I shook my head, totally blasted, trying to understand what the hell he was getting at.
“Don't fuckin' look at me like I just stood you up at prom. I did you a solid tonight, saving you from a greedy prick who wanted your body, and nothing else. Those ratfucks go down easy. Just takes a blow to the ribs to drop 'em. The boys who try to charm your * wet – they're the ones you really gotta watch out for. Only one of those motherfuckers I can save you from is me.” He paused, looking me up and down, one final tease before he left me in the dust. “You're young, you're good, and I hope to fuck you'll stay that way. Next time you get hot when you hear a bike humming or see a brother with this patch, you ignore that shit. You run.”
He thumped the skull with the blazing guns going up the side of his leather vest. As if I needed a fucking reminder.
Then he took off, cutting way too close to our old storage shed. Just the perfect angle for making his motorcycle's steel glow on his way out.
My knees collapsed. I dropped to the ground and cried, utterly humiliated, knowing deep down I should be thanking him that he hadn't taken advantage of me.
The bastard was right, more right than he had any business being with his teasing, his arrogance, his good for nothing good looks.
Lord, I fucking hated it.
I told myself if I didn't see Jackson, or Joker, or whatever the hell he wanted to call himself ever again, I'd live my life happy.
But life never goes according to plan.
2
Another Night (Joker)
Three Years Earlier
Piece had my back. My brother by blood and patch was always with me, every single trip we made to this dirty little town.
We rode in, heading for the bar before we hit grandpa's house, the only place that ever felt like home outside the clubhouse in Knoxville.
Seddon had gotten its fucking skull caved in by the economy taking a dump. It showed in every tumbleweed blowing through the abandoned streets, in front of the boarded up buildings. Some desperate fucks had broken the windows outta the old pharmacy – desperate ass junkies looking for their next fix.
We'd stopped hauling that shit around a couple years ago, when Early met a bloody end and passed the gavel to his son, Dust.
New Prez didn't want a damned thing to do with drugs, no different than the rest of us. So he'd sent us here on a different kind of club business.
'Course, we came for pleasure, too.
There was always somebody hanging around, waiting to get their ass kicked. The bar brawls out here were easy. They were fun. The motherfuckers on the receiving end always deserved it.
Tina and Robby Olivers appreciated the regular cleanings we brought to their watering hole, knocking out the riffraff who threatened to chase away the drunks and the softer types passing through town.
Piece killed his engine and stepped off his bike first. I followed him, heading into the bar. My brother pushed straight through the old timey saloon doors without noticing the pink slip taped to the window.
It hit me like a ton of bricks when I stopped and read it. “Fucking shit,” I growled, taking it in.
GOING OUT OF BUSINESS was in big, fat bold letters near the top. Didn't need to see the fuckin' fine print.
I almost ripped the saloon doors off on my way in. Only took a second to scan the small crowd, and found my brother in our usual spot, at one of the corner tables next to grandpa.
“Why didn't you tell me this place was closing up shop?” I asked, sitting down as Piece looked up, and pushed an extra beer over to me.
Took a long sip. Thick, bitter, and dark. Just the way I liked it, second only to good southern whiskey. Could've used the harder shit today, when we were taking a kick to the nuts like this.
“Figured you'd both be here to see her off yourself, boys,” Grandpa said, twisting his old Marine cap, full of crests and honors from Vietnam. “They're having their last big bash today before the whole thing goes belly up. Latest victim of the rot chewing up the poor damned town.”
Yeah, fucking right. Seventy-five years old, and our hard as nails grandpa had never talked more truth.
“What's Dusty doing?” he asked, folding a fist around his scotch and looking at us. All those fancy changes better pay off quick if the club ever wants stakes in Georgia again.”
“Shit, Grandpa, that's what we're here for,” Piece said, slamming down his glass. “We haven't given up. Long as this patch keeps coming across the border, fuckers will talk about us. All the other assholes will know we're here, and they'll keep the fuck out of our territory.”