Raze (Dirty Soul MC: Long Beach #1)

Chapter 1

WELCOME TO LONG BEACH. I pull up on my bike and stare at the sign in front of me. It’s worn and faded, some fucker’s graffitied their gang’s symbol over the state flag in the corner, and I gotta question myself on what the hell I’m doing back here. I made a promise to myself ten years ago that I’d never see this place again. That all the memories and guilt I had would stay here with it, and yet here I am ready to dig up old bones and split open healed wounds.

Most men would be honored that the founder of my club, Jimmer Carson, asked me to come here and take over the shit show that Cliff Adams had been running, but my first response was to tell him to screw himself. I may still call myself a Dirty Soul but I learned a long time ago that the nomad’s life is the only one for me. I’m no fuckin’ leader. For a start, I don’t like people all too much, and I sure as hell don’t want no one relying on me.

It ain’t just my loyalty to Jimmer that’s the reason for me sitting here doubting myself. The phone call I got from an ATF agent named Kathrine Consuela, last week changed everything. It gave me a whole new purpose and a chance to right all the things that I got wrong. I’m just not sure how I’m gonna go about it just yet.

I kick-start my bike and drive on, passing the sign, and inhaling that salty Long Beach air that brings an unexpected comfort with it. The sun warms my skin as I ride familiar streets, and take in all that's new surrounding them.

I’ve been on the road for eight hours straight and I’m not too sure about the reception I'm gonna get when I step into the Long Beach clubhouse. I know from what Jimmer told me that there's a lot to repair here. Cliff somehow managed to sever every decent connection the club had. The Long Beach brothers are either untrustworthy or downbeat and I’m fully aware that I’m stepping onto a sinking ship. It’s why I refused to come back here without the man who is equally as determined to see Cliff Adams fall as I am.

Wrath may not be very old but the hate he has for his father is as deep-rooted and unhinged as mine is. He grew up right here in Long Beach and left the same day he passed his prospect probation. Like myself, he chose to go nomad, and if I’m gonna take this club and turn it into what it’s supposed to be, he’s the man who should be at my side.

I pull into a diner that’s just over a mile from the clubhouse. I used to be a regular here when I lived in town but there ain’t nobody gonna know me here now. I like that, it enables me to think straight. Something tells me that I’m in over my head, but I’ve come too far now to start having regrets.

I nod the waitress a thank you when she’s finished pouring me a black coffee, then pulling out my cell I scroll straight to Wrath's number and wait for him to pick up.

“ Raze?” he answers, sounding like he’s in the middle of something.

“Where ya at?” I question him.

“I’m on my way, just had to take a little detour.” I hear what sounds like a kick, followed by a loud groan of pain, and I smile to myself.

Wrath has the same kinda hunger for violence that I do. His comes from anger and what he’s suffered over the years. Mine was bred into me. My father, Vex, was the club’s original enforcer, and to be an enforcer you have to have something in your brain that either switches off or comes alive when you take care of business. My father has trained many men to switch it off. His training methods were brutal, but to do what’s required of an enforcer needs that level of brutality. For me, I never had to switch off a damn thing. I know right from wrong and I know bad from good. The men I’ve hurt have deserved what was dealt to them. So I can live with it on my conscience.

“You really gonna make me walk into that lion’s den by myself?” I question him. I still haven’t told him about the information Agent Consuela gave me yet. I’m not entirely sure how he'll react to it. And right now I need his head screwed on. We have no idea how many of the Long Beach Charter’s men are loyal to the club, and despite what me and Wrath have been through in the past, he is the one man whose loyalty I know I can rely on.

I drain my coffee and look at the ring that’s on my finger. The original Dirty Dozen all had one when the club first came together and my father passed his down to me through Jimmer. I guess he figured for himself that he'd never see me again after our last conversation. And it’s not outta hate that I haven’t been up to that mountain to visit him again, not outta hate for him, anyway. The only hate I got, is for myself.

“You want a top-up sweetheart?” The waitress bats her lashes at me and I shake my head before slamming a couple of bills on the table and heading out the door. I keep the phone pressed to my ear waiting for Wrath to finish whatever he’s workin’ on.

“Look Raze, you got this, I’ve spoken to Ruckus a lot over the past few weeks. Your presence is gonna be welcomed. The club is a mess. It needs leadership and whether you believe it or not you’re the man for the job.”

