Stalker Chapter 1
The entire club went for a ride today. It was a clear, sunny day, with the temps in the mid-fifties.
We had to bundle up a little because, while riding, the wind blowing on us was colder than the outside temperature.
But for November, it was a good day. Short of it being below zero, icy, or with a foot or more of snow on the roads, we rode.
Due to the kids, the married guys split in half.
The first group, with their women, rode part of the way with the rest of us.
When we took a break at the endpoint, they returned.
This allowed the others to join us once they were relieved at the compound.
It was less than ideal, but with there being so many kids, Lolly and Kamila, two women the club trusted to watch their kids, weren’t enough.
Easton, Tank’s oldest boy, was eleven. Loki’s son, Xander, was thirteen, and Joker’s daughter, Belle, was fifteen.
They helped, but they shouldn’t be treated like they were free babysitters.
They helped with their siblings, but their parents were clear that it was their parents’ responsibility to provide proper babysitting services, not their older children’s.
The ride ended for all of us a few hours ago.
When we first got back, I’d spent time tinkering with my bike.
I always seemed to find something to do to it.
Predator joined me and made sure his baby was pristine.
After that, I went to my room to take a shower.
We’d agreed I’d get bathroom rights first.
Predator kept me entertained by playfully pounding on the door, then, in a whiny voice, he asked if I was done yet.
Could he see if I was? Was I washing my ass correctly?
I waited until I was done before I got him back.
When he opened his door to the bathroom, I took the bar of soap I had in my hand and rubbed it all over his mouth and beard.
He sputtered and grimaced, telling me he got it in his mouth.
I grinned, put the soap down, then strolled out.
I shut and locked my door. I knew he’d be waiting and plotting a way to get back at me.
It was nine o’clock at night. He hadn’t paid me back, but I was on alert. It was Saturday, and the guys were reminiscing about the ride. The laughter was loud. A constant hum of chatter was present. Some were playing darts, pool, or having a few drinks.
I was debating whether to go to the bar and get a beer. No one was drinking much alcohol at the moment. Predator and I had one beer over two hours ago. I’d stuck to water and he to soda since. I got to my feet.
I never made it to the bar. Our club brother, Stryder, stomped into the room. He scowled and muttered under his breath. He was headed for Bull, our president. I detoured and went toward them, my internal alarm pinging. Something was wrong.
This year, we’ve added three new brothers and taken on two new prospects.
In March, Rafferty, Raff, was patched in and given the road name Road Dog.
Hollis earned his permanent cut in June.
His road name became Stryder, the brother aiming for Bull.
The last patch was for Bram in October. We’d played off his first name, giving him the road name of Scourge.
He laughed when he was told and seemed thrilled.
The prospects were scattered in between those patch-in ceremonies.
In April, Ivan joined us, and then in July, Keenan did.
They’d learned the role, and now we had faith they knew the basics of being a prospect.
There was plenty of time to teach them the rest. We made most prospects do two years before we decided on their fate. I reached Pres just as Stryder did.
“Stryder, what’s up? You look stressed,” Bull asked.
“Pres, I gotta head out. I know I said I’d play a game of pool with you tonight, but I’ve got to give you a rain check on it. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Mind if I ask what you’re doing instead?” Bull asked.
It was true. Bull wasn’t upset. He was never usually out of sorts unless it came to someone fucking with his club, old lady, or kids.
Then you learned how he earned the name Bull.
Stryder sighed and glanced over at me. I wasn’t the only one standing there listening.
If you want your conversation to be private, then go to a room and close the door.
“I just got a call from my cousin. He needs to speak to me. He says he can’t wait and wants me to see him tonight. He sounded upset.”
“Alright, where does this cousin want you to meet him? Maybe this isn’t the time, but you know that you can bring your family around, don’t you?” Bull said it because we’d never heard of or seen Stryder’s family. Hell, until now, I didn’t know he had any. Was he not on good terms with them?
“I know, and I will. I didn’t when I was a prospect because I felt it was overstepping. And I hated the idea of any of them getting attached to anyone, and then if I hadn’t made it, it would’ve strained relationships with both sides,” Stryder explained.
