Chapter Three
Abel
December 25th, 2022
2 years later
It’s 10:27pm on a Friday night.
Like most nights, I rev my engine down the streets of Jersey City. The place I’m headed to wasn’t too far away, but out of reach if I never wanted to be found. Zooming down Montgomery Street, I steer my bike towards the club with Tark close behind me.
Arriving hours after the doors open, is the highlight of my night. We pull our bikes around the building and park.
Ever so smoothly I toss my leg over the side and stand up, pulling my helmet off. I take a deep breath, , letting the night air fill my lungs.
“Yo, you ready for another wild night?” Tark asks intently, coming around his bike just to slap the shit out of my arm, making me wince.
“Every night is a wild night. It’s the daytime that keeps me on my toes.” I return his slap with one of my own, winking at him. “Are the others here?”
“Yeah, everyone should be here. You know you’re the only one that likes to make an entrance to your own establishment.” He smirks, flashing a shit eating grin. “Did you see all the fine-ass women out there?”
“Hell yeah. We gettin’ some pussy tonight!” I yell, grabbing my crotch as we enter the club.
“Amen, bro. Let’s see what the night brings.” Tark says, whistling as a group of ladies brush past him.
I welcome the distraction, because night after night, this is what my life has come to.
Partying.
Drinking.
Fucking.
Repeat.
“Dude, judging by the scowl on your face, you're thinking about leftovers for dinner or that stupid bitch crossed your mind.” My brother Saxon says, walking up to me, slapping a hand across the back of my neck, roughly pulling me towards him.
“Fuck her.” I mumble, cringing at the thought of my ex. I nod to Tito, one of the bouncers, on my way in. “She doesn’t deserve a minute of my time. It was this asshole to my left that put the sour taste in my mouth.”
“The fuck would you do that for, Tark? You know she’s a touchy subject for him.” Saxon says, laughter upon his lips as he shares a look with Tark. “Even after this much time has passed, he still can’t get a steady woman in or out of his bed.” Saxon laughs again, earning him a punch to the gut. “What the fuck was that for?”
“Because you’re a thorn in my side. The bane of my existence, and you have the audacity to laugh because I can’t get a steady woman in my bed. Let’s have a look at your bed, better yet, your track record.” I start when he opens his mouth to speak, but I shut that shit right the fuck down. “I’m not finished. You never have a woman in your bed, why is that, Brother?”
“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me Brother like we’re Damon and Stephan from The Vampire Diaries.” He laughs, because it’s our normal routine. “I have a woman in my bed, alright. None of you know her, and I plan to keep it that way until I’m fucking ready.”
The sly bastard.
All this time, I thought he might have been gay. Nothing wrong with that but I’ll be damned if I let the pot call the kettle black without reason.
“Is that so, we’re gonna need proof. I’ll run it by the rest of the guys and see what they think about that.” Bustin’ balls is one of the things I’m good at.
As we make it to our usual spot, we hear catcalls, hoops, and hollering from people like we’re celebrities.
“Alright, alright, keep that shit to a minimum.” Tark laughs, walking by to go meet and dap up the rest of the crew. “Nice to see all your ugly mugs here.”
“You act like it’s not our nightly ritual.” I say. As President of our motorcycle club, it’s a little speech I give sometimes before we party. “We do what we can to keep the streets clean and safe for the children of our future, we provide jobs for those that the system deems unworthy to work in a society that says fuck the lower class, and we give back to our community.” The club is filled with shouts of excitement as it bounces off the walls by the waves. “You see, The Anarchy Saints Motorcycle Club of New York don’t follow no man's laws.” Cheers erupt from the crowd. “Clive made this motorcycle club what it started out to be, and we made it what it is today. We run a close knit operation that others want to get their hands on, but never will, because they aren’t us.”
When Clive first formed the motorcycle club, nobody knew the first thing about nothing. Two wet behind the ears boys that wanted to make a name for themselves in a world that would chew us up and spit us out in the blink of an eye.
Both our fathers were taken from us before we hit puberty. Having no one to teach us the right way to be a man, we were on our way to being six feet under by the time we were eighteen.Our mothers did the best they could with our wild asses, but there’s nothing like having the love and hard hand of a father to set us straight. We met each other in juvie. Naturally we didn’t hit it off at first, and we got into more fights than I like to admit, but it shaped us into what we needed to be.
“Drug lords, crime bosses, hell even the dirty cops want a piece of our pie.” I yell, grabbing my crotch again as a fuck you to those other guys that aren’t us. “They’ll just keep wishing to be where we are because they can and will never accomplish what The Anarchy Saints have.” I say, walking around the club, shaking the partygoers’ hands, kissing the ladies’ knuckles as I speak. “So, eat and drink until you can’t no more because the night has just begun.” Ending my speech with a bow, I head to our table and sit down.
I do one of the things I do best, sit back, watch, and observe. Glancing around, two familiar faces that haven’t graced our presence since Hector was a pup, come into view. I stand to greet them when I see them coming over. “What up, Abel?” Killian and Dougary say, as each of them pulls me in for a hug.
“Chillin’, working, partying. You know me.” I chuckle, sitting back down, motioning for them to do the same.
