4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Jackson refused to look me in the face the next time I saw him. His head hung down, and he shuffled his feet as we headed into the diner for his favorite burger.
“Do you want to let me in on what’s got you so quiet and downhearted?” I cocked my head at him. “That’s part of why I come around. I don’t mind listening to any gripes, fears, or problems you have. You don’t need to carry that kind of stuff on your shoulders, and I know that it’s rough to feel you can’t lay more problems on your mom. You probably don’t want to make her burden harder,” I probed as we found a booth.
“I don’t want to make you mad,” he declared.
“I don’t get mad that easily. I can’t. When you’ve got the strength of an ox you have to stay calm whenever possible or end up hurting someone. Besides, nothing you ask will make me angry. I know you’re just curious.”
“Have you ever been to prison?” he blurted out.
The question was unexpected and more personal than I’d expected, but not really shocking. After all, my appearance was enough to cause speculation about my past.
“No. I don’t have a criminal record. I’m not saying I’ve never done anything against the law because that would be an outright lie, and I’ll always do my best not to lie to you. I’ve done some not-so-admirable things, but I’ve never gone to prison for any of them,” I answered as honestly as I could.
“So, you didn’t get your tattoos there?” he asked.
“Nope. Some were done by my buddies and others at a licensed tattoo parlor. They’re all legit and done safely,” I told him.
“What do they mean? Mom says tattoos have meanings. Mostly bad ones.”
“I suppose some do. I admit the ones covered by my clothes may be considered among the bad ones, but those are for my benefit. They remind me to be a better man whenever I can and that I have a past that wasn’t so easy to deal with. I won’t talk about those, not even to you,” I explained.
“What does the snake on your neck stand for?” he continued with his questions.
The Serpent Sinners tat. Of course, the kid would ask about that one.
I took a moment to figure out how to explain it without telling him about the Serpent Sinners. I decided to stick to the truth without embellishing.
“It represents another club I’m in; a grownup one. We have each other’s backs the same as you and I do.”
“What about the roses?” he pushed me, his eyes lighting up with excitement and curiosity. It was infectious and one of the reasons I liked doing this program even though some of the brothers thought it made me a fuckin’ sissy.
“They stand for the people I cared about that I’ve lost,” I admitted. “You get one more, so pick carefully.”
“In that case, I choose the skull,” he said.
“I just thought that one was badass,” I replied.
Jackson giggled, as I’d intended.
Less tightlipped now, he told me, “You scared Mom. She freaked out over the tattoos and your size. She’s the one that mentioned prison. She wants me to get a different mentor. She’d have already asked for one, but she didn’t have time to talk to the administrator before you came to get me.”
“I didn’t intend to scare her or anyone else. In fact, I do everything I can to put people at ease. I’m sorry she feels that I don’t fit as your mentor. Sometimes others see only what’s on the surface, like the tats and my size, and imagine the worst because of their experiences. I understand them. I just wish they’d give me a chance to prove myself before judging me so harshly,” I explained.
Jackson leaned into the table and whispered. “Bad things happened to her because of my real father.”
I had suspected something off about the boy’s biological father from the way he spoke about him with me a few times. It was complete shit that a kid like Jackson and his mother had been caught up with such a man and been left on their own.
“I could see how that could lead her to be more cautious,” I conceded as the waitress came to take our order. Jackson animatedly got his favorite burger, the gloom of before temporarily forgotten.
When the waitress took our menus and orders and walked away, Jackson looked at me again. He spoke quietly, though he wasn’t whispering anymore.
“Mom told me something once that happened. One time a man broke into our apartment when my parents were still together and held a gun to my mom’s head. He would have killed her, but the cops came. I was a baby, so I don’t remember.”
The waitress came bearing drinks; sweet teas, pausing the conversation once more.
“Mom’s still afraid he’ll come back and finish with us because he threatened to. She won’t tell me, but I’m sure my father is still doing the same stuff. I don’t see him very often. He always has an excuse, and I’ve seen men hand him money when we go to the park.”
Jackson gulped his drink, downing nearly half of it in one go. “Don’t tell Mom. She’ll freak.” Jackson admitted.
The hairs rose on the back of my neck, and I was forced to squeeze my hands into tight fists to keep from pounding on the table. The bastard who’d fathered Jackson wasn’t just into drug deals as what the boy had described proved to me, but he’d brought the trouble home to his family. That made him a worthless piece of shit who needed to be taught a lesson, one I was happily willing to give him.
I looked at Jackson, schooling my features. “I won’t mention our conversation to your mother. This is just between me and you. I have to admit that I’m glad your father doesn’t come around much. I’m sure you miss him, but he’s trouble neither of you needs. No matter what your mother decides about me, whether or not she asks for you to have a different mentor, if you need me, I’ll be there any time, night or day. I promise to do everything I can to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again to either of you,” I promised.
Leaving the kid was difficult. I feared I’d never get the chance to see him again. His mother had every right to ask that I be replaced. I couldn’t let that bother me, though. I had obligations and duties to the Sinners to handle.
As the enforcer, I was required to be at the bar most evenings to protect my brothers. So, with a heavy heart, I dropped Jackson at his house and went to work.
