get decent men working for you these days, not unless you raise them up yourself and train them from birth.”

  Aryan’s. This fucker is one of them. It’s been years, and our club has killed so many of them, but there’s no way to know how many are left. He grins, leaning forward a bit. “I see you realize what group I belong to. But you don’t really know who I am yet,” he chuckles.

  It’s been a while. A long fucking while, since this asshole group has taken up any headspace of mine. However, I’m pretty sure I know who this fucker’s brother is. I only know of one man Fury and MadDog both killed, or were at least present for their killing.

  Drifter.

  Fucking shit.

  He was the Vice President of Fury’s club, his right-hand brother, and he was also a fucking Aryan spy. He was in charge of kidnapping Old Ladies and women of the club across the country. The club, as a whole, has been rescuing them since, finding them, and bringing them, and sometimes even their children, to safety.

  “So, you’re Drifter’s brother,” I announce.

  He nods, sucking air through his teeth. “Now, I have a dilemma. I don’t have those bitches, and I don’t have men anymore. Your club has been slowly killing off my men across the country. In today’s time, it’s not easy to recruit pure white men to join me. You people keep fucking other races and procreating. You know it’s really starting to piss me off,” he screams.

  I don’t speak. He’s fucking crazy. What I do, is try to figure out how I’m going to get my gun out of my holster and shoot this whacko. He starts ranting, his words becoming louder, his tone angrier. He runs his hand through his hair and waves his piece around.

  Slowly I move my hand from my side to my hip and then around the back of my jeans. He stops and points the gun at my head again. “You know my club is all but gone?” he whispers.

  My eyes don’t leave his as I nod. “That must fuckin’ blow,” I mutter.

  “The babies, these bitches, they were my only chance at rising up again,” he sputters. “Your president, his son, they killed my brother. My blood,” he rambles.

  I decide to forego my gun, unsure if I could get it out, cocked, and the trigger pulled in time to save my own skin as well. I shift my fingers around until they find my knife and I wrap them around the handle.

  “I was going to create my own army, an army of loyal followers, of blood soldiers,” he continues. His words make me physically ill, but I allow him to continue. He drops his head for just a second and I use it as my opportunity.

  Bringing my hand up
, I lunge at him, shoving my knife into his side. His warm blood spurts all over me as he falls to his knees. Wrapping his hand around my back, he brings me down. His hand lifts between our bodies and I rear back. Taking my knife back out, and thrusting it into his chest. At the same time, his body jerks, and the sound of his gun firing fills the quiet air.

  I stay where I am, afraid to move, unsure of what my injuries are. My arm feels like it’s burning, but I want to make sure this bastard beneath me doesn’t do more damage.

  Looking down at him, I notice that his eyes are open, but he’s not moving. I sit back on my ass and let out a sigh of relief. He’s gone.

  I chance touching my shoulder and grunt when I realize it’s only been grazed. Fumbling for my phone, I call MadDog.

  “Camo?” he mutters groggily.

  “At the docks, I was attacked,” I admit. “You and Fury need to come here. I took the guy down.”

  MadDog shouts that they’ll be there as soon as they can and to sit tight. I decide that I can’t scare Ivy, so I don’t call her. I sit and I wait for my men to show. My arm bleeds the entire time, but I don’t care.

  As the adrenaline begins to wear off, I close my eyes and rest. This stranger, this brother of Drifters, he claimed that the Aryan’s were all but killed off. That means that all of this, this decade-long fight, it could finally be fuckin’ over.

  “The fuck happened here?” a deep voice rumbles, rousing me from my rest.

  My eyes open and I’m met with not only, MadDog and Fury, but Grease, Sniper, Dirty Johnny, and Torch. “That’s supposedly Drifter’s brother,” I announce as I stand up from my place on the ground.

  “Your arm okay?” Torch asks, lifting his chin toward my bleeding bicep.

  I shrug. “Grazed, probably needs a few stitches.”

  “Give us CliffsNotes,” Fury demands.

  I tell them what the stranger said. Every word of our brief conversation and his rants. Fury breaks away when I mention his own kids and places his phone against his ear. A few minutes later he returns and announces that his kids are all safe and at home.

  “Is all this shit over?” I ask.

  MadDog runs his hand through his hair. “Get this fuck’s ID and I’m going to have Hacker double check, but fuckin’ shit I think it could be,” he mutters.

  “Be nice not to have them in the shadows any longer,” Dirty Johnny announces.

  I watch as Fury sifts through the guy’s pockets and pulls out his ID, then takes out an old picture. “Sure as fuck is Drifter’s brother, look at this shit,” he mutters holding out the photo. We pass it around and I almost do a double take, they look like they could have been twins. “No pictures of kids or anything, so we can hope that he’s the last of that fucked up line.”

  “We gonna dump him in the water?” I ask, glancing from the water to the body.

  Torch shakes his head and gives me a grim look. “Bodies always float to the surface. I’ll burn him, then have the bones dumped elsewhere,” he announces before bending down. I watch as both he and Dirty Johnny pick up the fat fuck and cart him off into the woods.

  “Go on home, nurse that arm,” MadDog murmurs.

  He doesn’t have to ask me twice, I’m already questioning my ability to ride the few hours back to home at this point. I’m fucking exhausted and I’ve lost a bit of blood which is making my head feel a little loopy.

  Straddling my bike, I start the engine and head toward home. I need to make sure my wife and kids are okay.

