Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Doc
Years ago, Paps made sure to pave a pathway to the cemetery from the clubhouse so we could send off any brothers we lost with the rumble of Harleys.
With the horses pulling the wagon holding Pokey’s casket, we follow behind, our normal pattern adjusted since we have another chapter’s president here, as well as the national president.
Big Daddy is in the center, flanked by Rio and Rip on either side of him, with the vice presidents slightly behind.
Seeing three men who wear the same patch as I do sitting tall on their bikes has pride coursing through me.
We may be in different chapters, hell, we may dance along the line of legal versus illegal in some aspects, but at the end of the day, we’re all united… we’re all Kings.
Once we’re all parked, Rio, Rip, Indiana, and Icer carry the casket over to the graveside, where the casket bier is waiting.
I watch as they lower it then each one lightly touches the top before they return to stand by their ol’ ladies.
Pokey’s casket is a work of art, that’s for damn sure.
It's glossy black, with the Kings logo on the top, and along the side is Pokey’s name and position.
Preacher looks at Rio and at his nod, he approaches the casket with a cut that he drapes across the top.
While Pokey is buried in his actual cut, one is usually displayed on the casket as a show of respect.
I hear a few sniffles in the crowd and see Constance and Maria dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs, which doesn’t surprise me at all since they helped take care of Pokey, cooking foods to entice him to eat when his appetite began to wane.
Preacher clears his throat and my attention snaps to him. “I may be this chapter’s chaplain, but you know we do funerals our way, the Kings way, right?” When a low roar rises from the crowd, I don’t bother to hide my grin, especially when Gretchen turns shocked eyes toward me.
Leaning down, I whisper, “This is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, so hold on, sweetheart, because Preacher’s just getting started.” She squeezes my hand in answer, so I lace our fingers together, needing that connection.
“First of all, Pokey, I’m fucking pissed that you didn’t let your brothers take your back during this epic last battle of yours.
No brother is left behind, remember? Yet, you chose to walk that path on your own, not letting us help in any way we could.
So, we’ll be having words when I finally get there.
That being said, cancer fucking sucks. I’m sure I could spout a bunch of rigamarole about why there’s so much illness in this world, and from a religious aspect, I’d be partially correct, but again, that’s not who we are.
Instead, I’ll say this, you never broke the code, brother.
You were loyal until the very end, and I’m sure you and Paps have already gone through at least one keg of beer, as you catch him up on what’s been going on around here.
Now, I think Rio wants to say a few words, then I’ll wrap it up because those ladies have a feast prepared for all of us back at the clubhouse. ”
He moves to stand with us as chuckles ring out and Rio stands in front of the casket.
I watch him lower his head as he touches the casket while drawing in a deep breath.
Issy walks up and takes his hand as he turns to the crowd.
“Issy is here because Pokey kept the two of us out of a lot of trouble when we were younger,” Rio starts.
“I know we always called him an old timer, and in a sense, he was since he was the last one from Paps’ time, but the reality is, he was only ten or so years older than us.
Paps brought him home one day after returning from a run.
He was a scrawny, pimply-faced teenager with a surly attitude and Paps got him started mucking out the stalls. ”
Chuckles reverberate as we all visualize how it was back in the beginning. Rip and Icer stand and move to Rio and Issy, Rip giving Rio a look as if to ask if he can say something.
At Rio’s nod, Rip starts talking. “What many of y’all might not know, is that Paps put him in charge over us since we had been driving the ranch hands crazy. Paps put a prospect cut on Pokey and told him if he wanted to earn his patch, he’d make sure all of us survived to adulthood.”
“It was a close call a few times,” Rio admits, grinning down at Issy.
“But despite our antics, he did what he was told, when he was told, and as Paps told me years ago, Pokey was one of the youngest members ever patched into the club. So, yes, he was an old-timer in the sense that he became a brother during Paps’ reign, but he was still a relatively young man, all things considered.
Still, maybe it’s because he was given such an important task by Paps, he always seemed… older.”
He looks at the casket again and says, “Cancer fucking sucks, plain and simple. You should be here, brother, drinking and riding while telling tales from the road. Rest easy, but give ‘em hell, Pokey.”
As cheers ring out and Gretchen once again gives me wide eyes, likely shocked at how non-traditionally we do things, Preacher steps back up in front of the casket.
“He was opinionated, surly, sometimes obnoxious, but he always, always, had his brothers’ backs.
If you’re the religious type, then you likely believe he was fully healed when he died.
Regardless of your beliefs, we know our brother is gonna ride on throughout eternity, and one day, we’ll all be together again. ”
“That was… different,” Gretchen says as I walk her to the vehicle she rode here in, since the brothers were all solo on their bikes as a show of solidarity.
“Welcome to the Kings, sweetheart,” I reply, leaning in to kiss her nose. “See you back at the clubhouse.”
