Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Eight
I’m barely on the road when my phone rings. “Yeah?”
It’s Joker.
Henri purses her lips. “It’s against the law to talk on cell phones while you’re driving.”
“A lot of the stuff I do is against the law, kid. This is pretty minor in the big picture.” I don’t know why I told her that. Maybe to get her to settle down, but it doesn’t. Instead, she looks intrigued.
Joker interrupts our moment of bonding. “You gotta come back from camping. We got Church, and Hangman wants everyone there.”
Shit, I didn’t want to take Henri to the clubhouse. It’s not a place for kids. Well, it is for the club’s kids, but that’s different. They know how the world works, they’re part of the future of our club. “I can’t.”
“Fuck, you can’t. You’re not exempt from our shit just because Oscar can’t get along with some kid.”
No point in arguing with the VP. He carries as much authority as Hangman.
“Got it,” I say in my dead voice, then hang up. The bastard’s right and besides, Selkie didn’t protest when I raised the issue earlier. I look over at Henri. “We gotta go to the clubhouse. I have a meeting.”
“Meetings are boring,” Henry replies. “I’ll fall asleep.”
“You’re not goin’ to the meeting.”
“Mom says I have to go everywhere with you.”
“We’ll be sharing the same air and there are kids at the clubhouse that you can hang out with while I meet with my club.”
“Max,” she sneers.
I glance over at her as I crank up the speed. Not a surprise she knows Max because he goes to the same school. “What’s wrong with Max?”.
She rolls her eyes. “He’s Oscar’s friend.”
And also more obnoxious than Oscar so I don’t know why she doesn’t have a hate on for him too.
“Other kids too. Sean.”
“I know Sean,” she says. “He’s a dweeb.”
“Be nice to him. He’s had it rough.”
“Whatever,” she says as she looks out the side window. “It’s all boys though.”
“Max has a sister. Brielle. She’ll probably be there. You can play with her.”
“I don’t really play anymore, Brody,” she says in the same tone her mother uses. “I hang out.”
“You got choices on what to call me, kid,” I reply as my irritation rises. “You can call me Mr. Brody, or Nate or Eight, but you call me Brody again, I’ll tie you to a toilet and lock you in a bathroom stall.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then, “Fine. I’ll call you Eight. It’s the best name anyway. But you have to stop calling me kid.”
She’s right. Respect goes both ways. “Henri, then.”
She shakes her head. “I want a nickname like you.”
“It’s a road name, not a nickname.”
“I want a road name.”
Christ, does it ever stop? No wonder Selkie’s half nuts. “Fine. What’s your road name then?”
“Hmmm,” she replies. “Hawwww,” she adds with a smirk, then her eyes light up. “Eleven. I want to be called Eleven.”
I can’t decide whether to be flattered or irritated. “Why the fuck…why Eleven?”
“You don’t watch much TV do you? It’s the girl off Stranger Things. Her name’s Eleven. She has a bunch of awesome powers.”
I’m not that much in tune with kids, but naming yourself off a TV show is the kind of stuff that gets you teased. Max will eat that nickname up and spit it out. “You can’t call yourself Eleven. Max will know why and mess with you about it.”
She considers this and nods. “You’re right. I guess Seven then.”
“Why Seven then?”
“After you, of course, but before you.” She grins slyly. “Get it?”
I nod. “I get it.”
Mercifully, we arrive at the clubhouse. As we wait for the gates to open, she says, “Why the gates?”
“Security.”
“Why do you need security?”
“We don’t always get along with people.”
“Neither does my mom.”
Big surprise there. “Does she lock the doors at night?”
“Yeah.”
“Same thing then.”
She’s already moved on. “Who’s that?” She points at the guy guarding the gate.
“Chili,” I reply. He’s a new prospect. A bouncer from our club who’s tough, smart, but so fucking honest, if he found a dime on the road, he’d try to track down the guy who lost it.
She gives me a side-eyed glance. “Is he one of your…brothers?”
I actually chuckle at how cute she sounds. “Not a full-fledged one. He’s on probation. Hasn’t earned his colours.”
I nod at Chili as I roll through the gates.
Henri looks over her shoulder at him. “Why’s he called Chili?”
“That’s his name.”
“Chili’s his name?”
“Last name, I guess.” I never stopped to think about it. Don’t care.
She spies the row of bikes lined up. “Which one is yours?”
