by Vivian Lux
The loud voices escalated. Something about one guy fucking the other one's sister. Case rolled his eyes. The middle of a fucking blizzard, and these jokers could still find time to get into a pissing match over chicks.
He scanned the group carefully, assessing the situation with practiced eyes. They weren't regulars, that much was certain. That made his decision easier. They didn't belong here. They were here to make trouble. In his bar. On his turf. And that wouldn't fucking stand.
Case drained the last of his beer and shot a look to Mac, the bartender. Mac raised his bushy eyebrows at him and Case knew Mac was wondering what he was waiting for.
Just wanted to finish my beer first, he thought, a vague annoyance itching the back of his mind. It was the middle of a fucking snowstorm, what the hell were these assholes up to anyway? Case unfurled himself to his full, imposing height and rolled his shoulders back. Then he took two steps towards the shouting douchebags.
He immediately had their attention. But it was best not to hurry these things. Let them sweat. He rolled a kink out of his neck, feeling the muscles stretch and relax. He could wait all day if he needed to, but he'd rather not.
"Hey!" His booming voice cut through the drunken shouting.
When they looked at him, he had to stifle a laugh. Fucking kids, that's all they were. College bros out slumming it at a peaceful neighborhood bar. That kind of shit pissed him off. He rolled his neck again, and his fingers itched. This was going to be more gratifying than he had first thought.
The kids all looked at each other, each one wondering who was going to be the unlucky person to have to answer the bearded monolith that now stood in front of them.
Finally the biggest kid, the one who apparently slept with the skinny one's sister, separated himself from his pack. He stepped forward with a heavy list to the left. Case's fighting instincts noted that immediately and shifted his own weight to compensate. This little punk would go down easy if it came to it.
"Whaddya want?" the kid slurred. Case pegged him for a frat type. It was finals week at the universities all over Philadelphia. These kids must be from Drexel, or possibly Penn, he could tell by how nice their shoes were. Maybe he'd make them take them off and see if they were his size.
Case rolled his neck again and sighed. "What I want is for you to get the fuck out of my bar." He gestured to the three slumped patrons that still held out against the storm. "You're bothering us."
"Your bar?" Douchey McNiceshoes was confused.
"Yep. This is my bar. And I want you assholes out of here. Go take your catfight somewhere else."
"This isn't your bar!" he protested in a snotty whine. The kind of entitled sneer that came from a lifetime of getting whatever he wanted. But his eyes were huge. Case wondered if he was the first person to ever tell him 'no.' "You're just some biker trash looking for cheap beer!"
Case sighed. Those straight, pearly white teeth were just begging to be broken. "We can take this outside. I don't give a fuck, I just want you out of here."
The kid's eyes rolled wildly. He knew he couldn't take Case. But maybe if he and his friends all bum-rushed him at the same time. Case could practically see the wheels turning in his rabbity little brain. He hoped he was never so damned transparent in a fight. Or in a poker game. Or in bed, for that matter.
"You wanna take it outside?" the kid repeated.
"No, but I will if that's what it takes to get you assholes out of here. Look," Case stepped forward. "I'll go first."
He made to the front door, deliberately not looking back to see if they would follow. His ease unnerved them, and that was to his advantage. There were four of them and one of him, and though he was confident in his ability to bust some heads, it still was best to be prudent. "Be right back Mac," he called. "Just taking out the trash."
Outside the snow was swirling fiercely. The cold bit into his bare arms. He was wearing a T-shirt and his cut, that was it. Better make this quick before he died of frostbite.
He quickly scanned the area and spied a patch of bare sidewalk next to an underground vent that was warming the pavement. Stepping over to it, he planted his feet and spun to face his opponent.
The kid's friends hung back while he ran his mouth. "I don't have to take this from you. I'm going to be a fucking lawyer, you hear me?" Spittle was flying from his mouth and he was pink-cheeked in rage. He would shout all day if Case let him. "I'm going to have a real job and enough money to buy and sell your sorry ass. You're just a smelly waste of space."
It was too cold out for this shit.
"And you're just some dumbass frat boy with a broken nose." Case heard the crunch as his fist made contact. Blood sprayed immediately, sending droplets over the snow and peppering his douchey little friends with a fine red mist. One of them actually screamed.
The kid roared in fury and rushed towards him, arms flailing. Case stepped neatly aside, letting the slippery sidewalk do his work for him. Just as he suspected, the kid slipped on his backswing, his legs shooting out comically from underneath him. He landed hard on his ass with a dull thud.
"Stay the fuck out of my bar." Case stepped over the humiliated wannabe badass and stepped back in where it was warm.
Mac had a beer waiting for him, glistening in the low lights. Case poured half of it down his throat in one swallow. When he looked back up, Mac was slinging the white envelope across the bar.
"Worth every fucking penny," Mac nodded, tapping it once.
Case nodded back and drained the rest of his beer, sliding into his leather jacket when he was done. "You oughta close up, man. No one's coming out in this."
Mac looked around the bar. "Not sure some of them have anyplace else to go," he grimaced.
Case stuck out his hand and the two men clasped forearms. "You're a good man," Case said.