“Shit. Oh fuck!” I hear a girl cursing on the other side of the parking lot and notice how she hops nervously from foot to foot. Then I notice my bike, flat on the ground.

“Wrath, I gotta go. Just hurry up and fuckin’ get here.” I hang up the phone and rush over to her.

“What the fuck?” I look down at my bike, then to the bumper of the heap-of-junk car that must have reversed into it.

“Is this… Is it yours?” The girl looks up at me, biting her lip nervously.

“Damn straight it’s mine. How the fuck did you miss it?” I lift it upright and start assessing it for damage, though I find myself getting far too distracted by the fact that the girl who crashed into it is as stunning as she is flustered.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I was checking my mirrors and then I heard a crunch. Is it bad?” She awkwardly starts looking over my bike herself. There’s a few scratches, nothing major, and the duffle bag I got tied up on the back carrying my clothes still seems intact.

“I’m so sor?—”

“Save it.” I hold my hand out to silence her when I notice a Jeep skid up close to the diner door. Three kids, no older than eighteen, hop out yet keep the engine running, and I notice the gun that the driver’s got tucked in his pants when his shirt slightly lifts up.

“Excuse me.” The girl sounds offended, but I’m too busy watching the three boys lift up their hoods and raise bandanas over their faces to respond. It’s obvious what’s about to go down here. I’m not officially the charter’s president yet, so technically these ain’t my streets. But they will be, and things around here will change. I figure now is as good a time as any for folk to start realizing that.

“Get in your car and get outta here,” I tell the girl, reaching down into my duffle bag and taking out my cut. I watch her eyes widen as I shrug it onto my shoulders.

“Oh shit, you're a… I’m so sorry. I...”

“Are you still here?” I stare at her blankly as I reach back into my duffle bag and grab my gun, checking the slide is loaded before clicking it back into place.

“It was an accident. I’m?—”

“Seriously.” I walk around my bike and open her driver’s seat door for her. “Get in your car and get outta here,” I repeat, starting to lose my patience.

The girl nods her head as she gets behind the wheel, fumbling with her keys in the ignition as she tries to start the engine.

I leave her to it, placing my gun in the back of my jeans and heading back inside the diner.

The waitress who just finished serving me looks panicked when I step through the door. It’s hardly surprising, considering one of the hooded thugs has a gun pointed in her face. He screams at her to empty the cash register, while the other two work around the booths forcing people to empty their belongings into a backpack by waving their knives around.

The waitress looks as if she’s saying a prayer when the guy, who had the gun pointed at her, redirects it toward me.

“Sit down over there,” he orders, and when I shake my head and laugh at him he looks confused.

“Sorry kid, I ain’t about to do that. How about you take your buddies, you get back in your Jeep and you drive yourself away from this situation?” I give him an option that’s way kinder than the one that’s going through my head.

“You hear that, Slade? Biker boy here thinks we should leave.” He looks toward his friend and chuckles.

I don’t rise to it, just scratch the back of my neck and smile at the petrified waitress while I wait for him to make his choice.

“What do you think we should do, Carol-Ann?” He reads the waitress’s name off her badge as he reaches across the counter, grabs her by her hair, and drags her down to its surface. I’ve had enough of watching when he presses his gun to her temple, so shaking my head impatiently I start stepping toward him.

“Son, I’m pretty sure from the way your hands are tremblin’ and that top lip of yours is sweatin’ that you ain’t ever pulled a trigger before.” I pull a cigarette from my back pocket and casually light it up. “Take advice from someone who has, pullin’ the trigger is the easy part.” I shrug, resting my elbows back on the counter, “But to do it you gotta be numb inside. You gotta be empty of all emotion.” I note from the corner of my eyes that the other two have stopped what they’re doing and have lowered their knives in confusion.

“What the fuck you talking about?” The kid stares back at me, shaking his head and looking unnerved.

“I mean, you could probably find the guts to shoot her, it sure would help your street cred. Your friends here will call you a badass, you’ll probably end yourself up in jail, get yourself one of them pretty tattoos on your face to show everyone just how hard you are. But let me tell ya when the lights go out in that prison cell and it's just you and the black, it’ll be her face you’ll see when you close your eyes. It’ll be her blood that you won’t ever be able to wash off your skin and it’ll be her screams that rattles through ya skull.” I watch him swallow thickly as he takes in what I’m saying, not seeming to notice how close I’ve managed to get while he’s been distracted.