“None. Mine’s at home.”
“Can I ride on it when we get home?”
“No.”
“Why? Oscar gets to.”
“That’s different. Oscar doesn’t have a mom who’ll lose her shit over me giving you a ride on the back of my bike.”
“Why doesn’t Oscar have a mom?”
That’s a place we’re not going. “Do you ever stop talking?” I ask as I park the truck.
She doesn’t take offence. “When I’m sleeping.”
“You probably talk in your sleep.”
She grins. “Probably.” She hops out of the truck, then watches as I slide my cut out of a pocket in the back seat and shrug it on.
“What’s that?” She asks. Of course she does.
“Club colors,” I reply, then wish I’d just said vest.
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s what we call a cut. A vest with our logo on it.”
She walks around me and whistles. “Hell’s Jury. Awesome logo.” It’s been a while since I’ve thought about it, but the skull and wings with the raven on top is a remarkable piece of art.
“Yeah,” I say. “We got a painted one inside. Fills up the wall.”
I head towards the door and she waves at Chili as she follows me.
Her initial reluctance seems to have disappeared. I actually think she’s having fun.
It doesn’t last though because the moment she steps into the main room, Max sees her.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in a big voice.
His eyes stray to me. “What’s she doing here?
And where’s Oscar?” He looks back at Henri.
“Did you finally kill him?” Back to me. “Is that why’s she here?
” He looks at Henri. “To take a long walk in the desert?”
She returns his hostile gaze, her lip curling. “Why would I want to take a long walk in the desert, you moron?”
“You are so stupid,” Max sneers.
Verity, Hangman’s former wife, and a candidate for Bitch-of-the-Year, comes over. “Where’s Oscar?”
None of your fucking business, I want to say, but I’m not about to disrespect her in front of the kids. “With Henri’s mom.”
Brielle wanders out of the kitchen, spies us and heads over. “Hi,” she says shyly to Henri.
Brielle is Max’s sister, but Verity isn’t her mother, despite taking on the role. A passaround is. Or was. Megan disappeared and we pretty much know she’s dead. We know who did the killing, but we don’t know who paid for it.
“Hi,” Henri replies boldly. “Are you Brielle?”
Brielle’s eyes widen. “How’d you know?”
She jerks her thumb towards me. “Eight said.”
“Who’re you?”
“Seven,” Henri smirks as she looks slyly at Max. “Club name.”
It’s evident that Max can’t decide how to react. I think he’s pissed that she gave herself a club name and he never thought to. “Lame-o,” he says.
“I like it,” Brielle says. She turns to Verity. “Can I have one?”
“You’re a kid. You don’t need one,” Verity replies briskly.
Henri casts a quick narrowed-eye glance at Verity, then says to Brielle, “What do you want to be called?”
Brielle is momentarily caught off guard, glancing between Henri and Verity, then cautiously says, “Can I be Six?”
I’m almost flattered, despite knowing Brielle chose her club name because of Henri.
Max rolls his eyes. “You guys are idiots.” He heads over to the gaming center.
“We are not!” Brielle yells after him.
He lifts his hand to give her the finger, then thinks better of it. “Great comeback.”
“Ignore him, Six,” Henri says. She glances at the bar. “We should get something to drink.”
“What?” Brielle says as she trots after Henri.
“Beer,” Henri replies.
I clear my throat. “Henri.”
“Seven,” she corrects. “Dude doesn’t know how to have fun. Guess we’ll drink coke.”
Verity finally speaks up. “It’s not even 11. Too early for coke.”
She rolls her eyes towards Verity, then says, “Orange juice floats, then.”
Before the discussion can escalate, Joker walks in. “Church is gonna start. Let’s go.”
Henri looks curiously at Joker, then turns to Brielle, “What’s his club name?”
“He’s Joker. He’s the vice-president.”
“Like in Batman?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Brielle replies.
Joker jerks his head towards the two girls. “Who’s the kid?”
“Long story,” I mutter, then to Henri, I say, “Stay here, behave yourself. I won’t be long.”
As if he’s accountable to her, Joker says, “He’ll be at least an hour.”
She nods as she contemplates this. “That’s cool. I can keep myself entertained.”
“We got a horse. Wanna see?” Brielle’s voice follows us down the hall.
When I walk into Church, most of the guys are already there. I nod a greeting as I make my way across the room to the wall that I like to lean against during the meetings.
