“What does this mean?” he asks. I shrug and find myself unable to speak. The phone chirps again and Jeremy says, “Another text. It says HERE. NOW. from ‘Diesel’.” Swiping his finger across the screen, he brings the phone to his ear and nods his head then starts laughing. It’s the same laugh he had when I told him a few weeks back that his principal means business about not graduating on time if he doesn’t cut out the bullshit. It’s the same laugh he gives just before he does something really awful. It’s this deep, throaty laugh that tells me I’m in serious trouble and he’s going to enjoy every moment of it. I don’t even ask what the voice mail he listened to says. Just in case it’s something embarrassing, which I’m sure it is.
Pulling into the Forsaken lot at a crawl, I finally let it sink in what I raced over here for. Duke and Diesel. What in the hell could those two be doing that would require my presence immediately?
Realization dawns on me why I’m here, and a sudden panic washes over me. Brothers don’t fight over Lost Girls. They try to avoid fighting over women in general. Forsaken is one of those clubs that takes care of their own and that means all of their own—men, wives, whores, kids, and associates. Though it’s a long shot to even consider it, I really hope Diesel isn’t making a stink of the whole situation with Duke.
Rounding the corner of the shop, I find that the gates to the clubhouse parking lot are open. With the tightened security it’s kind of a rarity to be able to just pull up into the lot. A crowd has gathered near where the guys park their Harleys, and, the closer we get, the easier it is to hear the shouts.
“Shit,” I say. Jeremy leans forward in his seat. I blink at him, and realize only too late that I’d sworn never to bring him here. I don’t want Jeremy to see this life. It doesn’t matter what I do here because I can walk away at any time. But what Jeremy wants—the patch—that’s for life. There’s no walking away from that. Sure, guys will tell you that you can patch out and cover your club ink and leave at any time, but they lie. Once the club has you, and they know what your weakness is, they’ll exploit it to further their own agenda. The club couldn’t operate on such a tyrannical level if it weren’t for its enforcers—the actual members of the club—who blindly follow through with whatever fucked up shit they have to do in the name of the club and protecting what they consider theirs. Just ask Butch—my dad—what a member will do in the name of his club. And it’s exactly that blind loyalty that wound my dad up in San Quentin Maximum Security Prison that I don’t want Jeremy getting all gleamy eyed over. I’ve seen it before at his age—with Ryan and Duke. They glorified the club and the life, and they couldn’t talk about anything else but being patched and what it would mean. I remember them going on and on about pot, and pussy, and money. They talked about the kinds of Harleys they would have and what they would spend their money on, but they never talked about the death and the sorrow, and all that the club leaves in its wake. Nobody ever talks about that. They only talk about loyalty and family, but some family they are. You either end up dead or locked up. There’s a reason there’s so few older Forsaken, and there’s a reason the club basically finances the town’s divorce lawyer’s daughter’s college fund. These guys are only ever faithful to their patch. I can’t let that become my brother.
So when I pull in and park, I cut the engine and turn to face Jeremy. He almost looks like he just stepped into a strip club with the way he’s eyeing the bikes and all the leather cuts that huddle around in a circle. “Stay put,” I say.
He won’t listen, but I have to try.
Chapter 9
WHEN I CRAWL out of the car, the voices get louder and more pronounced. First, it’s Diesel, saying, “Fuck you, man. You knew what you were doing.”
“You already fucked me when you fucked Nic,” Duke shouts. The crowd gets very quiet and backs up just slightly. I can’t hear much as I approach, just the shuffling of boots on concrete.
“One, you don’t know shit. Two, that bitch Dawn was riding your dick like she was performing at the fucking circus! You were out in the open, jackass!”
Halfway to the crowd, I stop. I don’t really want to be witness to this—but there’s not much I can do. If I didn’t want to be part of this, I probably should have thought that over before I broke speed limits to get here.
“Did you or did you not take my girl in a room last night? Duke asks, his voice harsh.
“You are so fucking stupid it’s embarrassing,” Diesel snaps back.
Sneaking out of the crowd, Chel strides over to me. Her bright red hair needs to be redone, and her makeup is a little frazzled. She’s wearing velour sweat pants and a tight baby doll tee shirt, but her make-up is in full force. Glittery silver eye shadow, pink lipstick, and heavy black eyeliner. Reaching out with her perfectly manicured nails, she grabs my hands and pulls me toward the crowd. “Finally,” she says. “Now go break it up.”
I stop dead in my tracks and give her a wide-eyed and weary look. Surely she’s joking about me getting in the middle of this. “Oh, hell no,” I say.