"You are too, Ericsson."
As usual when he heard those words, he felt a twang inside of himself. "Ain't nothin' good about me," he muttered, slipping the envelope into his pocket. And without another word he turned to the back door.
The clubhouse was only a few desolate blocks away. He hadn't thought to drive. No matter how long he lived, he would never lose his childish fear of waste. Save the gas for something more important. He and his brothers might need it down the road.
He wondered which“brothers”he was thinking about.
He trudged through the snow, impervious to the cold now that he was wearing his leathers. Having a jacket made all the difference in the winter time. It was a luxury he was still getting used to.
He found his way to the clubhouse more by instinct than sight. The strange sentinel of a building, a remnant of an entire block of row homes now gone. It stood alone in a too big parking lot, the only building in the entire block left standing. The elevated length of 95 ran above it, as did the elevated train, so noise was a constant background in his life. Except tonight there was a muted hush over the city. As if someone had thrown a blanket over everything to muffle the sound. Creepy, he thought and hurried faster towards the door.
Case punched in the new security code and let himself in to the front office. Flicking on the light, he moved quickly to kneel down and spin the combination lock on the safe. He counted the money in the white envelope out and added it to the growing stack that sat inside. Then he allowed himself a few proud moments of contemplation as he realized just how much they had brought in since he had started this new venture.
It was Case that had realized they needed to start bringing in more money if they were ever to make it through the process of being a prospect club to the Storm Riders MC. The Sons of Steel MC of Philadelphia was a tiny little club, barely known outside of the few city blocks that were their territory. It was purely a logistical move on the Storm Riders' part to take them on; their proximity to the highway and the large size of their clubhouse made them valuable, nothing else. The Storm Riders were using them, and Case intended to use them right back. He let the word get out that they were going to be part of
the biggest club on the East Coast, and suddenly money starting appearing out of thin air.
The older men in the club were content to let things be as they always had been. Teach, the President, had pulled all the strings to get them considered as a prospect club, but now he was sitting back, lost in an increasingly alarming fog, leaving the business of actually prospecting to the younger men.
Case had stood up in a club meeting about two months ago and laid out his plan. The bars in the area were falling victim more and more often to hold-ups. The crowd in the neighborhood was changing. There were more drugs, more fights and more shadiness than the old guard bartenders could handle.
That was where they came in, Case had explained. The bars needed protection and the Sons needed to up their profile. It was a win -win. And if the bar owners wanted to throw a little money their way for the privilege of their protection, well it all worked out.
Plus it meant they could drink on the house.
Case swung the door to the safe shut and spun the dial. Money was comfort. Money meant safety and security. Money meant food and warm clothes and no one coming to turn the lights off. He ran his fingers down the side of the safe. It still wasn't enough. They needed more.
He needed more.
His mind raced with ideas as he walked through the back door of the office and into the clubhouse.
The first sight that greeted him was J. and his girl Emmy. He had her up on the workbench, her legs wrapped around his back as they kissed madly.
Case rolled his eyes and sighed heavily enough as he walked past that they came up for air briefly before diving back into each other again.
Crash was sitting in one of the camp chairs that they never seemed to be able to upgrade from, an open can of Yuengling in his fist and a lazy grin on his face. "One way to keep warm," he nodded, raising his can in the direction of the entwined couple.
Case scraped a camp chair across the floor and flopped heavily into it. Mac raised his head at him. The older man only spoke in the direst circumstances, forcing the rest of the guys to guess his meaning most of the time.
"Why yes, I would love a beer, thank you MacDougal," Case guessed.
Mac nodded and headed over to the small kitchenette with the bursting refrigerator.
"We got enough?" Case wondered.
"I made a beer run before it got too bad. Food too. Mostly beer."
"Good man," Case nodded.
Quick as lightning, he shot his hand in the air to catch the incoming beer can Mac had flung in his direction. Crash hooted in appreciation. "I couldn't do that. Too wasted already."
"How early did you start?"
"When the snow started falling. I fucking hate winter."
Case leaned back with a grunt and poured the beer down his throat. It was true. Winter sucked. Up until today, it had almost been warm enough to ride. But snow on the ground and motorcycles don't really mix. He was hoping they could fund a ride south with some of their new earnings. He missed the warm wind blasting his face as he screamed down the highway with nothing between him and the road but skill.
"Fuck you winter!" he called, raising his beer in the direction of the roll top garage doors. Crash raised his beer in solidarity and together they drained them dry.
The beer did nothing to calm the jittery antsiness he was feeling. He knew why. The date on the nudie girl calendar on the wall was screaming it in his face. Hunter's birthday was tomorrow.
He would be sixteen. Holy fuck. His little brother was old enough to start driving now. Case's heart squeezed tightly in his chest. With nowhere else to direct his anger, he crushed the beer can in his fist and threw it across the garage as hard as he could.
Crash looked at him mildly. "Want another one?" he asked. "I'll get it."
Case nodded without looking up. Sixteen years old. He tried not to think about where his brothers were now. All he could hope was that Hunter had ended up with someone who would love him enough to teach him how to drive. Properly. Maybe his foster father was a weekend warrior who could teach him about bikes and the love of riding. Or maybe he had been adopted by now.