“Where chaos will undoubtedly reign, but I’ll let her figure that out for herself,” I mutter to myself.
The ride back to the clubhouse doesn’t take a lot of time, and soon, I’m parking my bike in my spot. Before we go in, I hear Big Daddy asking if there’s anyone who’s due to be patched in any time soon.
“Mongrel is the closest one,” Rio replies. “We were planning to vote him in and then Pokey died. Didn’t seem right to me for us to overshadow Pokey’s wake or Mongrel’s patch-in party.”
“Fuck that, we’re Kings,” Big Daddy states. “Why not do both? It’ll be a patch-in party the kid’ll never forget.”
Rio shrugs. “Got his stuff in my office.”
“Go get it, and I’ll welcome him into the club as the national president,” Big Daddy instructs.
The alcohol is already flowing with Mongrel behind the bar while the other two prospects watch over the grills when a shrill whistle reverberates through the room. “Now that I have your attention,” Big Daddy growls out, “seems we’ve got a bit of a dilemma, brothers.”
All eyes are on him, including mine. I know what’s about to happen and agree that this will ensure that Mongrel always remembers the day he was patched in. Rio steps up, faking ignorance, and asks, “What’s that, Big Daddy?”
“Well, I heard that there’s someone here who should be a brother, but instead, he’s running errands, washing bikes, and protecting the ol’ ladies,” Big Daddy starts. “But he should be wearing his bottom rocker proclaiming him a full member of the club. What should we do about that, Rio?”
“Guess we need to get that sorted out, brother,” Rio replies. “Mongrel—”
Before he can finish, Mongrel says, “I’ll go grab Monkey and Mutt, pres,” as he moves from behind the bar.
“Don’t take another step!” Big Daddy roars, freezing everyone in their tracks.
The silence is so loud you could hear a bug fart right now as Mongrel keeps his eyes on Big Daddy.
One of his legs is extended as he was in the process of taking a step and I marvel at his ability to keep an upright balance.
Rio and Big Daddy walk over to Mongrel and Big Daddy says, “I need to properly welcome the newest member of the West Texas chapter of the Kings. I understand that even though you were injured, you kept your wits about you enough to call your president and then, you ran to where you last saw the vehicle you were following so you could continue to protect the ol’ lady inside.
If that’s not the epitome of what a Kings brother is, I don’t know what to say. Congratulations, Mongrel, and welcome.”
Rio hands him his patches and pulls him in for a hug. “We know from Gopher you don’t wanna change your road name, so you’re still Mongrel. Get with Constance and she’ll get these sewn onto your cut. I’d say you could do it, but she insists on it, so I don’t argue.”
“Probably wise not to argue with one of the women who take care of us,” Mongrel replies, an ear-splitting grin on his face. “And yeah, I’ve always been a mongrel, so I’m good with keeping the name.”
Well, there’s obviously a story there, but today’s not the day to pry.
There’ll be time enough to get Mongrel’s story.
As he goes to return to dealing with the bar, I see him wincing when his shoulder gets bumped.
I make a mental note to check him out to make sure there was no damage missed from his recent crash.
“Let’s party!” Rio exclaims. “Celebrate Pokey’s life and the fact that this would tickle him pink to add a new brother to our mix.”
“Thank fuck that Constance and Maria made so much food,” I mumble as Gretchen leads me to our room.
Just as I suspected, the booze flowed so freely that even I over-indulged. I’m going to pay for this, but right now, I’m feeling too loose to care.
“Don’t think it helped any of y’all all that much,” she says as she helps me sit on the bed.
When she crouches down to remove my boots, I immediately imagine her with my dick between her luscious lips.
There’s a slight twitch behind my jeans but even I know that if I pursued that thought, it wouldn’t end well, so I tuck it away for another time when the whiskey wasn’t whiskey-ing so hard.
She mostly undresses me since I’m as useless as tits on a bull right now. When I’m down to my boxers, I fall backward and watch as she hangs my cut on the back of the door. Seeing my Stetson, I ask, “You wanna go for a ride tomorrow?”
“I don’t think you’ll be sober until the weekend,” she teases, looking at me over her shoulder.
“A horse, baby. It’s been a while since I’ve been on one, because of all the club stuff going on, but I’d like to go riding with you,” I reply.
She doesn’t say anything as I watch her change into a short little nightie that does wonderful things to her defined body.
The self-defense classes she’s been taking with Mongrel, as well as our workouts, have made her muscles toned and lean.
When she crawls in beside me, I pull her close and kiss her. “What do you think?”
“I think I’d like that,” she murmurs. “But I do have to get my cake pops ready for this weekend. I’ll likely get up way before you, though, so I should be able to take care of that before you even think about waking up.”
“If you say so,” I slur out as sleep beckons. “Love you.”
“I love you too and since I do, I’ll be sure to hook up a banana bag for you when I get up, okay?” she asks.
“Sounds good.”