Chapter Seventeen
Hatch
ABOUT TWENTY MILES south of Portland, near the town of West Linn, lay the decaying remains of what used to be the second largest paper mill in the state of Oregon.
A complex of buildings that once signified prosperity but now served as a haunted house of industry.
A place where timber was turned into pulp.
A fitting location for two men looking to beat each other to a pulp.
On the far west side of the property was a large clearing where not much grew due to the heavy clay content in the soil.
It was at that clearing where the Gresham Spiders and the Dogs of Fire faced off.
The moon was hidden behind heavy grey clouds. Motorcycle headlights illuminated the makeshift gladiator arena where disputes between clubs had been settled before. Blood had been spilled plenty of times, but this was different and both sides knew it.
I stood shirtless and bootless. My toes sinking into the damp ground. It was drizzling rain, and the night air was frigid, but I wasn’t cold.
At all.
The unadulterated rage burning inside of me was keeping me plenty warm.
I planned to make Warlock pay for coming after my Maisie.
Behind me was nearly every single member of the Dogs of Fire Portland chapter, and they wanted blood just as bad as I wanted it.
Maisie was the matriarch of our club. There wasn’t a single member who didn’t see her as a mother figure.
To some of them, she was the only mother they’d ever had.
So, I wasn’t just fighting for myself tonight.
I was fighting for all of them as well. Needless to say, if anything popped off or went pear shaped, the Dogs were ready to bite.
“He’s gonna fight dirty,” Mack said.
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, maybe we find another way?” Mack suggested.
“I’m not sure there is any other way to do this,” I replied.
“He won’t show you mercy. He’ll kill you the second he has the chance,” Mack pointed out.
“You know? When I asked you to stand as my lieutenant I kinda thought you’d be better at the whole pep talk thing.”
“Sorry, man,” Mack said, waving himself off. “What I mean to say is kill that motherfucker and kill him as quickly as possible so we can go home and drink beers around a bonfire of Spiders’ cuts.”
Standing across from me, also stripped down to only his jeans, was my opponent, Warlock.
Behind him, the Gresham Spiders. I couldn’t tell exactly how many, but it looked like only a handful of their crew had showed up.
They’d better have, because going against the biker’s code wasn’t just chicken shit, it meant your ass had a target on it in every one of the fifty united states.
It meant you’d better not put two wheels down in the vicinity of any club, because if you’re spotted, you’re dead as Dillinger.
It also meant you’d better cover up or remove any and all club related tattoos in case you ever get locked up, because even on the inside, code breakers got their throats cut.
Most people are surprised to learn that the vast majority of chartered MCs share a common, basic, but strict code of conduct which forbids certain acts, such as harming children, acts of terrorism, really sick shit like that.
When it came to assassinating club members’ loved ones, the code was a little grey as many MCs included club members who were actual blood family members, and some went deeper than blood.
What the code was clear about was a member’s right to contest a hit or assassination attempt, which was what I was doing.
I’d purposely left Flash and Jamie out of the loop on this all-hands, asking Maverick and Harm to hang back with them at the hospital to both watch their women and my kids in case this didn’t go my way.
I didn’t want my boys seeing their father beat to death in front of them.
Devon was also not here, keeping Poppy occupied and distracted, although, he wasn’t happy about it and had made his objections known for the permanent record.
“Gentlemen, we all know why we’re here,” Irish Frank announced through his bullhorn.
As the owner of Rosie’s Bar and Grill, Portland’s longest standing neutral ground, he’d been asked to stand as mediator and final judge over the night’s punch up.
“Hatch, the president of the Dogs of Fire, Portland chapter has invoked the right to mortal combat against the president of the Spiders, Gresham chapter, Warlock. Warlock has accepted the challenge and since both participants are valid standing club Presidents, I see no reason to contest the match.”
Both clubs roared out their approval, sending their voices up into the surrounding pines.
“The rules are simple,” Irish Frank continued. “This is hand-to-hand, man-to-man combat. Weapons of any kind, or outside assistance, are not allowed. No rounds, no time limit, no running away. This is a fight to the death unless the victor chooses to grant mercy. Do you both understand the rules?”
I nodded.
