Chapter 1 #3
I was twenty-five and had been riding bulls professionally since I was eighteen.
Growing up on a ranch, I’d always been around horses and cattle.
My love of them and the rodeo hit young, and I was obsessed with it.
My dad had allowed me to learn skills to pursue my dream of being a rodeo star one day, even though he would rather have had me take over the ranch.
He hired or found me the best mentors possible.
He took me to as many rodeos as he could.
I was young, full of cockiness, had money and women, and a huge fanbase. That year, I’d come back from a serious injury the prior year, and I was driven to prove that I could do it and become the bull riding champion. I wanted that belt buckle more than the cash.
I stood in that ring that day when the end had come to the season. I beamed with pride, seeing my parents in the stands smiling back, as I was presented with that award. I had to grit my teeth to stand there and smile because my body was killing me. My pain was almost overwhelming.
A week later, when the pain hadn’t faded, I went to see the doctor who had patched me up after the last major injury, which knocked me out mid-season. He did X-rays, CT scans, and MRIs. In the end, he sat me down and gave me the hard truth.
“Zander, if you don’t stop riding and wrestling those crazed bulls, you’ll be paralyzed for the rest of your life. It’s just a matter of when and whether it’s as a hemiplegic or a quadriplegic. Your spine can’t take any more damage. I know you love the rodeo, but it’s killing you.”
Those words hit me like punches. My head reeled. It took me a couple of minutes to get my mouth to work.
“Doc, I’m the bull riding World Champion.”
“Yes, and you told me that was your dream. You did it. Go out on a high, not on a low. Don’t give your fans a tragedy to remember you by.”
He provided me with additional information during the visit. I admit, it went over my head and through my ears as a buzz. Finally, I reengaged enough to ask the other burning question I had.
“Can I still ride horses at all, or will I have to give that up? What about riding motorcycles?” By then, I’d been riding bikes for a few years.
“As long as you’re not racing the horses, riding ones that are broncos, and not competing in bike racing, then yes, you may still do those activities.”
I read the sympathy on his face. He knew how hard this was for me. He wasn’t being an asshole about it. He was giving me the facts and telling me his professional opinion. That was why I had come to him. I needed to hear the truth.
“Alright, thanks for seeing me and explaining everything. I appreciate it. I’ll think over everything you said,” I promised as I stood.
He got up, came around his desk, and extended his hand.
As we shook hands, he said solemnly, “I do hope you consider it. I’d hate to see anything happen to you.
I suggest you talk this over with your loved ones.
Regardless of what you decide, I’m here if you need me.
We can bounce medical ideas around or whatever. ”
There were a few more pleasantries before I left his office.
I had gone home and gotten drunk that night.
I stayed that way for a couple of days before I sobered up and went to see my parents.
I told them everything. We talked for hours.
A week after the meeting with the doctor, at the age of twenty-five, I retired from the rodeo circuit and announced it to the world.
A lot of people wanted to know why. I kept the reason private—there was no need for them to know my medical history. I kept telling them I’d achieved my ultimate goal and wanted to go on to do other things. It was two months later that I met Wolverine.
It was the sound of raised voices again, several gruff ones, and a tenor that was moving toward becoming a falsetto that snapped me to the present. Damn, get your head out of the past, I chided myself.
Looking around, I saw a small crowd gathered in a circle.
My eyes went straight to their cuts. Damn, it was a motorcycle club.
I should mind my own business. Getting on the bad side of a club wouldn’t end well.
I would most likely be seen as an enemy, and I was alone.
There were no brothers to have my back. I turned to head away from them when another voice registered.
It belonged to a child. I stopped. You have to be imagining it, I told myself, but my feet carried me over to the band of bikers.
Their cuts read Graven Bastards MC, Tonopah, Nevada.
I approached them so they could see me, and I kept my hands out where they could see them.
I wasn’t wearing my cut. When in someone else’s territory, you didn’t do that unless you had a death wish.
I felt naked without it, but it was only for a few days.
In place of my colors, I had on a plain black leather cut.
Sharp gazes cut to me and watched my approach.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I don’t mean to sound like I’m eavesdropping, but it seems there is a problem. May I assist?”
“I don’t think this involves you, mister. We can handle it.” The big guy, who, when he turned to face me more, I saw his road name and position. Grim was his name, and he was their president. Great. Maybe they’d mail what was left of me home.
I was opening my mouth to excuse myself when I heard that child’s voice again. “You’re a bunch of smelly dirtbags. My dad says guys like you think you’re badasses, but he can take you any day,” the boy said.
I moved closer, asking, “I hate to ask, but can I see who just said that? I think we’ve met.”
They moved, creating an opening for me to see into the center. Standing there was the boy from the plane, wearing a belligerent expression. Next to him was his dad, who appeared ready to shit himself. I smirked before addressing the dad.
“I see your son is causing issues again and got you both in trouble. You probably know this already, but in case you don’t, messing with an MC is the way to get your ass kicked or killed.
I told you to discipline your demonic spawn, but you ignored me.
I hope you have a decent life insurance policy for your wife, and that she and her next husband will raise their kids to be respectful.
Karma is a bitch, ain’t she?” I snickered.
“Nobody asked for your opinion,” the boy mouthed off. His dad slapped a hand over his kid’s mouth. Despite his squirming and pulling at his dad’s hand, it stayed there.
“How do you know these two? Are you friends?” Grim asked.
“Oh, hell no, I’m not their friend. I met these two on the flight here.
This little demon annoyed people, was rude, and kept kicking the back of an elderly man’s seat.
When I made his parents take out their earbuds to deal with him, his dad here basically said he wouldn’t take advice from someone like me, and then didn’t say a word to his son.
