by Ethan Egorov
“I have no clue man, I just hope it doesn’t start another bar fight.”
In the past three years, when Jeannine came back and had… developed. Tank kicked at least three guys out of the club just for looking at her, I don’t know if anyone actually tried anything but they’re gone either way.
“Shit. I hope so. Is it weird that I’m worried about Spencer? I mean he… I don’t know. He’d be the only one that hasn’t seen first hand what happens when you mess with Jeannine.” Rafe laughs but its more nervous than before.
I think its admirable how much he cares about his brother. I have heard him talk about him over and over, some good and bad, always having to bail him out of trouble. But he talked about how he admired him joining up too, and how he was proud of him. I’m sure he still is but now that they are in the club together, he can keep a closer eye on him without suffocating him.
“Nah, it’s not weird. Let’s just hope that she isn’t even his type.” I clap his shoulder and he laughs with me.
He works on another car before we leave the garage. It’s a club night, so the place is going to be packed and everyone is helping stock up. I go out back to unload beer and vodka, carrying it over to the bar. Spencer is there and chats with some of the buddies he has made at the club.
“I’m heading out, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I tell Rafe. He nods and stays at the bar with his brother.
I kick my bike into gear and drive home, going slower than normal to kind of appreciate the sight before I get into the city. Some people stare, like always, but they know I’m not dangerous. Almost no one at the club is dangerous anyway. We have that stigma because of what people see elsewhere, on tv and stuff, only the bad stories make it out.
But I joined the club to have peace of mind, after so much of my life was just loud and unbearable. The club took me in, Tank took me in soon before Rafe and we both found our placing in the club. It makes sense that he is the VP, and that I handle all the things that keep us afloat.
That means I do most of the violence. Most of the drug running and gun transport, I’m the one staring the cartel leaders down and the dealers and making sure we get paid, that no one ends up in prison. It’s a lot to carry on my shoulders but we all have a lot.
It’s what makes us part of the club. It’s what makes us the Outlaws.
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Sparrow: Outlaw MC I
Sypnosis
She walked into my life when I was supposed to stay out of trouble.
All I had to do was join the club and mind my own business.
Now her gorgeous curves are all I can think about.
The plan was to have one taste of her, and then let her go.
But I’ve been left wanting so much more.
The problem, though?
She’s the MC President’s daughter.
The one woman who is completely off-limits.
This is the kind of trouble that my brother warned me about.
He won’t bail me out this time.
The stakes are too high.
But the risk is worth the reward.
Besides, it’s my heart on the line.
They say I’m a rule breaker…
And I’m about to show them just how far I could go to take what’s mine.
1
Sparrow
I park my truck out back like I always do and wait for Roland to start bitching about it blocking the path for his bike. I’ve never seen a dude get that upset over trivial things like driveways, especially Roland. We never cared about material possessions before because we would end up losing them anyway. That’s why he cares so much about this house, because he worked hard to keep it. And it’s why I was less than excited to move in and intrude on Roland’s pride and joy, but he managed to convince me.
I get out of the truck and look around. Roland is nowhere in sight, so I slip the key in the front door and walk in. Roland is standing in the kitchen.
“You’re coming to the club, tonight right?”
“Do I have a choice?” I retort back to Roland, who eyes me from the other side of the breakfast table.
I’ve spent the past few months with Roland attending meetings at the club. That group saved him from self-destruction, so I guess I had to join. At first, I was a prospect, and now I’m a new member, which just means they can still force me to do the shit they don’t want to do.
I head over to the fridge and take out some day-old chicken that Roland made. I’ve been eating his food without thinking twice about it, so I open the microwave and warm it up.
“Well, yeah.” Roland scoffs, grabbing a beer. He is in jeans and his cut like he always is. Since he is the VP, he is almost always at the club and just came from there.
The microwave shuts off. I grab the plastic container and a fork. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” I answer, stuffing my mouth with the hot food as I lean against the counter and ignore Roland’s glare.
My brother and I have a simple relationship; we always look out for each other, but he has been the one bailing me out of trouble since day one. We left foster care when Roland was eighteen, and then he spent the next three years taking care of me until I was old enough to be on my own. I ended up hanging out with the wrong crowds and needing him to bail me out of trouble all the time. The last I got in trouble was the worst, because I really was being bailed out of jail and a bad situation with a gang running drugs.
“Good. For what it’s worth, the guys like having you there.” He walks over to the counter, sits down, and sips his beer. I give him a funny look until I figure out what to say.
“I wonder why that is.” I chuckle. I didn’t get that vibe at all, it felt like they treated me like any other prospect or new member. Somewhat like shit, but not enough that I want to leave the group. Although I felt like an outcast, I still helped clean up the club garage, sometimes worked the register at the graphic tee shirt shop, and served drinks at the bar. I pocket all the tips I make, but it’s not enough for me to entertain helping my brother out with rent.