“You’re pretty good at this, Frankie. When I’m done here, I want to talk to you about managing your career as an MMA announcer,” Warlock said.
“You’re a funny fuckin’ guy, Warlock,” Frank replied. “Let’s see how hard you fuckin’ laugh with a busted jaw.”
“Aw, come on, you’re supposed to be neutral. That means no favorites.” Warlock groaned. “It seems like everyone around here has a giant hard-on for Hatch and his dear lady wife.”
“You say one more thing about her and I promise I’ll cut your tongue out,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Loverboy. All my plans for the afterparty are set and you know who I’m bringing as my date.
Well, not just my date, but the whole club’s date if you know what I mean.
Maybe Maisie’ll end up liking it. Take to it like a duck to water just like Jana did.
Fuck, Jana was all-in right from the start. ”
I didn’t so much think of Jana as my first wife, but more so as my last youthful fuck up, so his taunts about her didn’t mean shit.
“You and your club die tonight,” I replied.
“Save it, boys,” Frank barked at us before returning to his megaphone.
“Tonight, Hatch and Warlock fight as champions of their clubs. Which means the losing side agrees to lay down their cuts and close their local chapter. Do your lieutenants agree to uphold the code and the agreed upon stakes of this bout?”
“We do,” Mack and the Spiders’ fuckweasel VP said in unison.
“You’re going to regret this, Hatch,” Warlock said.
“I’m looking forward to shutting you the fuck up. Permanently.”
“Alright, gentlemen. Wait for my command to begin fighting,” Frank said. “Lieutenants, go back to your bikes.”
Mack patted me on the back. “Time to squash these fucking Spiders for good.”
“You and the boys take care of Maisie if anything happens to me.”
“Remember what I said. Kill him quick,” Mack said before joining the rest of the club.
“Do you understand these rules and agree to abide by the universal biker’s code?” Irish Frank asked the crowd, receiving a thunderous response in return.
Frank then squared us up before giving his final command. “Then let’s have a fuckin’ fight!”
Warlock and I, both having some training in the ring along with more than our fair share of street fights, took traditional boxing stances and began circling each other.
I remember throwing a few jabs, trying to find my range and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back.
My ears were ringing and the left side of my face felt like it was on fire.
Warlock hit me with a right hand I never saw coming, sending me into the mud, struggling to stay conscious.
“Come on, ol’ man. Get the fuck up,” Warlock said, waving me up.
Encouraging me to get back on my feet rather than kicking my head in while I was down.
I don’t know why he did it. Maybe he wanted to look good in front of his club, or maybe he was fucking with me, or maybe he mistakenly thought I ended on my ass easily.
Whatever the reason, it was a tactical mistake on his part.
“I’m gonna skull fuck you in front of your entire crew. Then, after you’re dead, I’m gonna take care of your wife myself. Hell, maybe I’ll knock this one up too.”
That was all I needed to hear to get back on my feet. My head was still humming, but my legs were good.
“That’s the last time,” I said, pointing to the ground. “Next time it’s you.”
“You should never fight when you’re angry,” Warlock goaded. “It clouds your judgement.”
“I’ll cloud your fuckin’ judgement,” I said, rushing Warlock, smothering him with a series of inside punches. Pounding away at his ribs, hoping to crack as many of them as I could early on.
I made the mistake of dropping my head a little too low as I chopped away at his mid-section and paid for it with an elbow to the back of my head. A highly illegal move in any professional combat sport due to its potential lethality. But this wasn’t sport.
“I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ head off and mount in on my clubhouse wall,” Warlock shouted as we broke apart.
The roar from both clubs was nearly deafening as Warlock and I traded blows.
One after another, each of us chopping away at the other man like timber.
Both of us were covered in blood and mud as we punched, kicked, and damn-near clawed at each other.
God’s honest truth, as the minutes rolled by, I couldn’t even tell you which one of us was winning.
All I know is I beat on that son-of-a-bitch with everything I had, and he kept on coming back for more.
Warlock and I hadn’t always been enemies. In fact, we were damn near inseparable when we were young. We started riding at the same time, came into club life together, and even chased the same women, until one of those women was my wife. After that, Warlock and I failed to see eye to eye.