Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance

by Lorde, Liz K.

  Allen was a hard man, full of lines on his 46 year old face; lots of white stubble and brows that hung so low you’d figure you angered him just by existing. He gestured with his head, motioning towards the round table, “Earl.” Damnit, this shit again?

  The two entered the room and closed the door behind them, not bothering to take a seat. Allen crossed his arms; he had a furious look behind his eyes. “Last night you told me that shit went down,” he started, “that Robert made a mess of things.”

  “Yeah,” Luke replied, “he did.” Luke pushed his chest out, the hell was this about? “I leave somethin’ out that Robert ‘remembered’ hmn? Just how long are you going to keep sticking up for him – and while we’re at it, you said we were going to be out of the gun game by now.”

  Shoving a finger in Luke’s face, Allen’s voice had a point to it now, “Boy, don’t get cute with me now,” he gave a toothy smile. He always did that when he was pissed, some kind of sick mix of amusement and anger. “We’re out, when I say we’re out,” Allen growled.

  Clicking his tongue, Luke stretched out his neck, “Call a vote then, why don’t you? You scared? I’m not alone on this, Prez.”

  “Get over yourself. Rob said that you lied, son. You’ve lied before don’t tell me you haven’t.” It sent waves of sickness through Luke’s body to hear him say that word; it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate what the man did for him, but by no means was he his father.

  By no means was he a good father. But at least, admittedly, he was there. “Of course I did,” Luke’s voice dripped with sarcasm and he rolled his head, “about what? What’d I lie about this time huh?”

  “Says you tried to triple the price on the spot for ole Earl. Things didn’t go your way you got hot headed, pulled out your piece.”

  “Horseshit!” Luke spat, jaw clenching tight and eyes squinting ever so slightly. “You just gonna take his word because he actually has your blood?—“

  “Don’t put that on me now—“

  “No,” Luke’s voice was becoming louder and louder still. “Come on dad just admit it,” he said, the venom dripping from his mouth. “Admit it,” he said. “Say you believe him because he’s your son and I’m just the burden you had to inherit – every god damn time it comes down to me versus him; you always pick him. That’s not coincidence, that’s a series of events.”

  Allen pressed his hands hard against Luke’s chest, “You’re pissing me off,” he growled. “The hell am I supposed to say to shit like that? Huh? You want me to say it?” He yelled.

  The rage formed deep within Luke’s bones, his body feeling twice as heavy, twin snakes of fire working their way up his spine. “Don’t touch me again old man,” he threatened.

  “Or what?” He gave that toothy grin again. “You gonna’ hit your old man? Huh? Second you do, swear to Christ I’ll beat your ass in front of every god damn Knight out there ‘till you cry like you used to.”

  Luke shook his head and put his hands up, taking a step back, “Robert’s lying to you, and if you want to blame me – then go ahead. He’s just gonna keep making shit bad for us, Allen,” Luke exhaled a breath, his chest hot with rage, “he’s been taking Oxycottons like candy and selling them on the side for cash, the lengths I’m having to go to just to keep shit from hitting the fan—I mean, it just doesn’t matter when he’s out there screwing us!”

  Grin fading, Allen balled tight a fist. “Horseshit,” he decried, “there’s going to be blowback,” he shoved a finger in Luke’s direction again, “and it’s gonna be on you when someone bites the dust.”

  I hope it’s you, “I’m done pretending Rob’s what he used to be,” Luke brought his hands back to his side, walking away from the President, “I think I was just too young and stupid to see him for what he always was.”

  “Get back here,” Allen called out. “Hey!” He growled as Luke turned the handle, “Luke!” Allen put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  He turned around, shoving his surrogate father away, “Don’t touch me,” he spat, slamming the door behind him and looking over to Gabriel. “Gabe! Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

  Gabriel craned his neck to look at Luke, his brows raised, “Everything okay? Sounded kind of heated in there, couldn’t make much out.”

  Alex eyed Luke with concern, a couple of prospects turning to see what was up.