The first thing I noticed was that the bar was overcrowded. Among those getting drunk were prospects from rival MCs. I went on alert because I knew trouble would eventually arise. Whiskey and beer made it easy to say things that were better kept inside and harder to stop yourself from acting on anger. A man could justify almost anything when he’d had too much to drink, and prospects tended to believe they had something to prove. It was a bad combination.
Flame had just brought me a beer when my prediction came true. I sighed and rolled my eyes at her as the two rival prospects at the other end of the bar started shouting.
“One of them is going to toss their drink in the other’s face. I’ll bet you five bucks,” Flame joked.
“That’s a sucker bet, and I’m no sucker,” I replied, standing up so I was ready to knock some heads together.
As expected, the drink went flying along with fists. I made my way toward the pair, though I wasn’t in a hurry. They were allowed to bloody each other up a bit and blow off steam. I didn’t give a damn about broken noses or black eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several others gear up to join in. I held up a finger and pointed at each one and used my most murderous look to force them to shut it down. They backed off because they knew I’d follow through.
One of the fighters broke a beer bottle and went after his foe. “Fuck.”
I grabbed the offender by the neck. He turned and slashed at me. I moved fast, but the bottle nicked my chin. Now I was pissed.
I slammed the hand holding the broken bottle against the edge of the bar. The sound of cracking bone was satisfying to my ears and so was his scream of agony.
The second man, who sadly was one of our prospects, came barreling at me as if I was now the enemy. I used his momentum to slam their two heads together, knocking them unconscious.
I felt another man rush up behind me and sensed he was about to try to take me on. I swiveled, caught him behind the knees with my right foot to make him fall flat on his back, then placed it on his chest and ground downward with my heel.
“What’s your problem? This isn’t your damn fight,” I growled while I wiped blood off my chin.
“It fucking well is!” he cursed. “That boy belongs to my club, and you broke his damn hand.”
“He tried to cut one of mine and succeeded in cutting me. You ought to be happy a broken hand is all I gave him. No one comes into the Sinner’s bar aiming to kill. I allow fights, and I’ve started a few of my own, but two drunken assholes aren’t going to kill each other for the hell of it. Get your boy out of here, and keep his ass away until he learns to behave. Yours too,” I ordered.
Doc, our medic, and Rage, our road captain, now stood behind me. Prime, our Prez stepped out of his office. We outnumbered the fool, so he kicked as his prospect until the kid woke up and dragged him out of the bar.
I nodded thanks to my associates and went back to drink my beer which Flame had replaced with a cold one.
“I despise fools, especially really young ones,” Flame declared.
“They’ll grow out of it. The clubs will kick their asses into line or deny them entry. This was small shit. At least we don’t have any real enemies these days,” I proclaimed, chugging my beer.
“It’s only a matter of time before someone comes up against us,” Flame stated.
I knew she was right. “We’ll be ready. Prime will make sure of it.”
Flame froze, her hands going still where she was wiping down the bar. It was just an instant, but I noticed. I followed her gaze to see Rod entering the bar. Well, well, maybe he wasn’t as invisible to her as he thought.
“Flame, pour me a double. That damn engine just won’t do what I need it to do. I swear it’s got some grudge against me,” Rod grumbled as he took a bar stool.
“You smell like oil. It’s offensive,” she said as she brought the whiskey.
Rod reached for it as she sat it down. Their fingers brushed, and Flame drew hers back as if she’d been burned. I imagined the sparks flying between them. They simply stared at each other for a minute, unmoving.
“I think you like the smell of oil; at least when it’s on me,” Rod teased, giving her his most wicked smile. “I know you felt the same sting I did. Think about that while you’re in bed tonight.”
Rod tossed back the double. Flame glared at him and walked away, refusing his request for another.
"What the hell did I do?" Rod asked, and I chuckled, shaking my head.
"You told Flame to think about you in bed tonight." I let the words sink on as his eyes turned to saucers.
"Shit."
"You're lucky she didn't deck you. Flame's not a clubwhore, Rod."
Rod walked out, sputtering and muttering under his breath. I watched him go and then turned to look at Flame. I swore I saw her eyes flick up to watch him go, but then she put her head right back down. It was like a goddamned soap opera around here sometimes.
I heard yelling coming from the back corner where a few men were putting bets on an informal game of poker and stood up, grumbling. It was going to be a long fucking night.
I finally rolled into bed at 2 a.m. My cellphone blasted me from sleep thirty minutes later. I grumbled a hello without checking to see who was dumb enough to wake me in the middle of the night.
“Kirk? Help me! I’m scared. My dad’s here. He’s fighting with my mom. He wants money. She won’t give it to him. What if he hurts her?”
I was already up and tugging on a shirt as soon as I recognized Jackson’s voice.
“Does he have a weapon?” I asked as I tried to decide whether or not to take a gun.
“I don’t know,” he was saying when I heard the sound of breaking glass. “No!” he screamed, and I heard his feet running over the floor. “Mom! Are you hurt?”
“I’m on the way!” I shouted, but I didn’t think Jackson heard.
This fucker was about to meet his worst nightmare.