  Something isn’t right. I can feel it down to my bones. I glance at the clock noticing that it’s well after two in the morning. I know West has to work in Humboldt tonight, so I don’t expect him home anytime soon, but something is very wrong. I find myself pacing our bedroom floor. I walk to the window and glance outside, before walking to the other side of the room. Over and over I repeat the motion.

  I don’t stop, my legs are shaky and achy but I can’t get rid of this feeling. I don’t care how late it is, nothing could help me rest right now. Nothing could ease my worry. I’ve even gone and checked all of the kids’ rooms more than once.

  One headlight flashes in my window and I glance at the clock to see that it’s now well after four in the morning. Rushing over to the glass, I watch as West gets off his bike and starts to walk toward the front door. I know it’s him just by his gait.

  I stand frozen in the bedroom, waiting for him to make his way upstairs. He doesn’t dally as he walks up the stairs and quietly opens the bedroom door. His body jerks but he freezes in place.

  “Something happened,” I announce.

  He nods slowly and closes the bedroom door behind him. He doesn’t respond other than that and just starts walking toward the bathroom. I follow him and when he flips the light on I gasp at the sight of him. He’s covered in blood.

  “West,” I whisper.

  “Close the door,” he announces. I do, locking it quickly as he drops his cut on the closed toilet lid and removes his shirt. “Don’t freak out. I was only grazed.”

  “Someone shot at you,” I state.

  He nods looking down into my eyes. Standing in front of him my lips tremble and tears fall down my cheeks. “Baby,” I whisper.

  “Clean me up and patch me up,” he mutters. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I reach for his bleeding arm. West’s hand wraps around the side of my neck and his thumb presses into the underside of my chin, forcing my head back. “Clean me up, baby. I’m good. It needed to be done and it’s done now.”

  “Who was it?” I ask, knowing the fate of the person. No way would West let someone shoot at him and live to see another day.

  His lips graze mine before he whispers against them. “Old club business. It’s all good now, baby.”

  I close my eyes as he lets his hand drop away from my face. “Patch me up,” he repeats.

  I nod and then turn toward the cabinet and pull out the first aid kit. I go about cleaning my husband’s mysterious gunshot wound, then bandage it after I try to talk him into going to the doctor for stitches, which he refuses.

  By the time we’re finished, he goes to bed, but it’s time for me to start my day. After zero sleep, I get the boys up and fed. I’m so thankful, yet again, that I don’t have to work this week. It is a blessing with everything that has happened.

  “Mom, will you just watch a movie with me?” Rosalie asks.

  I smile and wrap my girl in a hug in the kitchen, whisper a yes and together we curl up on the couch and watch a movie. Breakfast at Tiffany’s our go-to classic movie marathon starter, we’ll end it with Gigi and maybe throw in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

  I spent the morning at the gym, and now I’m getting dressed to go to a party—a party where my husband’s desires will be out and met. I’m both excited and nervous.

  We haven’t made love since he found out about me and Derek, then again, we’ve gone through a hell of a lot since then, too. Tonight is the night though. I’m not exactly sure what to expect, but at least I know the man he’s chosen, it’s not as though it’s just some stranger.

  “Baby, you ready?” West calls out.

  I look at myself in the full-length mirror one last time. I’m wearing a beige spaghetti strap dress fits me like a glove. It’s short and tight, showing off more than I normally would, especially with its deep scoop neck at my cleavage. I feel sexy in it though.

  The nude suede high heel pumps finish off the dress and make my legs look a million miles long. My hair is up in a thick high ponytail and I did my makeup darker than usual since we’ll be partying tonight.

  West opens the door and walks into our room, stopping in the doorframe as his eyes scan my body. Mine do the same to his, he’s wearing worn jeans that he’s probably had since before we were married but they still fit him like a freaking glove. His tight T-shirt is black but shows off his trim, muscular body and I’m surprised that he’s not only trimmed his long hair, but also his beard.

  “You look beautiful,” he mur
murs closing the distance between us. I gasp when his hand travels down to my ass and gives me a hard squeeze. “Mom’s downstairs, she’s going to stay with the kids all night.”

  “All night?” I breathe, looking up at him.

  West grins, giving me a wink. “Yeah, baby. All night,” he chuckles.

  A thrill shimmies up and down my spine at the thought. I can’t remember the last time I stayed all night somewhere, other than home. Then guilt slams inside of me, at the thought of leaving Rosalie. I can’t do it. I need to be here for her, just in case. She’s been so strong, but if she needs me and I’m not here, I couldn’t handle that.

  “Rosalie will be fine. I talked to her already, she knows we’re only a few minutes away, and she’s excited to spend time with her grandma,” West announces.

  I blush at the fact that I was speaking aloud without even realizing it, but I’m glad that I did, and I’m glad that my husband already has everything under control. I tip my head back and brush my lips across his.

  “Now let’s get the fuck out of here. I haven’t had sex with my wife in far too long, and I’ve been anticipating tonight for what feels like for-fuckin-ever.”

  West slaps my ass and another shiver runs through me. I don’t bother grabbing my purse or anything else. I have a few shorts, jeans, and tops in West’s room at the clubhouse along with toiletries. He wraps his hand around mine and tugs me behind him as we walk downstairs.

  Rosalie is curled up in a ball at her favorite place on the sofa and the boys are completely spread out. West’s mother is sitting next to Rosalie with a smile on her face and a bowl of popcorn in her lap. “You kids have fun,” she calls out.

  I thank her as I go around and deliver a kiss to both of the boys and Rosalie’s forehead before I follow West out of the front door. He locks our family inside and then we head toward his bike. I feel like it’s been a lifetime since I climbed on the back of this thing.