“This woman…” I take the gun outta his hand and wrap my other one around the wrist he has her pinned down with. “She’s just a lady lookin’ to make a livin’, probably got a few kids at home who need feedin’. You really wanna be the reason she don’t go home to them tonight?” I question him with a frown.

“I…” He stares at me and shakes his head as his grip on her slowly releases and I guide his hand away. She straightens herself up and takes a step back, breathing heavily and looking petrified.

“Good choice,” I tell the kid calmly, before grabbing the back of his head and slamming him face-first into the counter, his nose busts open and sprays blood all over the clean white surface and I hear the gasps of everyone behind me as he slumps to the floor. I turn my attention to his friends who are now standing on guard with their blades held out in front of them. I can see from the fear in their eyes that they didn’t come here to tear up flesh. They’re just boys, probably ones who never got much attention when they were younger and wanna be somebody.

“You really wanna do this?” I check with each one of them and when neither of them back down I sigh and go for the bigger of the two, first. Stepping sideways into his body to avoid the blade I grab the arm he’s holding it with and force it uncomfortably behind his back, making sure I hear his bones break and the knife clang to the floor before I throw him forward onto one of the tables. Turning around I feel a slash across the top of my arm when his buddy decides to be a man and put that weapon in his hand to use. I look at the blood as it seeps from the wound then back to him and I laugh when I notice how shocked he looks as he backs away from me.

“Where ya goin’?” I ask, moving with him until his shoulder hits the wall and he’s got no place to go.

“Don’t come any closer.” He waves the weapon in front of him like it’s got the potential to save him “I’ll…I’ll hurt you,” he threatens and I slowly shake my head as I step up to the knife and let the tip of it touch my chest.

“Do your worst.” I wink at the guy, before sliding my hand up over his wrist and putting pressure on the points that I know will instantly make him drop the knife from his hand and fall to his knees.

“Now, get your friends, and get the fuck outta here, before you find yourself in some real trouble.” I lean over him and whisper, taking the baclpack from the floor and slinging it onto the counter. I kick him hard in his side and he keeps his eyes on me as he drags himself across the floor and helps the guy who had the gun onto his feet. When all three of them scurry out the door and the Jeep skids off the whole diner starts cheering and clapping their hands. I drown out the noise as I head toward the door, but the waitress stands in my path.

“Thank you. You know this is the third time in as many months that this place has been held up like that,” she informs me as she starts clearing up the mess I’ve made of her counter. “Towns full of kids like them, all trying to make their mark.” She smiles after I’ve crouched down to lift one of the sugar shakers that’s on the floor and handed it to her.

“You're a Soul?” She narrows her eyes as she studies the cut I’m wearing and seems surprised.

“I am, but not like the ones you’ve known here before. The Souls are under new leadership now. Be ready for some changes.” I make sure my voice is heard by everyone as I walk out the door. The blood’s still pouring from my arm as I head toward my bike. It’s more of a scratch than a gash, but before I deal with it, it’s time to face up to why I’m here.

The kid who’s sitting at the club compound gates stands up from his stool and looks shocked to see me when I pull up in front of ‘em.

He nods his head enthusiastically and quickly starts to open them so I can pull through and park my bike alongside all the others. Untying my duffle bag from the back I throw it over my shoulder and for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling nervous. But I ain’t about to let that show.

“Raze, right? I can’t believe you're here. I’m Rocco, Davey’s boy.” The kid holds out his hand for me to shake as I pass through the arch that leads to the yard. The motel is still standing three stories high, and still painted the same yellow it was when I left, only now that yellow has worn from age and too much sun.

“Rocco.” I nod my head so he knows I’ve taken it in as I shake his hand.

“The boys are gonna be glad to see ya, it’s been a long time coming.” He smiles as I move on, passing the empty pool that's always been used as a fighting pit and noticing the blood stains on the bottom. The clubhouse here ain’t nothing fancy, just a galvanized building on the opposite side of the yard to the motel. It’s rattling like a can from the bass of the music inside. Nothing much seems to have changed around here, the place still looks like it’s about to crumble to the ground, and I take a deep breath before I step through the door.