“Come on, don’t be an ass. I told you that the execs were the ones who convinced me to ask you to come join in the first place. You should see how they treat regular prospects.”
I chuckle, “Right. I’m some sort of VIP just because you’re the VP?” I snort. Roland laughs and I shake my head at him.
“Pretty much. Use it to your advantage. But don’t think it will get you out of trouble if you fuck up. It doesn’t work that way.” He laughs.
I nod once, “Fair enough.”
Roland grabs the remote control from the counter, turns on the television in the kitchen and sheds his jacket. I haven’t gotten used to all his new tattoos yet. I have a few tattoos of my own, and I don’t think I want full sleeves like he has but I think I’ll get a few more.
“Tank says you might be good at running some surveillance for us.”
“Surveillance?” I give him a side eye.
“Yeah. For some of our ops, keeping an eye on the other clubs. He says you’re good at keeping quiet. Isn’t that what you did for those shitty gangs back home?” Roland asks me.
I get a beer and take a few gulps to stall. “Yeah. It was. But why would he need someone to break in to places?” I half laugh.
“Well it isn’t always just breaking in. I don’t know, just think about it.” He waves it off.
I grunt, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. I’m all for being in the club and trying to turn my life around but being useful makes people expect things from me. Expectations lead to disappointment and that’s worse than anything else. I have been the bad guy for a long time, I’ve been the letdown, I’m not keen on being the comeback kid who drifted back even more. Roland has picked himself up
, made a life for himself here, and for some reason he wanted to include me in it. I don’t want to mess that up, but it’s usually in my nature to.
“I’m going to shower before I leave.” I finish my beer and head to my room, one of the guest rooms upstairs that I’ve taken up residence in.
It’s a good size room and honestly, I can’t ask for much, judging from what I am used to. I shower and get dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt with a weird abstract design from the shop. I have my cut with my name on it and such, I’m not in any of the committees so it doesn’t have much on it, not even my club name. I couldn’t think of a good name and neither could Roland. His came from Tank and has yet to be explained, Rafe just sounds different to me. Spencer sounds better, but I’m not sure how much better. I lace up my boots, grab my keys, and jog down the steps. I’m right on time to get there early and do the boring task of stocking beer and cutting lemons.
“Hey, meet me out front.” Roland calls from behind the stair case, probably in the living room. I frown and go from leaving out of the garage, to the front door. His porch has a table on it that I am sure he never uses. It over looks his long front driveway and subpar shrubbery. His bike sits angled to the driveway, a big chrome Harley with divets on the seat and the MC logo pasted on the back cover. What’s different today is that there are two bikes.
“What’s this?” I point, coming down the steps.
Roland half grins and stands beside the almost matching bike, minus all the detailing.
“Your bike.”
I scoff, “my bike?” the last time I rode one I was a kid, fifteen or sixteen. Roland took to it, clearly, and I have been on them occasionally at the club but that was only to move them between garages.
“Yeah. It’s about time you got one for yourself. Darius and I fixed it up, it’s been abandoned in the shop for a while.” He explains.
I get close enough to the bike to see the sketching of the leather, smell the fresh scent of pine cleaner on it.
“So you got me a bike that will crap out?” I smirk at him.
He rolls his eyes and slaps my back, laughing. “Yeah right. You can just say thank you.”
I roll my eyes right back at him. He hands me the keys and I swing my leg over the bike, getting used to the feeling. The seat is comfortable, the handlebars at the right height. I smooth my hand across it and half smile. I don’t really buy my self shit anymore, not anything like this, stuff I don’t really need. Roland and I got each other stuff for Christmas growing up, but that was just so we didn’t go out of our minds about not having a family. This is different. The whole thing with the club has been different, he invited me into something he didn’t have to. Something I was never a part of to begin with. But now I am. And then he goes and does this. I know it’s a nice gesture, but this feels like pressure.
“Thanks bro, I appreciate it.” I shake his hand and we bump fists. He shrugs like it was nothing.
“No problem. I’ll see you there.” He gets on his bike and kicks off, gone down the driveway in seconds. I follow after him, starting to see what he meant about being on the bike.
I feel every whip of the air, the give of the tires on the road at every turn. I control the bike, it doesn’t control me. The club is kind of like that too and I start to get it.
The drive is short, about ten minutes until we pull into the garage.
“It’s nice right?” Roland shoves my shoulder playfully as we walk in.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s nice. How old is it?” I stuff the keys in my pocket. There are a few guys milling about outside, I nod at them and they do the same.
“Couple years, not bad.”
“Must have been expensive.” I mutter, glancing at him.
He stops near the doorway and gives me a look.
“I got it covered.”
“Yeah but I don’t want to feel like I owe you—”
“Then don’t.” He shrugs, walking inside and effectively ending the conversation.