  Pulling at his bomber jacket, Luke motioned with his head for Gabriel to follow. “It’s just the usual shit boys, nothing we ain’t hashed out a dozen times before.”

  Maybe breaking away from the club was worth entertaining, he fingered the ring that was once Able’s, wishing now more than ever that he were here for him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Luke

  Gabriel’s place was as ghetto as they came, but it was a sort of second home for Luke. He hated himself for thinking about Jasmine all the way there; was I really too hard on her? The strings of his heart tugged gently at the thought, he knew deep down inside that it was best – that lovely woman just wasn’t cut out for the brutality that was The Life.

  You did what you had to. That’s why it hurts.

  If anything happened to her … an invisible finger pressed firmly against Luke’s chest. Doubt scratched at the corners of his mind and guilt gnawed at his soul, he’d never told her about Kayla; and even though Kayla knew he had his side chicks from time to time, she sure as shit didn’t need to know a damn thing. What had once been a crush had long since turned into a massive regret, Luke felt stuck with her – he was just too involved with someone that didn’t fit him right, and she was either too blind or too stubborn to admit the same to herself.

  The living room of Gabriel’s apartment was homely; there was a 40 inch TV that quietly sat, a long green couch, a beat-up coffee table stacked with a random assortment of junk, and a yellow rug against the beige carpet that really tied the room together.

  Luke sank back against the old and musty couch, and particles of dust danced across the air. His necklace moved with him. It had been too long since he had last hung out with Gabe. It’d always felt like Robert was going to be his closest friend in life; Luke let out a slow breath, an ache blooming in his chest – Robert was, for a time, always second to Able, but in the end, it seemed only more and more true that Gabriel was the guy he could trust.

  Turning on the TV, Luke flicked his gaze over to Gabe, who was heading over to the master bedroom. There was one spare room and a shared bathroom, neither of which extended out of the living room – the same going for the kitchen, only instead of being blocked by a door it was merely an open arch and a high rising counter with some stools on the living room’s side. “I’m getting sick of Allen’s shit,” Luke brought a hand to his mouth and called out. “Complete denial about Rob.”

  He could hear Gabriel shuffling around, and then the man responded, rather simply, “Yeah. I hear ya.”

  Moments later, as Luke flipped through the channels aimlessly, Gabriel glided back into the living room with his glass bong and little baggie of weed in hand, the smallest of smirks etched on his face.

  Luke looked over to the man and his lips curled into a smile, finding the football channel and leaving it on that, “That’s not going to solve our problems,” he commented.

  Shaking his head in agreement, Gabriel sat the monstrosity of glass down on the dilapidated table, “It’ll solve a problem,” he replied, “now light up.”

  The two spent a good few minutes indulging and bickering about what they should order to eat, if anything. Eventually coming back to the subject previous. Luke folded his arms against one another, “If he ever gets ahold of that crown man.”

  “It shouldn’t happen,” Gabriel agreed, taking another hit of his bong. “It’s supposed to be a democracy anyway.”

  “Democracy isn’t democracy when fear is involved.”

  Gabriel shrugged, “There’s never going to be a perfect system.”

  “That doesn’t mean we get to settle for an imp
erfect one,” Luke retorted. “To me, at least.”

  Gabriel opted for a simple nod of agreement. “There’s nothing we can do, though,” he said, “Robert’s his son, no offense to you,” he continued.

  “Yeah.”

  “So … there’s nothing more to discuss.”

  Pinpricks of heat danced across Luke’s skull, his lips pursing together tightly.

  Gabriel leaned forward, the couch creaking in complaint of his movements, “I know that look,” he said, jabbing a finger at the man, “I know that look, don’t pretend that I don’t – I know that look Luke; so help me I will punch you so hard in the face.”

  Luke put up his hands. “Chill,” he growled, “I’ve been thinking about something, something that uh – well something that you’re not going to like.”

  Gabriel sat in rapt attention, his brows raised high and his body swaying ever so slightly – a smile crept along the lines of his face.

