Shame (Merciless Few MC, Maine Chapter #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Kaison

The shotgun blast echoes around the empty field, and I shake my head. This motherfucker is gonna hurt someone someday. Not that he’d give a shit about any of that. His mama would, though.

“Yo, Ed!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. “It’s Shark!”

A high-pitched laugh sounds from behind me. I turn and rush through the clusters of trees to look for the asshole who thinks this is a big fucking game. Fucker is lucky his mama is a friend of the club, or he’d have gone missing a long time ago.

Another blast rings out, and I duck on instinct, shielding my head with my arms. Birds scatter, squawking as they fly off to safety. Only an idiot would be out here, chasing after this fool. A smart man would let him kill himself and be done with it. Never been told I’m the smartest guy in the bunch, so I guess that’s why I’m out here a few times a month saving this guy’s hide.

All for his mama, I tell myself. I’m doing it for his mama.

“Ed, you fucking cocksucker piece of horseshit!” I bellow, moving deeper into the woods.

He’s laughing again, and I follow the annoying sound until I see his stupid ass sitting against a tree. Butt ass naked. Dark hair an oily disgusting mess. Shot gun in one hand, near-empty handle of moonshine in the other.

With a growl, I storm over to him, snatch the gun, and slap him upside the head.

“The fuck are you doing, dumbass?”

“Gimme that back, you no-good baboon!” He leans forward to grab the gun from me, but I hold it away and step back. This fool can try to get the gun from me; hell, he probably will, but he ain’t gonna get it. He’s too short; too fucking slow too.

“You trying to kill someone?” I shout.

“Naw, I’m just having fun,” he says with a grin before drinking from the bottle of shine like it’s fucking tap water. I gag as I watch his throat bob, gulp after gulp. How the fuck his liver still works is a mystery.

“Get your ass up, Ed. I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not going home. It’s not even bedtime,” he whines. “Sun’s still up!”

“No shit. It’s eight in the morning. You missed bedtime.”

I nudge him with my boot, and with a groan, he gets to his feet, muttering something under his breath about not being allowed to have any fun. Fool has leaves and twigs stuck to his balls and doesn’t even care. I roll my eyes as I empty the gun, then shove it between my legs to hold while I pull off my shirt and hand it to Ed. He’s much smaller than me. About ten years older, too. When he puts the shirt on, it’s down to his knees. Thank god for that.

The walk back to his house takes forever because he keeps spinning in circles, trying to go in the wrong damn direction. He’s fully capable of finding home. There’s nothing wrong with him other than being a stupid drunk who can’t get his shit together. He knows these woods better than most, since he spends most of his time out here. It’s only a few times a month when he gets so drunk his mama is calling us to go find him ‘cause he didn’t come home. Could be worse, I guess. Still, there’s better shit, more important shit, I could be doing than saving his ass.

Finally, we make it out of the trees and the top of his house peeks out over the hill. I bang on the rickety screen door before pulling it open. Martha, Ed’s mother, comes thumping down the stairs, titties swinging every which way because she doesn’t believe in bras. Or maybe she can’t find one big enough. I don’t fucking know. If she were thirty years younger, maybe I’d enjoy the show, but I’m not into grandmas or gumjobs or getting knocked out by a wild titty.

“Oh goodness, Ed! I’m so glad you’re okay.” She pulls him into her arms, hugging him tightly to her chest. “Thank you, Shark.” Tears pour down her face, and if I didn’t know her, I’d think it was all a show, but for some reason, she loves Ed more than anything. Maybe ‘cause he’s her son, but damn… there’s gotta be limits, right? Like your kid can only do so much before you start feeling some type of way? Don’t have any kids of my own, so I guess I can’t really say. But if Ed were my kid, he’d get his ass kicked for sure.

I used to feel bad for her, until I learned she babies the fuck outta him and it’s the only reason he acts like this in the first place. No wonder he’s a spoiled brat. A forty-something year old man who acts like a thirteen-year-old boy. Ridiculous.

“I’m fine, Mama. Leave me be,” he says, shoving her away, but she holds him tighter. He groans and gives up the fight.

I hold the shotgun up. “I’m taking this.” I point at Ed. “And if I find out you got another one, there’s gonna be a problem.”

“He won’t do no such thing,” Martha says, petting Ed like he’s a damn dog. She should be giving him a bath; he stinks to high heavens. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yeah, sure, Mama.” He gets out of her grip and takes another swig of the moonshine, then burps. I smell the stench from here, some ten feet away. Pretty sure he makes the shit himself, so you know it tastes like straight up ass. Hell, I bet dirty ass tastes better than that shit. Ed heads for the stairs, bumping into the walls as he goes. Martha watches with worry, hand covering her mouth.