It should just be that easy. I don’t know how much it was or what his situation is, but it seems alright. The only way I can actually just not feel like I owe him is to ask if I would do the same thing, if I were him. Chances are that I would.
“What’s up Spencer.” Logan greets me from behind the bar. I nod at him, shake his hand from over the table. Roland goes off to the back room and I walk behind the bar.
“Not much. I’ve been sugar babied by my brother.” I chuckle. Logan gives me a look but laughs too.
I take off my jacket and put it in the cabinet under the cash register. He finishes wiping the bar down, there were probably a lot of people here earlier. The bar is half full now with regulars that I see all the time. The women are here too. I’ve taken my pick, but to Roland’s advice I didn’t dive in too far. I know them by ass now, the way they strut around in tight denim, hoping to land one of the guys. It’s just weird now, it used to be hot. I didn’t come here to find a girl or anything like that. Roland and I are the same, we are probably going to end up alone, but that’s beside the point. Being in the club, if we want it, it’s out there for us. But I know better because I caught on quickly.
“What the fuck?” Logan laughs.
I turn to him and start counting the beers in the cooler like I knew I was going to do.
“Yeah. He got me a bike. Said it’s been hanging around in the garage.” I explain.
He nods, wiping his hands. He tosses the rag aside and leans on the bar. He’s taken his cut off too, Logan is one of those taller guys with leaner muscles and has one sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, some of them colorful. He actually looks the most normal out of all the guys at the club, appearance wise.
“I know what you’re talking about. He never mentioned it though, that’s nice of him.”
“Yeah he does shit like that.” I stop counting and stare at the paper. It feels weird to think about it, so I try not to. But he always looks out for me, and it’s different than the other times because I don’t actually want to mess this up.
“He used to talk about you a lot before you came by. I mean, you two make me wish I actually got along with my brothers. It’s good shit.”
I half smile, “yeah it is.” I go back to counting beers and he helps me restock them.
The bar starts to fill up again and we scrap the preparation shit to take care of the people actually here. The regulars are here, and I strike up a conversation with them like I always do. Some of them are just ordinary people who have day jobs and families, they like to live vicariously through the club too. Others are what I’m used to, wayward type folk.
When there is a bit of calm in the storm, I fold rags and balance the drawer mid-way. I’m good at math, it was the one subject I passed easily in school, but this is still just basic counting shit. I haven’t been accused of stealing yet, so I must be doing it right.
“I’m going to run and get more quarters.” I tell Logan, he nods and then I walk off behind the bar.
I pass by the pool tables, a woman I haven’t seen before smiles at me and I smile back, to be nice. But there is no way I’m starting that. I continue down the back hall, escaping the noise of pumping music and clinking glasses to get to the supply closet. I have to use a set of keys to get inside. I pull the chain of the over head light, and look around the dusty, possibly molded room for the change drawer. We have more change at the beginning of the week, being Friday, I might be out of luck.
I find the drawer, bend down to reach for it.
“Are you stealing?”
I stand up and almost hit my head on the rack above me.
The voice came out of nowhere, a soft feminine voice. I grab the rolls of quarters and turn around in search of it.
“Uh, no?” I squint and find the voice in the half darkness, it belongs to a young woman, probably my age too.
She crosses her arms and stares back at me. It raises her tee shirt over her jeans, exposing a bit of her naval and a belly button ring. I raise my brows and
find my eyes back on her face, that is scowling at me. It’s kind of a familiar face, but I don’t know why. Her light brown hair is curly, probably down to her waist but I can’t really see that.
“I work here. If that’s any of your business.” I chuckle.
She shifts on her feet, she’s wearing a shiny purple pair of boots, suited to ride a motorcycle. But I have never seen her around here before.
“It is,” she drops her hands and steps in to the hall when I start walking toward her.
She does a once over of me, like I didn’t notice. I shut the door and stare down at her, she’s short, I blink to get away from her soft brown eyes.
“Well I’ve never seen you around here before.” I shrug.
“I haven’t seen you around here either.” She raises her brow, purses a set of glossed, full lips at me.
“Well, I guess it goes both ways then. I gotta get back to work.” I add emphasis on the word and grin at her, she only scowls back in response. I walk off with a weird shiver at how familiar that look is.
“What took you so long?” Logan asks me.
I walk behind the bar and laugh, putting the coins in the drawer.
“I ran into someone.”
“Huh?” he laughs.
I turn to him, leaning on the bar.
“Some girl. I’ve never seen her before. She accused me of stealing.” I laugh at the memory, her face running in my mind.
“Hm. What’d she look like? I have seen almost everyone come through here.”
I sigh, “I don’t know. Brunette. Cute. I’m not a fucking artist.” I chuckle. I turn and see that head of hair again, walking across the pool table. She looks like she is storming off from somewhere, my eyes follow her until I lose sight.
“That’s her,” I tap Logan’s shoulder when he turns away.
