“I asked your pop to call you here to get you away from the clubhouse, you caused quite the shitstorm yesterday, Bear.”
He steeples his hands in front of him.
“Yeah, about that… I shouldn’t have blindsided you, and I’m sorry for causing a rift between the brother’s.” I pause and then say, “But I’m not sorry I put my name forward.”
He taps his chin with both hands. “If you have trouble with the way we run this club, you come bring it up with us privately, you don’t go putting on a show in front of every brother. You’ve been in this life long enough to know that,” he grinds out.
“And If I’d thought you’d listen to me, I wouldn’t have done what I did yesterday in church.” I try to keep my voice calm.
Pop’s gives me a steely look.
“Boy,” he practically growls.
I throw up my hands in a defensive stance.
“Any grievances come directly to me, you understand that?” Tank, the almighty Pres states, trying to intimidate me.
In his heyday, he was probably formidable, but right now, after everything he’s done, I only see him clutching at straws, trying to stay in power and it makes it hard to take him seriously.
I look between my pop and him and nod my head. “Got it, so while I have you here-”
“Not now, Bear, I have club business that doesn’t involve you. Snake, you coming?”
“Yeah I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, not taking his eyes off me.
When Pres leaves, pop scrapes his chair back. “Did you not listen to a word I said last night? You’re on his shit list, Bear, watch out,” he warns, and walks out of the room, leaving me to question what he meant.
I run my hands through my longish on top hair and look around the kitchen. Images of baking with my mom wash over me and I can’t help but remember Tank’s daughter, Keeley, being in most of my childhood memories. She was always over here at one time or another.
Her childhood was sketchy. Tank and Kirsten, Keeley’s mom and dad, didn’t have the sort of relationship that my mom and dad had. My dad met mom when she was waitressing at a local restaurant, typical boy meets girl and falls in love, he made her his Old Lady not long after and that was them.
Kirsten however, started out as a club broad. I used to hear my pop and Tank talk about her all the time. She came to the club looking for refuge and Tank knew she was different the moment he laid eyes on her, but their relationship turned sour about four years after they had Keeley, and he didn’t know why. She started drinking heavily, and Keeley was left to pick up the pieces as her dad was never there for her. I guess you could say our house was a sort of sanctuary for her, she used to crawl into bed with me at night when we were younger, saying she felt safe when she was with me. She was always a strong girl even though her childhood probably should’ve beaten her down.
I kick back my chair and push out the back door needing some fresh air. No one could blame her for the way she turned out, for rebelling. I guess you could even say it was Tank’s fault for what happened, I just wish he hadn’t chose to do what he did. It made me feel like a traitor as I drove her to get a car and told her to get the fuck out of here.
I didn’t know what I believed at the time, but I wasn’t going to let them hurt her like I knew they would’ve.
So I did what I had to do.
“Daddy what are you doing?” I ask with a furrowed brow.
I just finished up work at the hairdressing salon in town and wanted to come home to relax, but instead I find my dad with a small duffle open, tossing my clothes inside it.
He spins around angrily at the sound of my voice.
“There you are you little whore! Did you think the club wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t find out?” He spits into my face.
I wipe off his spittle with the hem of my tank. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I shout back at him, disgusted and mortified at what he just called me.
He pins me up against the wall by my neck and I claw at his hands. “Think you’d get one up on the club, huh?” He sneers, the smell of alcohol rolling off his breath.
I try to drag in a much needed breath but I can’t. I gurgle, trying to show him that I can’t breath or even answer him. He finally let’s go of me and I crumble to the floor, clutching at my throat, sucking in several breaths.
“I let you live in my house even though you chose not to be a part of the club! By living under my roof, you were supposed to follow my rules!” He bellows.
I have no idea what he’s talking about, I haven’t broken any rules. And I’d know, there were only three of them.
Don’t be late on rent.
No parties.
No mixing with any of the brothers from any rival clubs.