March (Underland MC #3)

Chapter One

March

The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, a ghostly reminder that clung to my nostrils even now. I sat on the edge of my bed in the dimly lit room, the shadows casting long fingers across the floor like they were reaching for me. My mind was a battlefield, a relentless onslaught of memories storming the barricades I’d painstakingly built.

Ben’s face flashed before my eyes -- laughter silenced by the crack of a distant sniper’s bullet. The way his body crumpled, as if strings had been cut from a marionette. Blood staining the earth beneath him, dark and spreading like a sinister shadow. The sound of gunfire echoed in my ears, a cacophony of death that never seemed to fade. It was all so vivid, too real, as if time hadn’t moved forward since that fateful day.

I clenched my fists, the knuckles turning white as bone. The pain of the memory was a physical thing, a vise tightening around my chest. I gritted my teeth, each breath a struggle against the tide of grief that threatened to pull me under.

“Focus,” I muttered to myself. I couldn’t let the past consume me -- not when my brothers needed me alert and ready. We hadn’t finished cleaning up the town of Warren yet. Until the mayor and his assistant were out of the picture, anything could happen.

But in my mind, I still saw Ben’s lifeless eyes staring back at me, an unspoken accusation. Why him? Why not me? I’d asked myself that question too many times to count. The guilt was a relentless enemy, gnawing away at the edges of my sanity.

“Damnit!” The curse was wrenched from somewhere deep within, a primal sound of frustration and rage. I stood abruptly, knocking a picture off my nightstand. The glass shattered on impact, the sound filling the silence like a gunshot.

“Keep it together, Blevins.” My voice was a low growl, the words meant to steel my resolve. But there was no escaping the war inside my head. It was a constant companion, a familiar foe that knew all my defenses. I went into the bathroom, splashing water on my face, hoping the crisp coolness would snap my mind out of the nightmare plaguing me even when I was awake.

“Can’t let them see you break,” I reminded myself, staring at the stranger in the mirror, a man with haunted eyes. A soldier. A biker. A brother. All woven into one man who couldn’t afford the luxury of breaking down.

“ Semper Fi ,” I whispered, invoking the oath that still bound me, even in this new battlefield. Always faithful, even when faith was hard to come by. I had to be strong. There was no other choice. For the club. For myself. For Ben.

The silence of my room was a siren call, urging me to dwell in the darkness of my thoughts. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. With a last look at the space that held too much sorrow, I turned away from the ghosts that sought to claim me.

Laughter snuck through the walls, a jarring symphony of life that felt worlds away. I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob. The echo of camaraderie was a beacon, yet it stirred an unease in my gut -- a battle between isolation’s allure and the pull of brotherhood.

“Come on, March,” I muttered to myself, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal. “You can’t hide forever.”

Tonight, I would face the living, not the dead.

My boots thudded against the floor. I could feel the hum of the clubhouse growing louder, the voices melding into one another, forming a tapestry of comfort and familiarity that I both longed for and resented.

I entered the main room and saw most of my brothers were present. Mock and Knave were both gone, most likely out looking for women. I didn’t see Jo or Eliza, even though their men were here. I wondered if they were working on their book, or just enjoying some alone time.

Cheshire’s grin flickered with the mischief of a man who knew too much. Or maybe he’d seen too much and had lost a good bit of his sanity like the rest of us.

“March.” Hatter nodded. “Take a seat and join us.”

“Long day?” Cheshire asked, but his eyes held a depth of understanding.

“Something like that,” I replied.

The atmosphere was thick with the scent of spilled beer and the buzz of stories being traded back and forth. It was a living entity this place, a sanctuary built on the unspoken bonds of men who’d seen the darkest corners of the world and lived to tell the tale.

I took a seat, the chair scraping against the worn floorboards. Here, amidst the laughter and the clinking of bottles, I found a momentary reprieve from the ghost haunting me.

“Drink?” Hatter offered, sliding a bottle toward me. I noticed there were a few unopened beers, and the table next to us had more than a dozen empties.

“Thanks.” The glass was cool against my palm, a small anchor to the present.

Around us, the clubhouse thrived, a hive of activity and life that seemed almost defiant in its vibrancy. These men, these brothers, they were survivors. We all were.

“Here’s to living.” Cheshire raised his bottle, and Hatter followed suit.

“Here’s to living,” I echoed, and for a fleeting second, the weight inside lifted. It wouldn’t last. It never did, but I’d take the reprieve while I could.

The clink of my bottle against theirs sounded like a starting pistol. For a brief moment, it transported me to another time and place. But as soon as I blinked, I was back in the present.

“Remember that time in Kandahar?” Hatter asked. “When March here decided to play chicken with an incoming convoy?”

“Playing chicken?” Cheshire’s grin was all teeth. “More like he had a death wish.”

“Didn’t have a wish for dying,” I grunted. “Had a plan for living.”

“Damn straight,” Hatter said. “You led them right into the ambush.”

“Saved our asses,” Cheshire chimed in, lifting his bottle in a silent salute.

“Ben would’ve done the same,” I muttered, and then the chatter around us faded.

“March…” Hatter’s eyes met mine, steady as ever.

“Ben was… he was…” My throat tightened around the words. Hatter and Cheshire may have known him, but not like I did. We’d been best friends since we were kids. Losing him had felt like I’d lost a family member.

“Best of us,” Cheshire finished for me, his usual smirk wiped clean.

“Never got to tell him… just how much…” The words were stilted and hard to get out.

“March, Ben knew,” Hatter stated, firm and resolute. “He knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked, even though I feared the answer.

“That we’re brothers. All of us,” Hatter replied. I knew what he meant. Sometimes family went beyond blood.