  He’s so high, stupid bastard, Luke realized. “Pay attention,” he snapped, “we’re still running guns and you and I both know that’s not what our club was built on.”

  “I know,” Gabriel acknowledged, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but we need the money.”

  “Yeah? We always keep needing the money, Gabe. Always.”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “He told us months ago we would be done with this, with this shit. I’m tired of it, you’re tired of it – so let’s do something about it.” Luke grabbed the glass beast from the table and continued, “everything is only going to get worse when Robert becomes President, that leaves us,” he brought up his index finger, “one option. We do right by what this club was built on, by blood and sweat and tears.”

  Gabriel raked a hand thoughtfully through his chocolate brown, straightened hair, his eyes looking back at Luke pensively.

  “I want you to be there to keep me in check, VP.”

  He scrunched up his, admittedly pretty, face, moving his head from side to side. “What are you getting at?”

  Luke turned on the protesting couch to face his friend, crossing his legs Indian style. “We’re going to start our own Knights, and we’re going to take anyone who’s willing to realize just how deep we’re drowning – we can strive for those ideals; not push them aside for greed.” With his heart tapping against his chest, the world became a much more suffocating place – much more, frighteningly so, real. The words having left his lips, it felt impossible to go back now; for better or for worse, I have to do this, Luke understood.

  Fingers of doubt skirted across the surface of Luke’s mind, and he sucked in a deep breath; those emerald eyes stared haunting at him, a pang of hurt and longing running him through.

  Silence befell the room; save for the din of the TV, as the two sat what seemed in the moment like worlds apart. Gabriel said nothing, and Luke sat, for those dragging seconds, completely alone.

  Looking down at his feet, Gabriel brushed back a lock of his hair and then met Luke’s eye, giving all the response that Luke could ever wish, with three words: “I’m with you.”

  Luke smiled.

  “But it’s still insane.”

  “I know,” Luke blinked, “I know that, but we’ve got to take the risk man.”

  Gabriel clicked his tongue, “Hell of a lot of risks, plural, by the by,” he put his hands up defensively.

  “Look if you come with, your father will come with.”

  The man shook his head, “No, you don’t know that.”

  It speared him through the chest. I’ve seen the warmth that I’ll never know, Luke’s shoulders sank a little lower then. “Yeah,” he murmured, gorging himself on that familiar emptiness – the weight unbearable and uncaring, “he will,” ignoring it only pushed the creature back into the dark deep.

  Don’t – just … don’t.

  Gabriel appeared skeptical, “Even if he does that’s just three people, and we wouldn’t even have a place to call home. It sure as shit ain’t gonna be this place,” he waved a hand around, “I mean are you just going to pull money straight from your ass?”

  “Kayla’s dad has money,” he shrugged, “and we’ll do what we have to, to get where we need to be. Doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy it, but once we have what we need – we’ll have what we need,” he assured.

  “Slippery slope,” Gabriel wagged a finger. “Besides how much longer are you really going to stay with her, anyway?”

  “That’s why I need you to keep me in check,” Luke felt a familiar buzz in his jeans, turning away from Gabriel. He focused on the TV, several heartbeats passing. “I don’t know,” he finally said, “I feel like I’m stuck,” he admitted, “like I’ve spent so much time with her, that anyone else just wouldn’t fit – and I hate it,” he seethed between grit teeth. He repeated those three words time and time again, and then some more, the anger coiling at the base of his spine in a warm pool. Luke put a hand to his head, “all she does is get high, we fight all the time and it’s just – she’s not who I thought she was.”

  “Well suck it up,” Gabriel said, “if you want Rochester’s money at least.”

  He didn’t say anything; it was so hard to keep himself composed after the loss of Able – it made his stomach turn into a twisted merry-go-round of knots, thinking just how good it might feel to crush knuckles against bone.

  Jasmine …

  “Look,” Gabriel said, “I’m with you all the way; I’m in your corner. It’s insane, but if any of us could stage a coup, it’d be you.”