“He’s gonna get himself into some serious trouble if you don’t keep an eye on him,” I tell her.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Shark. He’s unmanageable. ”

“Maybe you should try treating him like the grown ass man he is, instead of a fucking kid.”

A sob leaves her as I push through the door. It snaps back once I’m halfway down the steps. Once at my bike, I grab my cut and put it on before securing the gun and hopping on my Indian Chief Dark Horse with a smooth, black matte finish. Stealthy, aggressive, and built like a damn tank. Best bike I’ve ever had.

I check my watch before taking off, checking that I have enough time to make a stop before heading to the club. If I break a few speed limits, I’ll get there in enough time.

The house I stop at next is more of a dump than Martha’s. I bang on the door, knowing this fucker won’t leave his door unlocked for nothing. He’s as paranoid as they come. Swear it’s five whole minutes of him unlocking things on the other side before the door swings open. I shove the shotgun toward him, and he flinches away without taking it.

“Ed Meiser gets another one of your guns, Harry, there’s gonna be problems.”

His eyes widen, going from the gun to me. I shove it closer.

“I didn’t—”

“Yeah, you didn’t know . You never fucking know,” I grunt, dropping the gun to the floor by his feet, turning and heading back to my bike. Goddamn people in this town are gonna be the death of me.

I make it with three minutes to spare. I’m the last one to arrive, which earns me some glares. Mostly from Coyote, our Prez, and Snapper—my brother—who does a little bit of this and a little bit of that but is most known for keeping our books straight. Guy is as smart as they come. Dangerous too. His sour look is likely over the fact I’m missing my shirt, and he’s the only one dumb enough to make a big deal about it.

Coyote’s just mad because he don’t wanna be here, so he’s gonna take it out on everyone else. He should’ve stepped down when his father died, not made it everyone else’s problem that he has to be here. There are plenty of people who would have gladly stepped up to be president of this club. Myself included. I’ve been VP long enough to know how the job is supposed to be done.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says flatly—there’s no mistaking the attitude.

I hold my hands up. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”

Honestly, I can’t stand the prick, but I have to be nice. Especially in front of the guys. Don’t need a civil war erupting. We have enough outside shit to deal with—don’t need problems in the club too.

“Now that everyone’s here,” Coyote begins, leaning back in his chair, looking bored as fuck with his dark hair slicked back all nice and neat like he tried to look good for this or some shit. “I guess we can get started.”

The table is full, the entire MC here, as they should be. Church is a requirement, no fucking excuses. Unless you’re bleeding out in the woods, ‘cause that’s actually happened before. I look around the table, locking eyes with Grizz, who gives me the slightest raise of his brow. I shake my head slightly. Out of everyone in the club, we’re the closest. But that’s because our fathers were best friends, and we grew up together. It's not that we’re BFFs, but we know the most about each other. Shit, I know more about him than my own goddamn brother.

“Today starts a new era for us: the Merciless Few, Maine Chapter. Third generation is taking over. I expect you all to keep putting in as much effort as when my father was president. As of right now, nothing changes. Church will be mandatory on Saturday mornings. No fucking excuses. Everyone got that?” Coyote starts nice and strong. If people didn’t hate him before, they will now.

There’s a round of yeses and head nods. The club’s been a little… well, chaotic, I guess, over the last few months. There was a big fight with a rival club that killed a few of our guys. Just two weeks ago, Coyote’s father got caught up in a retaliation fight, lost the battle, and died. He was the last of that generation. We knew these changes were coming, just didn’t expect it so suddenly.

“Good,” Coyote continues. “Now that all the old pricks are dead and gone—” I flinch, and so do a few others around the table “—it’s time we do things right. We’re buckling down on shit. No more going easy on those Iron Runner pricks. They’ve been getting away with too much for too goddamn long, and I’m tired of it.”

There’s been some talk amongst us, very quietly, of course, because of how Coyote can be. Not that I have experience with any other MC, as the MF is all I know, but shit has been rough. Snapper and I were born and raised in this life. But the MF has been divided for a while now. With Coyote taking over, I got no way of knowing if this is gonna be bad or good for us. I’m here for it either way. My loyalty lies with this club, no matter fucking what. Five of us at this table have blood that started this MC, and we all take it very seriously. There’s just some head-butting along the way. We have our own views of what to do with it, but the fact of the matter is, Coyote is our Prez now, and he’s right about one thing. People—not only the Iron Runners—have been getting away with way too much shit. We need to tighten things up, let them know we ain’t fucking playing.