He shifted from foot to foot. Whatever his cousin said, it had him worried.
“I don’t mind you seeing your cousin. Where does he want to meet?” Bull asked.
“He’s up in Cookeville. There’s a bar up there that he likes.” Stryder didn’t expand.
“Go, just be careful. Stalker, Predator, do you have plans tonight?”
We shook our heads no.
“Good. Why don’t you go with Stryder? I don’t like the idea of any of my brothers riding out alone, especially after dark and in a different town. Make sure you have his six,” Pres more or less demanded.
“I appreciate the thought, but there’s—” Bull cut off Stryder’s protest.
“Them going with you is non-negotiable. If you refuse, call that cousin and tell him to get his ass down here.”
Stryder knew he had no choice. He gave Bull a chin lift. “Thanks, I’ll take them. Unless you do have plans, then I’ll see if anyone else wants to do it,” Stryder said to Predator and me.
“I can be ready to leave in five. How about you, Predator?” I asked.
“Give me time to piss and grab my jacket, gloves, and gun, and I’m good to go,” my best friend replied.
That was the end of the conversation. We promised Stryder we’d meet at the bikes, then separated.
We met him on time. The club had a large communal garage that some people used to house their bikes or vehicles when not in use, or during the winter.
Those who had married had their own houses with attached garages.
At the garage, Stryder apologized for getting us out in the cold.
We waved him off. After telling us the name of the bar, he got his ass on his bike, and so did we.
At night, we had barely any traffic to deal with.
The twenty-minute ride took closer to fifteen, and we weren’t speeding.
I’d been to Cookeville many times. I was familiar with large parts of it, including the bar Stryder named.
It was one of those bars that was always dingy and smelled of smoke, though no one had been allowed to smoke in it for decades.
It attracted a somewhat rough crowd. It was an interesting place for his cousin to hang out.
It made me wonder what his cousin was like. Bikers would fit right in there.
We found a place to park our rides together. Walking toward the door, I eyed our surroundings. I detected no threats. The din of voices and music became ten times louder when Predator opened the door. Stepping inside, we were faced with their version of a greeter slash bouncer.
It was clear we were over twenty-one, so he didn’t ask to see our identification.
He merely stepped back and waved us inside.
Stryder seemed to know where he was headed.
He walked straight to the back of the bar to a table where a guy who was slightly older than me sat.
He had the look of Stryder. The guy’s eyes widened when he saw his cousin wasn’t alone.
He came to his feet. They exchanged a hug-backslap combo before Stryder gestured to us.
“Guys, this is my cousin, Jessup. Jess, these are my club brothers, Predator and Stalker. They came along since our president doesn’t like us riding alone at night, especially if we’re outside of Hunters Creek or the immediate vicinity.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m glad Hol—I mean Stryder has someone to look out for him,” Jessup said. We shook hands, then all four of us sat.
“Can I get you a drink? I can get the waitress over here,” our host volunteered.
We declined. Jessup sat there, frowning, as if he were debating where to start or whether he should.
“Cuz, spit it out. Whatever it is, we can figure out how to handle it,” Stryder assured him.
“It’s about Brighton,” he said quietly.
Instantly, Stryder sat straight, and a thunderous expression spread across his face. His hands clenched into fists on the tabletop.
“What the fuck about her?” our club brother growled low and mean.
“She’s not been hurt, but this will affect her the most. I got a letter today. It came to the house. I saw and opened it before she caught sight of it. Jesus, I can’t imagine how she would’ve reacted if she had. I’m trying to figure out how to tell her,” he muttered.
“Tell her what?” Stryder snapped.
“Marshall Webb will soon be let out of prison early due to overcrowding and good behavior. He convinced those head doctors in there that he’s gotten over his sickness due to their counseling and meds. Bull-fucking-shit! He’s a master liar and manipulator.” He banged his meaty fist on the table.
Stryder almost came out of his chair as he snarled, “He’s what?”
“You heard me. I had to read the motherfucking letter three times before it sank in that I wasn’t hallucinating. Here, see for yourself,” Jessup said, pulling out of his jacket a folded letter.