His heart squeezed further. That was his best hope. Maybe Hunter and Jonah were together in a family with a father and a house with heat and actual floorboards. They would be happy in their new life, happy to forget the hell of their childhood. They wouldn't remember Case with love or fondness. They wouldn't know how much he had sacrificed to keep them safe.
Crash arrived at his arm with the beer, cracked it open and held it out silently. Case took it and sat back in his chair, staring at the high, domed ceiling.
"Winter fucking sucks," he repeated. He shot a look over to where J. and Emmy were now headed towards the bunkhouse. Case still wasn't used to seeing that kind of bliss on J.'s face. His best friend's whole demeanor had changed since he and Emmy had gotten together this past summer. He was glad for him, glad for them. They were good for each other, Emmy calming J. down, J. building Emmy up. It was how love should be.
Or so Case thought. He wasn't sure.
He thought he had been in love once, but that was a long long time ago. A different life.
"Case, you sober?"
Case looked over to the office door. Teach was leaning against the doorframe, his cell phone in hand. His waist length dreads swung freely across his chest. "Yeah Teach, what's up?" Case stood from his chair, testing his limbs. He was fine.
"Des called."
Case grunted at the name of the president of the Storm Riders MC chapter out of Richmond. The two clubs had rumbled when they first met, but now the Richmond chapter was sponsoring them in their prospective bid. Case felt it was an uneasy alliance and it bothered his instincts as Sergeant-At-Arms. "What did he want?" he asked tightly.
"There was supposed to be a groups of riders coming south outta Albany that were stopping by for a party."
"Yeah," Case had run background checks on everyone already. "We're all set."
"Well this fucking storm is even worse up there. They cancelled."
Case felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.
"Seems like nothing is moving on the whole East Coast," Teach continued. "We're sittin' pretty until the storm blows through."
"Well that sucks," Crash called from his chair. "I was looking forward to getting wasted with those pricks."
"You're already wasted," Teach pointed out.
"Nah," Crash grinned. "Just happy."
"I'm not happy, that was a ton of fucking work, clearing those guys," Case kicked the concrete floor irritably.
"Act of God," Teach held up his hands. "Nothin' to be done about it."
"How long is the storm gonna last?"
"You think they fucking know? Every channel says something different."
"Goddamnit." Case looked at the wall calendar. He couldn't just sit here, drinking through an interminable blizzard while tomorrow's date stared him in the face. He needed to get out of here, keep moving, go do something.
"Pretty sure the city's gonna shut down in a minute," Teach continued. "Crash got supplies, we'll be fine."
"I wasn't gonna stay the night though," Crash called. "It's finals week up at Temple."
Teach rolled his eyes. "You end up in a ditch cause your fool ass can't stop chasing pussy even during a snowstorm, I ain't comin' to your funeral."
"Relax Teach," Crash stood up, and lifted his bad leg off the floor. "See? Sober as your Grandma. The girls'll need a break from their studying. I can't deny them their release."
"For fuck's sake," Teach muttered and heading back into the office.
Case looked at the wall calendar again, then over to the bunkhouse where the muffled sounds of lovemaking wafted over the plywood walls. "Crash, wait up!" he called, surprising both of them. "I'm coming with you."
Crash looked at him oddly and Case knew why. The two of them had never hung out outside of the club. It was always he and J., with Crash as the outsider. Case felt momentary guilt at what this must look like, bu
t put it aside. He needed to move more than he needed to worry about hurt feelings.
"Sure man, whatever," Crash agreed, pulling a knit cap over his shorn head. The two men tromped through the parking lot towards a gleaming black hulk. Crash leapt deftly into the cab and came out with a snow-brush. Case looked in awe as a huge, high-end pickup emerged from underneath the humped snow.
"Damn man, that's a nice truck." He tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice. Forever the little kid looking in from outside as others enjoyed their nice things. "How do you afford that?"
Crash grinned at him as he chucked the snow-brush behind the driver's seat. "Plausible deniability, dude. Do you really want to know?"
Case burst out laughing. "Oh what the fuck, they'd RICO me anyway. Your sins are my sins, at least according to the Feds."
"Fell off the back of a truck," Crash grinned again. The throaty roar of the diesel engine drowned out any chance of reply. "So you need to get laid, huh?" Crash shouted over the engine. "Tired of banging your MILFs and looking for some sweet young pussy?"
Case tried to relax. "Something like that. Mostly I didn't want to be cooped up in the clubhouse all through the storm."
Crash looked out the windshield. "Seems to be easing for the moment. We picked a good time to move."
The ride up to where Crash had his apartment was fine as long as Case kept his eyes closed. Crash drove his truck like he was flogging it into submission, revving the engine unnecessarily and then jamming his good foot down on the brake. By the time they reached the back alley behind Crash's place, Case felt slightly nauseous.
As soon as they parked, Crash looked down at his phone. "Yep," was all he said. He spun himself around in his seat and dropped to the snowy ground. Case followed him, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the cold. He wasn't going to brood tonight, he promised himself. Tonight he was going to have fun.
Chapter 10
Lexi