  “No,” the wrong brother died, he thought. “Able was always the better leader.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Gabriel scolded. “You’re both good people, share the same blood and the same kindness, you’ll make a great leader.” The sound of buzzing filled the room, and Gabriel looked down at his pocket, reaching inside and fishing out his black cased smartphone. “Huh,” he flicked the screen, bringing the device to his ear and mouthing ‘it’s Kayla’. “Hello?” He asked.

  Luke rolled his eyes, he knew then who had just rang his phone. She was always hounding him on where he was. That woman knows nothing about personal space and independence; for being such a punk, she sure did seem to want to be a hermaphroditic blob.

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, a graveness veiling his face. He swallowed – Luke couldn’t make out the words but he could hear Kayla’s voice. “Luke …”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Augustus

  Licks of cold fire washed over and all that he could do was hold himself tighter, slipping against his own sweat in the white tub. Augustus tossed his head from one side to another, groaning to himself and muttering a string of apologies – the stabs of pain never ceased, shanking him anew with every dying ember of her memory; each subtle motion of her angelic face another torturous reminder.

  Beads of sweat rolled down from forehead to chin and Augustus opened his eyes, gasping for breath – his sweats soaked in his own perspiration. “Come on!” He yelled, the veins in his neck bulging, his hand shooting out to the rim of the bathtub and clutching it so hard that his knuckles turned as pale as his gaunt face.

  Just make it stop, just make it stop, just make it stop.

  You’re too weak, a little voice reminded. Nothing will bring her back.

  Remember, down, all the way down. Not along.

  The sound of Augustus’ fingers slipping against the rim of the tub filled his ear; he arched his back, trying to lift himself a bit into the air – in a violent motion he slammed back down, his head thumping against the porcelain.

  He yelled a litany of curses and rolled over onto his side – the perspiration of his own body soaking through his sweats. Everything was too hot or too cold and it was all at the same bloody time. Pinpricks of pain danced mercilessly across his body as he weakly brought himself to his knees, and then to his feet. Clutching the wall and onyx shower curtains, Augustus clenched his teeth and brought one leg out of the tub, and then another.

  You’re a damn, stu
pid idiot, you coward. She’d never forgive you, he chided, neither of them would. Augustus’ tired, sleepless eyes, settled on the medicine cabinet mirror just feet away.

  Puh-lease, you can’t even pretend to resist you fool. Even with the lights dimmed, the soft orange glow seemed all too bright – the temples of Augustus’ head felt like two screws were being cranked against them.

  One step, two step. For every motion, another wave of pain crashed against his person – the bones of his body drinking the agonizing waters deep.

  You’ll just go back to drinking, come on, just do it – do it. You can’t grieve, you can’t function – you never could. A whine escaped the man’s lips as he shambled inch by terrible inch, his hair a wet mess.

  Finally, he almost tripped against the sink, throwing out his hands to catch himself, a hard breath exhaling. For all that the man cared, seasons could have passed outside – leaves could have faded and snow could have come and gone; Augustus managed to lift his head up and look at the misery that was his person. Take it, Augustus taunted, you know you need it. His muscles ached with a dull fire, the blood in his body becoming thick; every ill pulse another blow against him.

  Body quivering against the sink, he tried to repress the terrible memories, tried to smother all of the pain away. ‘Clock, clock’ Augustus heard.

  Shadowy as a wraith, she appeared in the mirror. It felt as though the grave itself clutched his heart, Augustus dared not look back. Her once platinum blonde hair, so long and beautiful, was now soaked, frayed and split and horrible; the luster in her amber eyes now glassy and distant: dead. What was once a smile that calmed his soul was now a scowl; her green summer dress once bright and colorful, now dark and dull – it clung wet to her shapely, if not ghostly thin, figure.

  Augustus shuddered, “Go away,” he murmured in a choke. But she did not. Her ethereal coil lingered, practically gliding more so than stepping, closer to Augustus. Thin, long fingers touched along the man’s hips, a chill blooming where they met. Three sounds filled his ear again ‘clock, clock, clock’.