“Brothers ‘til the end,” Cheshire echoed quietly, and we drank to that unspoken truth.

The silence lingered like a thick fog, heavy enough to choke on. Cheshire broke it first, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “We’ve all got ghosts, brother. Some just scream louder than others. You and Ben… Well, you had a longer history than the rest of us had with him. And you were right there when it happened.”

No shit. Some nights, I still felt the spray of his blood coating my skin. The warmth of it searing me like hot coals.

“Damn right,” Hatter added. “Lost too many to count. Each one leaves a mark, but you keep going. Because that’s what warriors do.”

My fists unclenched slowly, the white of my knuckles fading back to flesh. Their words, raw and honest, chiseled away at the walls I’d built.

“Remember Rico?” Cheshire asked, tipping his chair back, his blue eyes clouding over. “Took three bullets meant for me. I hear his laugh sometimes, in the wind. It’s like he’s still here, riding with us.”

“Rico was a good man.” Hatter nodded solemnly. “Died a warrior’s death.”

“And Ben… he died a hero’s death,” I murmured, finally finding the strength to lift my gaze.

“Heroes, every last one,” Hatter agreed. His piercing eyes held mine, not letting me sink back into the dark. “And we carry them with us, every mile of the road.”

“Every damn mile,” I echoed, feeling the truth in his words weave through the pain.

“Look around, March,” Cheshire said, gesturing to the crowded room. “This is family. We’re your brothers, through thick and thin. We may not have all made it out of there alive, but our fallen brothers will live on in our memories. As long as we remember them, they’ll never truly die.”

I scanned the clubhouse, the familiar scents of oil and leather wrapping around me like a balm. Laughter bounced off the walls, and the warmth soaked into me. This place, these men, they were my sanctuary in a world laced with chaos.

“Family,” I whispered, allowing the word to settle in my chest.

“Always,” Hatter affirmed, reaching across the table to clasp my shoulder.

“Let’s drink to that,” Cheshire said, an edge of his grin returning. He raised his beer, and Hatter and I followed suit, our bottles clinking.

The tension drained from my body, seeping into the floorboards below. In its place, something warm unfurled, a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. It never lasted. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I took what little bits of solace I could find here and there. It was the only way to remain even somewhat sane.

“Brothers,” I said, meeting their eyes. The bond between us, forged in blood and fire, was unbreakable.

“Until the end,” they replied in unison.

For the first time in what felt like forever, laughter bubbled up from deep within me, genuine and freeing. I was home, surrounded by my brothers, and for now, that was all I needed. And when the nightmares returned, I’d have to remind myself of this moment, and all the ones like it we’d shared since we became civilians again.

The room hushed as I stood, beer in hand, eyes scanning the faces of my brothers. Each one carried scars, tales etched in flesh and soul. The air was thick with unspoken understanding, an electric current of shared loss that hummed beneath our skin. I knew they could tell by the look in my eyes that I’d been fighting my demons before I came in here. Each man had done the same, countless times.

“Tonight,” I started, “we remember those who aren’t here to raise a glass. Ben. Rico. Tate.” My throat tightened, a noose of grief tugging with every name.

“Vick,” Rabbit said, lifting his beer.

“Jarret,” Tweedle said.

“To our fallen brothers, may the road they ride be smooth and endless,” I said.

“Ride free,” the chorus echoed back, a haunting melody of respect and remembrance.

I drank, the bitter brew sliding down my throat. Swallowed past the lump that never quite faded. With each sip, a silent oath to never forget.

I lowered my bottle, the weight of brotherhood heavy in my chest. A patchwork family bound tighter than blood could ever dictate. It gave purpose to the pain, a beacon in the tempest that was my mind.

They didn’t know how much they kept me anchored, these men who shared my demons. How the roar of engines and their gruff voices were the only lullabies capable of quieting the cacophony of war that still played on a loop in my head.

“March.” Hatter’s voice cut through my reflection. “They’d be damn proud of you.”

“Damn right,” Cheshire added, his smirk betraying the moisture in his eyes.

Pride mingled with the sorrow, a bittersweet cocktail that warmed from within. This club, this duty I bore, it was more than a title or a role. It was a lifeline -- a reason to keep pushing when darkness clawed at my edges.

“Thanks,” I managed, my voice raw. “Couldn’t do it without you bastards.”

Laughter erupted, a salve to the open wounds. In their company, even the deepest cuts seemed to heal, if just for a moment.

Once a Marine, always a Marine. But here, in the Underland MC, we were more. We were guardians of each other’s sanity, keepers of stories too grim for the light of day. And protectors of this town.

I looked around at my brothers, their faces as hard as the lives we led, yet there was warmth there too. They were the pillars in the chaos, the constant in a life that had offered little else.

In the safety of shadows, where the world couldn’t reach us, we were invincible. And in that moment, I allowed myself to believe it. We’d already battled several times in this place we now called home, and we’d been lucky enough to not lose anyone.

Outside these walls, danger prowled, hungry and relentless. It clawed at the edges of our sanctuary, waiting for a crack to slip through, a weakness to exploit.

“Tomorrow’s ride is going to be dicey,” I said. “But we ride together, through whatever shitstorm comes our way.”

More than once, the damn mayor had done his best to ambush us. I’d hoped after we got rid of the sheriff, things would be different. The mayor had seemed like an easy target in comparison, but I’d been wrong. We’d been at odds with him for months now, and the bastard was still in office. But not for much longer. I refused to let him be.

The night deepened, wrapping the clubhouse in its dark embrace. We stood at the precipice, the future uncertain, but together we faced the abyss.

Laughter and conversation carried us late into the night, a brief respite before dawn would bring new challenges. But for now, I belonged -- one part of an unbreakable chain.