“Son,” he says, addressing a young patch holder next to him. Whoever this motherfucker is must be somebody, because the look on the guy’s face shows that he is honored to be addressed by him. “Do me a favor and grab that cigarette. Your president accidentally dropped it.”
He looks at me, expecting a nod of acceptance from his explanation of the president’s behavior. He won’t get one. The patch holder disappears from my view, and the old man smiles at my unchanging expression. When he steps forward and sticks his hand out for me to shake, I take it. Because this man is owed my respect. Whoever he is. “Cyrus, Death Mob Nomad, southeast region.”
“Dirk, Sinner’s Creed,” I respond, his introduction answering all my questions. He was an old-timer with the power to overrule just about anyone because of his position and seniority in the club.
“These young cats these days. President ain’t but about thirty. Sometimes that patch can make you forget what’s more important.” He is talking about respect, but I don’t give him the verbal confirmation he wants. “We appreciate y’all lettin’ us set up camp here. I can assure you what just happened won’t happen again.”
“It would be for the best,” I tell him, not as a threat, just as a fact.
“There ain’t no problem here, Dirk, but we need a mutual understanding.” His seriousness is evident, but his face still holds a smile.
“We don’t tolerate disrespect. If you say it won’t happen again, then I’ll take your word. The only understanding we need is that we reign superior here. We’ve earned the respect of this town, and just because Death Mob wears a one percent patch, don’t mean they are exempt from showing it.”
“Agreed. Nice to officially meet you, Dirk. I hope next time is on better terms.” He waits for my response. He needs to hear me say there aren’t any problems, because if I don’t, they will assume this isn’t over.
“It’s all good,” I tell him, and when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, I know for sure it is. I watch Cyrus until he disappears inside, then check my message. It’s from Saylor.
I’ve landed. I’m taking a cab home. I hope everything is good with you.
Glad you’re home. It’s all good. It really is. But I miss her. I’m calculating the hours it would take me to get to her, fuck her, then be back here before noon. It’s not possible.
I miss you. A lot. How will I sleep tonight? Shit. How will I sleep tonight? The thought of having another woman sleep with me crosses my mind, but disappears almost immediately.
In your bed. Alone. Just the last word has me thinking of what I would do if I caught her with someone else. I’d kill him. Simple.
I love you. As I’m rereading the message, Shady decides to show up, and I shut the phone and glare at him.
“Something wrong?” he asks, and I think he thinks the look I wear is for someone other than him.
“How’s shit inside?” I dig my cigarettes out, avoiding his question.
“Introductions were made. No apologies, but I expected that. What did Cyrus say to you?” Shady hands me a beer and takes my pack of smokes, getting one out for himself without asking. Not that it matters, what’s mine is his. Except for Saylor, of course.
“What happened today won’t happen again. We won’t have any problems. If we do, we’ll go to him first. Sinner’s don’t need the heat right now.” Shady agrees and we take a seat on the steps, letting the noise from inside replace our conversation. Until Shady talks.
“So, you gave Rookie a signature. Kid must be doing something right.” I don’t answer him; I just stare out into the lot at the bikes. “You never gave me a signature. What the fuck’s up with that?” He is only joking, but I can hear the hurt in his voice. I don’t know why, probably because of this whole love revelation that I’ve had, but I feel like I owe him an explanation.
“I didn’t have as much pull then as I do now. I’d only been a Nomad for a couple of years when you came along.” I look at him when I say this. The nod of his head tells me he understands, but the question in his eyes tells me he wants a conversation and he used that line as an opening. I should have known. He got his name because of his ability to do shady shit to get what he wanted. Which is what he is doing to me.
“We’re brothers, Dirk. But it goes beyond the patch. You know I’m here if you ever need anything.” I almost want to laugh at the sincerity in his voice. What I manage is a smile. I turn my bottle up, take a pull from my cigarette, and thump the butt in the gravel. When I look at him, he is looking at the glow of the red cherry from my cigarette. I know what he’s thinking. A war almost broke out over something as simple as a cigarette, and here I was throwing one down. It made my smile widen. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze. When he looks at me, I’m smiling and he looks like he wants to punch me.