Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Flyboy
Rolling my way down the hallway into the main room, I sigh when I don’t see anyone around. I slowly roll my way behind the bar, thankful that it’s wide enough for my fucking chair to fit around. I glide my way over to the long wall that holds bottles of liquor, looking for anything I can grab and take back to my room. Grabbing a bottle of Vodka, I try to turn my chair, banging into the back wall of the bar causing the bottles on the shelves above to rattle and rock. Snarling, I turn my chair the other way, bumping the wall. I don’t know how many times I try to maneuver my way out of the bar until I’m fucking done and toss my hand up into the air, mumbling, “Done.”
Grabbing the bottle of Vodka in my lap, I hurl it at the back of the bar. Reaching out blindly, I grab whatever is within reach, and start just throwing shit. I continue until there is nothing left. I sit there, breathing like a racehorse that has just run its third consecutive race. I take in the mess littered around like the shattered pieces of my life.
“Well, it looks like I won’t be getting a drink anytime soon,” Torch drawls, pulling out a stool and sitting down at the bar.
Opening one eye, I glare at the asshole.
“Want to tell me what brought on you being pissed off and throwing a tantrum?” He lifts one brow in question.
I sigh, giving up on any chance this man will leave me alone while being stuck in my own fucking misery. “I rolled back here to get a fucking drink. Now that I’m back here, I can’t fucking get out. Let’s just say, this is what happens when you corner me,” I grip, narrowing my eyes at the offending object.
“Well, I guess when you surround yourself with overgrown children that’s what happens,” Edge sasses as she makes her way to sit beside Torch.
I just flip her the bird, not willing to say anything at all in response. Trying once again to get myself out of this entrapment, I reach down and grab the outer bars on the wheels and concentrate on turning them at the same time. My right arm and hand scream in pain, to the point I want to throw up. I close my eyes, doing everything I can to shut out the world around me and get myself out of this situation. I bump into the wall and the back of the bar with every turn I make, but I won’t let the miscalculations stop me from getting myself out from behind here. My arm is screaming, my head is whirling, and I’m ready to just fucking toss in the towel when with the next spin of my wheelchair I don’t hit anything. Opening my eyes, I look around and I’ll be fucking damned I’m out from behind the bar and into the open space of the main room.
“I’ll take it from here,” the prospect tells me as he grabs the handlebars and starts pushing me forward.
The man that I am wants to tell him to fuck off, that I can do this for myself. Right this second though, I’m not that man. I am weak, worn-out, and beyond the point of being a complete douchebag just because I’m pissed at the world for the bullshit that life continues to dish out. The prospect continues pushing me down the hall toward my room as Coin comes strolling down the hallway toward us, looking pissed.
“Yo, brother, you good?” I inquire.
He looks down at me, and asks, “Where’s your phone?”
“I dropped it on the floor in my room and couldn’t bend over to snatch it,” I state as I shrug.
“Man, all you have to do is ask and a brother would grab it for you,” he growls as he glares at me.
I shrug because when the fuck will they understand that I’m sick down to my core of asking for help and having others do shit for me. Having been fiercely independent for most of my life, this fucking accident has humbled me to the point of wanting to give up. I hate that I can’t do some of the simplest of things. Every fucking action has to be well thought out in order for me not to hurt myself further. I know my brothers will help if I ask; that’s not the problem though. It’s my fucking pride; it’s taken a veritable beating for months now and my emotions, which are normally in check, are at the point they’re going rogue on me. I never know what’s going to fly from my mouth and I know it’ll just be a matter of time before I smart off and end up with a fist to my face.
“Prez called church for all officers. No exceptions,” he says.
“Fucking hell. I have physical therapy in an hour.” I sigh.
“Well, here's hoping that they can reschedule it then.” Coin shrugs before walking behind me and shoving the prospect away from the handlebars of the wheelchair as he takes his place, turning me back toward the mouth of the hallway, then pushing me down toward our meeting room.
I glance at the prospect as Coin pushes me past him, noticing, not for the first time, that he looks absolutely defeated. I make a mental note to talk with him and see what’s going on. I know he’s our longest running prospect and several fucking times we thought he would’ve quit, only he always seems to dig his heels in and stick around. Coin doesn’t say a word as he rolls me through the main room and into church. I look around and see all the officers sitting there around the table, none of them looking happy. What the fuck could I have missed while I’ve been wallowing?
Prez storms through the double doors, slamming them shut behind him as he does, asking, “Do one of you mother fuckers want to tell me how and also how fuckin’ long there has been a man wearing colors that aren’t ours in our territory?”
I watch in fascination as ire and other hostile emotions fall over every man’s face across the room. Sitting up taller in my wheelchair, I let the same feelings that smolder just under the surface of my being all hours of every day rise since they reflect how my brothers are feeling at this unexpected news.
Then a plethora of shouts and questions reverberate through the air.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There is no fucking way!”
“You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”
All of this is said in unison, voices rising louder in volume as frustration mounts and the room becomes tense. Razor pulls his laptop open and starts typing at the speed of lightning as he pulls up the town’s feed and begins investigating. Pretty Boy, Smith, and Wesson have their heads together, talking furiously as they go over everything that they know and discover. I know I’ve been preoccupied and out of the loop trying to get back on my feet, but even this should’ve caught my attention. I still don’t fucking understand how someone rolls into our territory without so much as a kiss my fucking ass. It’s disrespectful and has been known to cause wars.
“Turn the T.V. on,” Razor snarls, never stopping his typing.