So, I showed him how it felt to be annoyed,” I explained.
The dad scowled, and the boy glared. The Bastards seemed intrigued.
“How did you annoy him?” a spooky-looking Bastard with a painted face whose cut read Rael and Sergeant-at-Arms asked, sounding curious. I wouldn’t want to meet any of them in a dark alley, but Rael scared me the most. I wondered why he wore that skull paint.
I ran them through the highlights of what I did to the dad’s chair until we landed. The Bastards found it hilarious based on the amount of laughter it caused to come out of their mouths.
“Well, since you shared your run-in with us, let us tell you why we’re dealing with them.
We were on our way to get something to drink when this little punk came running through us.
He bumped into and shoved several of us as he demanded we get out of his damn way.
I gotta admit, I’m not used to kids acting like that. None of ours do.
“I looked around and saw this guy hurrying over, and he didn’t bother to say sorry or excuse me. He just grabbed his kid’s arm and tried to walk off with him. We decided it was an opportunity to teach both of them some manners,” Grim explained.
“I get why you’d want to, but I’m afraid they’re beyond help.
They’ll do this until one day they pay dearly for it.
You can’t change the stupidity in some people.
It’s a pity the boy is growing up to be worse than his parents.
God forbid he ever procreates. Sorry for disturbing you.
I’ll leave you to it. Be safe riding and keep the rubber side down,” I told them.
I was turning to walk away when I was halted.
“Wait. Why don’t you hang around for a few minutes? We’re done with these two. Can’t exactly beat this one in front of so many people. And though the boy needs an ass-whoopin’, that’s his parents’ job. Have a drink with us. Unless you’re meeting someone,” Grim offered.
I didn’t have a specific time to meet with my buddy, and it was always a good idea to have allies in other states. Who knew? Maybe the Graven Bastards could be one. It would depend on whether they were like my club. I’d see.
“Sure, I can have a drink. I need to meet my friend in a bit,” I told them.
“Good. As for the two of you, you should thank God that we hadn’t run into you elsewhere.
And, mister, if we meet again, you’d better have changed your attitude and taught this one manners.
He’s gonna live a hard life if you don’t.
As for yourself, you’ve got to have had your ass beaten a lot.
Stop telling your kid you can whip people’s asses.
You’re a pussy, and you know it,” Grim said.
“Yeah, you’re the kind I like to meet in the dark and take my time with,” Rael told the dad, giving him a spooky smile.
“I like to play with little weasel dicks like you, too,” a mountain of a Bastard said. I eased over to see his cut. His name was Mammoth, and he was the VP. The fucker had to be at least six and a half feet tall and the size of a mountain.
There was an audible squeal from the dad.
He turned sickly pale, and his eyes were so round that I saw the white clear around his irises.
His mouth opened, but other than the squeal, nothing came out.
His boy was still struggling to get loose.
Wrestling with him, the boy’s dad dragged, I mean, dragged the kid off as fast as he could.
He never turned his back on the Bastards.
We stood there watching them until they were out of sight.
As soon as they were, grins and laughter took over.
When the Bastards moved off, I went with them. It wasn’t far to where we could get a beer. They insisted on buying mine, which I thanked them for, and then we found a place to sit. That’s when they asked their first question.
“What’s your name, stranger?” Mammoth asked.
“It’s Cowboy. I see you’re Mammoth, and of course, the rest of you, I can read. Thank God for cuts. Where’s Tonopah at?”
“Tonopah is about two hundred miles from here. We’re almost smack in the middle between Vegas and Reno,” Mammoth answered.
“You seem to know some biker lingo, and I doubt your family named you Cowboy. Is that a nickname? You wouldn’t happen to be in a club, would you?” Rael asked through narrowed eyes.
This point was when things might get hairy, but lying wasn’t the way to go.
“No, my parents didn’t name me that. And yes, I should know a lot about bikers since I am one, as you guessed. It’s not a local club, so I’m not wearing my colors. I don’t step on other clubs’ toes or mess with their territories.”
“What brings you to the rodeo? You said you’re meeting a friend later. Is he from your club, too?” Grim asked.
“No, he’s an old rodeo buddy. He’s always here at the finals. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen him.”
“He works at the rodeo, or is he one of the contenders?” another one named Crypt asked.
“He’s the veterinarian for the event. He’s never ridden, but he fixed up our horses and the cattle if he could.”
“Goddamn, I knew I recognized you! You’re Zander Brashears, the former World Bull Riding Champion. I remember watching you ride and win the title,” another guy, Patriot, said excitedly.
I gave him a head tilt in acknowledgment. “That would be me, but these days I go by Cowboy.”
“I’ve got to shake your hand. Brothers, this guy is a legend. That ride was one of the best I’ve ever seen. You retired right after that. You were so young,” Patriot added.
I shook his hand, and I knew he wanted to ask why I quit, but wouldn’t pry. I decided to tell them.
“Thanks. It was a helluva ride. When it was over, I hurt so fucking bad I went back to the doctor who healed me up the year before after being trampled by that same bull. Doc told me one more hard fall or stomping, and I’d be paralyzed.
I decided I’d rather not do that, so I retired.
It wasn’t long after that shock that I met a guy who is now my club brother. He sponsored me with his club.”
“What’s the name of your club? You said you’re not from around here. Where are you from?” Mammoth asked.
“I live in St. Augustine, Florida. I’m part of the Horsemen of Wrath MC. My president is Diablo.”
“Horsemen of Wrath, hmm, that name sounds familiar, and so does Diablo, but I might be wrong. We have Bastard chapters all over. Do you have time for another beer? We’d like to hear more and tell you about our club,” Grim offered.
There was no way I could say no, so I agreed. I sat back to see what else I’d discover about this outlaw MC.