You are the biggest, baddest, meanest motherfucker I know. Go get ’em baby.
I’m smiling at the screen. And I don’t know why. Even from a distance, she can see right through me. I look up to find Rookie staring at me like I’m crazy. My smile dies and I snatch the beer from his hand.
“Don’t ask,” I mutter, shoving the phone in my pocket. Rookie drops his eyes to his boots, but his hat can’t cover his smirk. By the sissy bar on the back of my bike and the passenger floorboards that have been installed, I’m pretty sure the news of Saylor has reached Houston. “You got a girlfriend?” I ask, and his confused look tells me that he is wondering why in the fuck I’m striking up a conversation.
“I do,” he says, and for some reason, it makes me like him more.
“What’s her name?” I ask, motioning for him to drink with me. He tilts the bottle to me in thanks and takes a long pull before answering.
“Carrie. She’s great.” He smiles and it’s not at me. It’s at the thought of her.
“What she do?” He gives me a nervous look and I know what he is thinking. “It ain’t like that, Rookie. I’m just making conversation.” The truth is there are a lot of assholes in this life. Some that would use women to see how big of a weakness they are for a Prospect. Seeking out girlfriends, lovers, or even wives, then taking pictures of them together and showing it to a Prospect to see what reaction they get isn’t unheard of. It’s actually pretty common. It never bothered me until now.
“She’s a nurse over at the Texas Children’s Hospital. I love ’er.” There is conviction in his voice, and he is making his point loud and clear. He don’t want her fucked with. I can see the dare in his eyes and I know he’ll kill for that woman. Kill even me.
“How does she feel about the club?” I know I’m not having this conversation because I’m a changed man. I’m having it because I’m hoping his answers can shed some light on some of my own questions regarding me and Saylor’s relationship.
“This club is what I want. She respects that.” I know Rookie’s background. The club had saved his life when his daddy about beat him half to death. It was a coincidence that we were in the same place at the same time, but Rookie thought it was destiny. Hell, maybe it was. He is twenty-four. By twenty-five he will be a patch holder, and Carrie will spend the rest of her life coming in second place.
“What about what she wants?” I ask, and the question is not for him. It’s for me. I’d never even asked Saylor what she wanted. I’ve just assumed what she wants is me.
“She’s a good woman, Dirk. She has a good heart and she’s smart as hell. But she can’t fix me. And this club can. She loves me hard. So hard that she’s willing to give up part of me, just to have a piece of me. She gets it. And I love her more because of it.” He looks away, the demons of his past coming back to haunt him, and they are fighting with the angel that protects him. Rookie has a Saylor.
“You’ll make a good brother one day, Rookie. But in my eyes, you’re already one. Gimme your card.” His body sags at my words and he’s on the verge of tears. I know the feeling. My signature will get him a patch no matter how long he has left prospecting.
I see the relief in his face and it reminds me of the man I was before I became the man I am. Rookie won’t be forced to do the things that I did. My signature is enough. He won’t have to give his innocence, because I say he’s loyal enough without it. As I sign my name to his card, I feel a weight being lifted off my own shoulders. Today, Carrie is saved from the monster that could have been created. I just wish Saylor was as fortunate.
—
I lead the pack to Juke’s Joint, where members of Death Mob are known to hang out. Bikes line the front of the bar located in a shitty little building just off the interstate. We pull in, blocking their exit, and before I can light a smoke, they crowd around the door, watching us.
We stand our ground, demanding they make the first move. I could stand here all night, and it looks like I’m going to have to. It feels like Death Mob has something to prove. It is a show of respect to greet your superiors, and since Texas is our home state and we gave them permission to be here, we are superior.
While we wait, I take the opportunity to size up the men who could quickly become my potential enemies. They are big, dirty, and stand in a line of twelve. Their stances tell me they are ready for a fight, if that’s what we’re bringing to the table. That wasn’t the plan, but I’m always down for a good ass kicking.