Chapter Seven
Rags stretched his long legs in front of him and cursed under his breath when he read his sister Megan’s text. “No fuckin’ way,” he muttered.
“What’s going on?” Diesel asked, as he slid into the chair next to Rags.
“I guess Megan doesn’t have enough shit to do since the kids have been back in school, so she’s butting into my life.” Rags pushed his phone aside.
Throttle chuckled. “What’s she putting her nose into this time?”
“For some fuckin’ reason, she wants me to connect with Julie. She just texted me her damn phone number.”
“Julie?” Diesel and Throttle asked in unison.
“Yeah.”
“What the fuck, dude? Why the hell would she bring that old shit up all of a sudden?” Diesel said.
“The ex-bitch is in town.”
Throttle pushed back the chair. “And you didn’t tell me this? What the hell?”
“How long has she been here?” Diesel asked, then brought a bottle of water to his lips and guzzled it down in one long drink.
“I don’t know. Around a month or so, I guess. It doesn’t matter to me though. I told Megan that and to leave me alone about it, but she keeps at it, and it’s pissing me off.”
Throttle shook his head. “Why the hell is she doing that? She knows all the shit that went down between you guys.”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Man, your sis needs to mind her own fuckin’ business,” Diesel said.
“I keep telling her, but Megan can’t help herself. Shit, she’ll tell you something and swear you to secrecy, and the next thing you know, somebody’s telling me the same secret. Then I find out Megan’s the one who told everyone. Hell, she can’t even keep her own damn secrets.”
“That’s fucked, man.” Diesel took out three joints and passed one each to Rags and Throttle.
“Thanks, bro. Now all I need is a cold bottle of Coors,” Rags said as he took out his lighter. He lit the spliff, tipped back the chair, and took a long drag.
“What the hell is the bitch doing back in Pinewood Springs anyway?” Throttle said.
Rags shrugged. “Her mom’s sick.”
The sharp crack of the gavel cut through the chatter, echoing off the walls until the room fell silent and every eye turned to the table. Banger stood tall, one hand braced on the table, while Hawk leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning the room.
“No preamble today,” Banger said after the hush.
“We’ll go over the books the next time. We got a situation in Henderson.
” His voice was low and carrying. “Some renegade assholes call themselves the Devil’s Reign.
They’ve been running short-term loans, charging less interest than we do, and takin’ our regulars. ”
“Fuck that,” Chas said, as other brothers muttered curses around the room and shifted in chairs.
“And that’s bad enough,” Banger continued, “but word is that the bastards are flying a bottom rocker that says Colorado.”
The words hit like a hammer. Fists pounded the table. Brothers rose shouting, “Fuck them”, “Kill the bastards”, and “Death to the assholes.”
“We’re not gonna put up with that shit,” Rock said, the veins in his temples standing out.
“We stomped the Twisted Kings,” Shadow said, eyes flashing, “and we’ll do the same again!”
Hawk stepped forward. “The fuckers are testing us. Undercutting loans is fucked up and one thing, but wearing Colorado?” He shook his head. “That’s a line nobody gets to cross.”
Tank leaped up, nostrils flaring. “We find out if these wannabes have a clubhouse, then we riddle it with bullets until no one’s left.”
“Fuck yeah!” several brothers yelled.
Banger brought the gavel down. “We’re pissed as hell, but we gotta plan.”
“Besides watching their families pick out their coffins,” Hawk muttered.
Guffaws filled the room, then the brothers began chanting, “Insurgents forever, forever Insurgents.”
After several minutes, the members settled into their seats as Banger took control. “No one wants a war,” he said, “but we’re not gonna let this shit slide.”
Rags sat a few seats down, elbows on the table, jaw tight.
Puck had told him about the Devil’s Reign, and he’d heard some talk about them over the last few weeks, but he thought they were puny-assed wannabes.
Claiming Colorado was suicide. He rubbed his jaw, eyes flicking to younger members down the line, anger and excitement mixing on their faces.
“Rags,” Banger said, turning his attention his way. “You still got a guy who ran with these assholes before they formed a club?”
“Used to. His name was …” He snapped his fingers.
“Pigeon,” Throttle said.
“Pigeon,” Rags continued. “We did a job together years back, before they formed a club. He’s big on brotherhood. He just liked to ride. I can reach out, see what’s what.”