Coin stands, walks over to the T.V. flipping it on before coming back to his seat next to me. Within a moment, there are several images of a man on his Fat Boy, flying colors of a club that none of us are familiar with covering his back. The room goes silent as we watch the images flash across the screen. My left hand balls into a fist as I watch this man hang around our town like he owns the place. One image shows him sitting outside of a house. Each day, the same street where he idles on different sides, different distances away in the subdivision but always staring at the same house.
“Do we know whose house that is?” Torch probes, slamming his clenched hand on the table.
“It's rented through a management corporation,” Razor states, never looking up at us from his laptop. “Give me just a second to make my way into their records.”
“Seriously, Razor? What can be taking you so fucking long to get into some little management office system?” I snap, not liking the fact I'm so out of the loop.
Razor never stops his typing, then shouts, “Fuck you, Flyboy! I sure haven’t missed your shitty attitude.”
“I’m so glad to be gracing you with my presence again,” I quip back, smirking, feeling like myself again for the first time since I woke up in the hospital bed.
Chuckles resound around the room, easing the tension of the tenuous situation. Turning back to the T.V., I continue to watch as this guy is all over fucking town like he was personally invited to be here. Prez slams the gavel on the table to shut everyone the hell up.
“I’m glad you gentleman are finding this fucking funny. What I want to know, is why you boys are so wrapped up in your own shit that for the second time in less than a mother fucking year, there is an outsider hanging around our town? Fucking find him and figure out what the fuck is going on.” Prez glares over at Razor, asking, “Do you have the fucking information, or do I need to find a new damn IT man?”
Razor stops typing for a microsecond, before answering, “It appears that Megan Merritt rents the house, she is originally from Texas. It looks like she’s thirty-six years old. Unfortunately, they don’t have a copy of her photo ID on file, so I’m still digging for that.”
“Wait! Wait what did you say her last name was?” Prez stops him.
“Merritt,” Razor repeats the last name, looking contemplative.
“Why does that sound familiar? Have you found a clear image of the colors on his back?” Prez wonders while watching the T.V. closely.
“What is it, Pops?” Torch asks him.
“I need to talk some things over with the old timers. Something about that name and the colors on his back are pulling at a memory that I just can’t pluck out from its place within my mind’s vault.” Prez turns back to everyone, stating, “Let’s get on the roads and find this guy. Let’s figure out who this woman is and what needs to happen to get this shit fixed.” Prez growls before slamming the gavel on the table and leaving us there.
Torch, Duck, Razor, Coin, Pretty Boy and I just sit there not saying anything.
“Fuck,” Pretty Boy hisses while running his hands through his hair.
“How the fuck does this keep happening? How do we keep letting shit slide through?” Coin shakes his head.
“I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that we’re failing our club, our town and our families every time this fucking happens. We need to get our shit together and get our heads out of our own asses.” Torch slams his hands on the table glaring at all of us in turn.
“Tell us what you need. We’ll make it fucking happen, you know that,” Coin states with all of us nodding in agreement.
“Let’s find this asshole and keep the women away from the property, that way no one can get to them. Also let’s figure out who this woman is and why she's bringing trouble to our town,” Torch orders, looking each of us in the eye.
“I feel like we’re missing something. There is a connection somewhere that’s closer than we know,” I murmur, listening to my gut for the first time since my accident.
Duck looks over at me, asking, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like we’re going to get this all fucking wrong before we get it fucking right,” I tell them.
“Man, it’s always been super creepy when you say stuff like that because nine times out of ten you aren’t wrong.” Pretty Boy half laughs and half growls.
I rest all the way back into my wheelchair and let today's events roll over in my head. I’ve got to get my ass out of this chair and back on track with my life.
Fuck, I sound like a broken damn record at this point. When am I actually going to fucking do it?
Torch slaps the table before standing and leaving the room, everyone but Razor following behind him. I sit there for a long moment just watching Razor work on his laptop, trying to work out why the feeling of dread is weighing so heavily on me. There is a soft knock on the door and the newest of the three prospects is standing there.
“Flyboy, are you ready to go to your physical therapy appointment?” he questions, not daring to take a step into the room without being invited beforehand.
Looking over at the clock hung on the wall, I notice that it’s an hour past the time I was supposed to be there. “It’s too late. I’ll have to call and reschedule the appointment in a few.”
The kid shuffles his feet looking around like he is trying to figure out what he needs to do considering someone must have sent him to grab me.
“Just spit the shit out already,” I demand, turning my chair from the table toward him.
“Well, ummm, Edge sent me to get you because your appointment had already been moved because of church. So, kinda need to get a move on so you aren't late,” he finally spits out after his stuttering.
Razor chuckles. “You should’ve known that one of those women would’ve taken care of that. We all want you back on your feet man.” He stops typing and looks up at me. “And you damn sure don’t want to piss that woman off.”
I chuckle, shaking my head because that man isn’t wrong. Pissing off one of the Ol’ ladies isn’t something you want to do.
“Well, get your ass in here and let’s get a move on,” I say as I wave the newbie in.
He wheels me out to the cage and helps me into it. Once he has stashed my wheelchair in the back, we leave the club’s property, heading for the physical therapy office. A sense of excitement rushes through me when the realization hits me that I might just get to see Riley for the first time in more months than I care to count. We make it across town and into the parking lot where I search for her car feeling more than just slightly disappointed at not seeing it.
“Well, let’s get this shit done with,” I grouch, pushing the door open and sliding to stand on my one good leg.