I’m barely settled when Hangman barrels into the room, immediately filling it with his presence. He throws himself into his chair, which groans in protest.
He’s a big man, not an ounce of fat. His long sandy hair is braided today and his beard has a bead in it. Accidental or on purpose, no one in this room is gonna mention it.
He glances at me with a smirk. “How was camping?”
I consider my answer. “Shit.”
I don’t wanna talk, I don’t wanna share. But Hangman, psychopathic, destructive, and fearless is also the best man I know. Except maybe Reaper, who’s sitting in his chair observing the exchange with curiosity.
Hangman has already dismissed me as he looks around the table, his eyes narrowing as he takes stock of some of my brothers.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says to Trigger, whose clutching a handful of tissue trying to stem the flow of snot that’s running from his red nose.
Trigger sneezes loud enough to make Jawbone and King jump. “Nuddink,” he replies as he swipes at his nose.
“You got a fuckin’ cold, you better not fuckin’ give it to me.”
Yeah, that’s Hangman. Don’t matter if the rest of us catch Typhoid as long as he stays healthy.
“Id’s not a cold,” Trigger replies nasally. “Id’s allergies.”
Joker wrinkles his forehead. “Since when do you have allergies?”
“Evanee brought home dis new cat. Peruson or Panamash or somethin’ like dat.”
“Persian,” Coyote, our resident genius, says.
“Thank fuck you got all those degrees,” Hangman says to him, then to Trigger, “You got a bunch of cats. Why’s this one different?”
“Long hair. It’s fuckin’ everywhere in the house.”
Rocky lets out a snore that draws our attention.
Hangman slams his hand on the table. “Are you fuckin’ sleeping, you asshole?”
Rocky wakes with a start. “Wha?”
“I’m gonna fuckin’ cut your balls off! Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“It’s not my fault. It’s Dot’s.”
Hangman looks confused. “What the fuck’s wrong with your grandma?”
“Dot, my baby. She never fuckin’ sleeps. I got maybe two hours last night and one of ‘em was when I was ridin’ here on my bike.”
The room breaks into laughter, then harder when Hash says, “Maybe you should trade. Cat to Rocky, kid to Trigger.”
“No fuckin’ way,” Trigger says. “The last thing I need is Evanee thinking she wants a baby.”
Ryder’s laugh turns into a groan as clutches his ribs. He looks like shit. His left eye is swollen almost shut and his nose is plastered. He’s got gauze taped on one side of his forehead and smears of blood on his T-shirt.
“Who the fuck did this to you?” Hangman bellows as he curls his fist. “He fuckin’ better be dead by now.”
“No one,” Ryder says, his face flushing.
“Then what the hell happened?”
His face reddens. “Llama kicked me.”
“What?” Joker says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Ryder clenches his teeth. “Llama kicked me in the face. The other got me in the ribs.”
We all stare at him, waiting for the punch line. None is forthcoming.
Hangman slams his fist on the table. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s personal,” Ryder says simply as the rest of us cringe. But he’s saved from Hangman’s wrath as Zero stumbles into the room.
Stark catches my eye and raises his eyebrows.
He earned his colors at the same time as Zero, but the celebration was with the Vegas club.
He and Ryder aren’t officially ours, but we borrowed them because our club needed numbers after we lost three brothers and a prospect.
They’ve been here since last fall but will be heading back in a couple of months.
“You better have a fucking good reason for being late or you can say goodbye to your teeth,” Hangman snarls, ignoring the fact that Zero’s got bruises on his face and choke marks around his neck.
Zero nods. “Got cornered by Makarov, who’s accusin’ us of fucking around instead of monitoring the gang activity in Reno. Says there’s trouble brewing. Gang war.”
Makarov is a member of a low-level Russian mob called the Brother’s Circle who’ve aligned themselves with us. We let them because they’re good at the rough stuff.
“Why the fuck didn’t you just shank him?”
Some of the guys smirk, knowing full well why Zero didn’t shank him. He’s a talker not a fighter.
Zero has a ready answer though. “Had three other dudes with him. One of them had Russian prison tattoos. The other two were less intimidating, but they both had brass knuckles on them. They dragged me into an alley—”
“Would you shut the fuck up and sit down!” Hangman roars.
The other thing about Zero is that he can talk our brother, Jawbone, into the ground.