I don’t expect to be greeted by the fuckin’ carnage in front of me. There’s a five-man brawl happening in the middle of the floor. Two whores are tearing the hair outta each other and the music is so loud I can barely hear myself think.

I head straight for the speaker and tear the cable outta the damn wall, turning the room silent and making everyone freeze in shock.

“What in the hell is goin’ down here?” I stare at all the shocked faces in front of me, the only sound audible now is the clock ticking on the wall and the beer dripping from the tap.

“Raze.” Ruckus climbs himself outta the five-man maul, managing to stand on his feet. “Pleased ya here.” He smiles. Wiping the blood from his hands onto his jeans before holding it out to me. I take a look around the clubhouse and all its broken parts. Wondering who I can trust and who I can’t.

“Clean this place the fuck up.” I look at the men I’ve been sent here to lead and question my own fuckin’ sanity. I had a peaceful life back in Wyoming. I owned a bar no one drank at, in a town where no one knew me. Life was lonely and it was fuckin’ perfect.

“You all got church at 9 am tomorrow.” I walk past all the stunned faces toward the side door that leads out onto the balcony.

“9 am!” I hear someone comment, and when I turn my head back around the culprit immediately drops his head. “I’ll be there, Boss,” he tells me sheepishly, and I quickly move on, stepping out onto the decked balcony and taking in the view of the ocean.

There’s more people out here, hanging out on our beach and sitting around the fire pit, all of ‘em lookin’ outta their heads. I don’t know what Cliff Adams’ vision for this club was, but I’m sure strung-out teenage girls and wasted wreck-heads wasn’t what Jimmer wanted when he sent him out here to set this charter up. It’s hard to believe now, but there was a time when I saw the beauty in this place. A time when all my dreams and plans for the future were based around it, but dreams fade and futures get crushed. I guess some of us are sadistic enough to drag ourselves back to the past and allow ourselves to be reminded of that.

I rest my elbows on the wooden rails that look out over the beach and take in some more of that air. I don’t have my own vision yet, and that scares me. When I get into something, I like to have a plan, and it feels as if all this has been suddenly dumped on me from a great fuckin height.

“Raze.” I look over my shoulder when Ruckus comes to stand beside me.

“You want me to get one of the girls to make ya up a room? I could get ‘em to look at that too, I don’t know if you remember but Polly’s pretty handy with a needle.” He frowns when he notices the slash on my arm, but he doesn’t question it.

“Nah, I got somewhere to stay.” At least, I think I do.

I leave him on the balcony and take the steps down to the beach, passing all the hangouts that are here having fun as I head toward the lifeguard tower that marks the start of our territory. The state don’t guard these waters. We own this patch of beach. When Jimmer Carson bought the motel he made a promise to the chief of police and the mayor that the Souls would keep this side of town clean, so long as we had our privacy. I can already see, from the short time I’ve been in town, that Cliff Adams ain’t seen Jimmer’s promise through.

I veer away from the water, toward the beachside hut that used to be mine, wondering what will be left of it. I’m sure many a storm has passed through here over the years, along with curious teenagers and folk sleeping rough. So, I'm surprised to find the place still standing strong. The chains I bolted the doors with are still holding up and although the porch needs fixing up, the rest of the place looks as if it’s still watertight. I find the key to the bolt on my keyring and have to be firm with the lock since it’s rusted, but eventually, I get it busted and manage to open the doors to the place I was gonna call home.

It’s only a small space but I have everything I need, and when I look at all the dust that’s collected on my furniture I can’t help thinking back to how I felt when I left. This dust has built heavier over time, much like my hatred, and I know Cliff Adams’ soul was promised to Wrath but I will make sure I’m there to watch his suffering when it gets taken.

I head to the small restroom at the back of the hut and reach into the cupboard above the basin so I can take out the first aid box, then moving back outside to the porch where it’s light, I grab the bottle of Jack outta my duffle bag and take a seat on the bench.

My phone vibrates and when I check it, I see a message from a number I don’t know.

We need to talk. Polly.

“Here’s to being home.” I raise the bottle toward the ocean before knocking it back, then taking the needle and thread from the box I set to work, sewing up the wound on my arm.