Time will tell if Coyote will be a good Prez. Guy hated his father, hated this life and the club, yet he was here when it mattered. That’s the only thing earning him respect from the people in this club, including me. But I’m still on the fence about him and how things will go.

The night Coyote’s father died, Rhino’s father was there too and fought till his last dying breath. We lost two good, loyal men that night. Unlike Coyote, Rhino and his father were close as fuck, both of them loyal to a fault when it comes to this club. So there’s some tension between Rhino and Coyote.

Rhino is bitter. He’s angry. He’s looking for revenge. I don’t blame him. My pops wasn’t killed for being part of the club, so the only one I want revenge on is whoever is in charge of passing out cancer to those who don’t deserve it. My father was a good man. I looked up to him my whole life and strive to be as good as he was. This club was his life, and I made a promise to him I’d do the same.

“Snapper, I’m gonna need to see numbers for the last six months,” Coyote tells him.

“Of course,” my brother answers, jotting it down in the notebook he carries with him everywhere. It’s got a navy-blue cover, spiral bound, and looks like it’s been through some shit. The pages are wrinkled and puffy, like it was dropped into water and recovered. The back cardboard page is half missing. A normal person would buy a new one, but my brother is far from normal. Guy is confusing as fuck.

He looks like a science nerd, like a younger, better-looking Bill Nye, but is probably the most dangerous guy here. You’d never think it by looking at him, but he’s a nutcase. He’s just got that soft, sort of baby face, ya know? He got the nickname Snapper for biting off some guy’s finger, so don’t get too close. It didn’t happen just the once. It’s a common occurrence. He has no problem fighting dirty .

“Rhino, I’m gonna need to see what the plans are for the next three months. Fill me in on future trips and grabs. I want maps, details, names, all of it.”

“You got it,” he says, though he ain’t happy about it. Them two have always had some animosity, and it’s even worse now that Coyote is our leader. Rhino doesn’t think he has enough respect for the club to be up there, and though I get it… he’s still our Prez, so we need to respect his ass. For now. Doesn’t help Rhino blames Chisel—Coyote’s father—for his father’s death.

Coyote goes over a bunch of shit for the next hour. I keep mental notes of what he’s saying. I add in my two cents when he gets talking about the town and all the bullshit going on in it, since that’s what I keep track of. Nothing official, just happened that way. I don’t mind it. It’s not that I’m great with people, but I’m more of a people-person than the rest of these grumpy fucks, and someone has to be the face of this club.

Some of our grandfathers started the Maine Chapter of the MF to help the town. We sit on the Canadian border and that leaves the people vulnerable, especially those with land that far out. Our families have done damn good to fix this town up and make it safe. Not that I’ve known any different since it’s been this way since I was little. They put in a lot of hard work in them early days, and we’re all grateful for it.

Recently, shit’s been going downhill. The Iron Runners got a new Prez about two years ago, and the entire club grew some balls. They’ve been fucking with us extra hard since. Starting fights, fucking with the farmers, trying to pay people off to let them use land to get over the border. I don’t blame Coyote for wanting us to tighten up. It needs to happen. Would be nice if he wasn’t such a prick though. That’s gonna be his downfall. Not that any of us are peaches, but when there’s a certain way to do things. You gotta find the balance between being a kiss-ass and a dick. We don’t like either, but sometimes both are needed.

Before we end, I let them know about Harry and how he’s got a shit ton of guns hidden in his barns that he doesn’t keep track of. It’s a known fact but hasn’t been much of an issue before. But Ed is drinking more than usual, running around butt ass naked for all the kids and their mothers to see, and stealing guns. I know for a fact the last time I got him outta the woods—just last week—I took all his damn guns away. His mama made sure of it.

I also add that George Barnes mentioned someone’s been taking his farming equipment for joy rides. I think he’s just old and forgets where he parks them, but what the fuck do I know? The list of issues in this town goes on and on. All kinds of shit the sheriff doesn’t have time to deal with, since his office has only three people on the books. Him, his deputy, and the secretary. We ain’t got a mayor, and those three people are the same who sit on the council to act as mayor. But they don’t do shit, and so we handle what we can. I’m proud of that. It’s nothing official, but it’s what works. And I’d love to see that good-for-nothing sheriff try to change things now or in the future. He’ll find his head up his ass .

There are issues within the club, but I’m here. I wanna be here. That ain’t gonna change. Loyalty to this club is all I have, and it’s all I need.