“Don’t make a big deal of it,” Banger said. “Just find out if they’re on their own or backed by someone.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if the Deadly Demons are involved,” Puck said.
Hawk frowned. “I don’t think Reaper wants to start shit with the Insurgents. Besides, they’ve got a stronghold on New Mexico. These guys could be gang types, low-lifes trying to act big. They can be dangerous because they don’t know when to be scared.”
“Hawk’s right. The dumb shits are the ones who make things fuckin’ messy,” Rags said. “We gotta see the setup, decide timing, and hit hard when we do.”
Low murmurs of agreement moved through the room.
Banger looked around and pointed. “First, we do a quiet look and see how many they’ve got, their weapons, who’s comin’ and goin’.
Rags, Puck, Diesel, Tank, and Smokey ride tomorrow.
Take the cages to stay off the radar. Count bikes, see if club girls live there, who’s runnin’ it.
Figure out if these fuckers are real or pretend. ”
“You got it,” Rags said.
“We’ll get the info,” Smokey said, and the others nodded.
Hawk added, “We got the Fall Festival next weekend. Word is these assholes might show up and flash colors to make noise.”
“Fuck that!” Chas slammed the table. “It’s our deal on Elmer’s land. They aren’t comin’ in.”
“They don’t have the right,” Axe said. “It’s private land.”
“Damn right,” Animal growled. “The festival isn’t the time for bullshit.”
Banger raised a hand and the room quieted. “It’s a family event. Keep your heads—no drama, no fights, unless they start it. But if the fuckers come on that property, they get turned around, or carried out. No citizens get hurt.”
Hawk’s nod was curt. “We don’t start shit, but we don’t let disrespect stand.”
A rumble of agreement moved through the room, low and unified. Rags leaned back, feeling that old spark of adrenaline stir as it always did when business blurred with threat.
“That’s it for church,” Banger said. “They’ll be another one in two days to get a full account from the brothers heading out.” He lifted the gavel and struck the block.
Church broke with the scrape of chairs and a low rumble of boots.
Men shuffled out, some still cussing under their breath, others pounding fists into open palms, too wound up to let it go.
Black T-shirts, denim, and leather spilled into the main room, and the air loosened.
Music thrummed low through the speakers; heavy smoke hung thick in the air.
The prospects had each member’s drink waiting on the tables, cold bottles sweating in the light, amber liquid in shot glasses reflecting the sun rays from the window.
The club girls sprang off the couches, hips swaying, smiles painted on, moving to their men.
Rags took a long pull from his beer. Diesel dropped across from him; Puck, Smokey, and Tank joined them.
“So, how’s this gonna go down?” Smokey asked, running a hand through his hair.
“Quick and quiet,” Rags said. “We scope it out. See what’s going on. Count bikes, check the setup. No contact.”
Diesel nodded. “You think they’ll have lookouts?”
“They’re trying to act like a real club,” Puck said. “So yeah, they’ll have someone outside.”
“They’re probably not that smart,” Tank said.
Rags grunted. “They won’t know we’re there. We know our shit.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. For a second, he thought about checking it, but he didn’t.
Megan had said her piece earlier, and she knew when to back off.
He’d read her last text hours ago and left it unanswered.
You should call her. It’s time. Yeah, well, he had no intention of calling her. The past was done.
Diesel handed him another beer. “You look like you could use this.”
Rags cracked it open and took a long pull. “Appreciate it.”
Puck stretched his legs then threw back a shot of Jack. “You think these dipshits are gonna try somethin’ at the festival?”
“They’re dumb enough, so I wouldn’t put it past them,” Rags said. “They want attention, that’s their kind of thing.”
Smokey snorted. “They’ll get attention, all right.”
Diesel grinned. “I hope they bring their own stretchers.”
That got a few rough laughs, and Smokey grasped Diesel’s shoulder. “That gets you another shot.” He looked at the other guys who nodded, except for Rags. “You don’t want a shot, dude?”
“Nah, I’m gonna get some fresh air,” Rags said and threaded through the crowd to the back door.
The afternoon sun hung low, flinging bands of gold across the yard.
He walked to the river, his boots sinking in the soft grass, the water flashing in the light.
For a minute the noise of the clubhouse receded.
He stood at the bank, listening to the rush and the soft hiss of the wind through the pines.
For a minute, it almost worked—the quiet, the open space—but then the past started creeping in.