To say it’s been awhile is an understatement. They went away to college, Harvard to be exact. Smart, little fuckers were on their way to making something of themselves. They’ve single-handedly created gasoline that we use to make our top-notch cocaine less toxic for users. Meaning, the high is still poignant, but rather than using one hundred percent gasoline or even crude oil that serves as a bootleg gasoline, they’ve developed plant-based gasoline that will still produce some of the purest cocaine.
“Living our dream, eh, Abel?” Dougary laughs as he takes a seat. Leaning close to me, whispering for my ears only, “You sure you’re okay?” Fuck me. Not this shit from them, too. I haven’t seen them in forever and this is what they’re worried about?
Groaning, running my hand along my beard, I force myself to answer. “I don’t know how to say this so that everyone is on the same page as me. Fuck that bitch. Alright? I got over her the same day she didn’t show up to her own fucking wedding. End of mother fucking story.” I hear Killian snort before I see Dougary trying to hide his smile behind his hand. “Fuck the both of you, I’m going get a drink.”
Excusing myself, I get up and leave, but not before I hear them snickering and laughing as I walk away.
I need a stiff fucking drink to get through a night of this shit.
Jack straight up, because by the end of it… I don’t want to be standing straight up.
“Yo, Henry, gimme a jack straight up, and keep 'em coming.” I order, leaning across the bar admiring the way Henry looks in her tight, little uniform. Tats has the night off since he’s always here, holding down the fort.
“Keep undressing me with your eyes like that and you’re gonna get us both in trouble, Tiger.” She drawls, slamming a glass down in front of me and filling it with the brown amber.
My smile in return is seductive, letting her know I don’t give two fucks about the consequences. I’m just trying to stick my dick in something warm and wet for the night.
Instead of flirting with me, she puts the bottle back under the counter and walks away to help someone else. She’s Rathe’s ol’ lady and I can’t bring myself to care, I never liked that bastard to begin with. He’s no friend of mine nor does he belong to our club. He’s not even fucking welcome here because I want to fuck his woman.
The buzzing in my pocket pulls me away from thoughts of fucking that scumbag’s ol’ lady.
As I pull it out, I wonder who the fuck it could be from since all the guys are here.
Unknown: I say it’s about time we discuss a business deal that will solidify a most anointing allegiance.
First off, who the fuck talks like this in a text? Second…
Me: Who the fuck is this?
Unknown: Someone who can provide resources that will allow your little operation to flourish without drawing attention to yourselves.
Me: Who says I need your help?
Unknown: Don’t be stupid, Abel. Clive made that mistake and look where that got him.
Me: Fuck you! Don’t you dare speak on Clive’s name or I’ll kill you.
Unknown: I meant no harm. We should talk. When you’re ready to do business, Santiago will be waiting.
Me: Who the fuck is Santiago?Nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
Seconds turn into minutes, and the minutes seem to pass me by as I wait for his response.
“Hen, I’ll be back for more later.” She only gives me a nod in the middle of pouring.
Walking through the crowd, I head to the office, finding Tark there.
He can already tell something’s wrong. “What up?”
“I just received a very interesting text.”
“From who?” He asks.
“I have no idea. Have the others meet us in the pit.” I say, already making my way there. Moments later, the rest of the crew walks in.
The tension in the room is thick, rolling off by the waves. I know they’re just as anxious to hear as I am to share it with them. Everyone is here. Saxon, Razor, Knuckles, Ironclad, Capone, and Cueball.
The Anarchy Saints.
“I don’t mean to be the bringer of bad news, but I just received a mysterious text.” I sigh, running a hand through my short, cropped hair before I continue. “Someone just sent a text that said we needed to team up or I’d end up dead like Clive.” The guys immediately get defensive. “Now, before you all get your panties in a bunch and jump to conclusions… Don’t. What the text said was that Clive not taking them up on their offer was stupid, that’s why he ended up dead. I’ll figure out what’s going on, but it damn sure won’t kill me”.”
“Figure this out? What do you mean you’ll figure it out?” Razor asks, pacing the floor, not looking the least bit impressed with the news.
“Just what I said. I’ll handle it. The only piece of real information he left was a name. Of course I have the caller's number, but I don’t know if he is actually this Santiago character or someone else is.” I watch them, my crew, ready to go down with me if I ask them to.
“Okay, so what do you need us to do?” Cueball asks, moving in my line of sight.
“Looks like I’ll have to text that number and set up a meeting with Santiago.”
“Okay, do it. Let’s see what this fucker has to say.” Tark says.
Pulling out my phone, I sent a text.
Me: Tell Santiago I’m listening.
Unknown: Come to this location, 324 Pike Ave, three days from now. You may bring your most trusted rider, no one else. Weapons are encouraged. I will see you then.
I don’t bother with a text back. “I have a meeting with him in three days. Tark, you’ll be coming with me.” I’m not worried about this meeting or who this guy is. Me and my crew ride together, and he can’t tell me who I can or can not have there with me. For now, I’ll abide by his rules. “Okay, now that that’s done, no more questions or interruptions. Anarchy Saints business is over. Time for some fun.”