Chapter Twenty
Eddie
The amount of adrenaline pumping through my veins is no match for the fucking frustration and rage I’m feeling towards Poppy.
This shit is her fault. Why can’t she just see how much Wesley adores her?
The man would literally do anything for her, and she couldn’t care less.
Now he’s on his way to jail, three weeks before my wedding.
After dropping the girls off at their house, I race home, ready to bail Wesley out with every dime I have.
A few phone calls later, and following a serious talk with my dad, I quickly realize that he’s going to have to sit there for the weekend.
That’s the shitty part of living in Reno; our local jail has a specific visitation schedule, and it’s already past nine thirty at night, so there’s no way in fuck I can get in to see him tonight.
What’s even shittier is having to get on his approved list for visitation.
That’s going to take at least twenty-four hours, and their onsite visitation is only on the weekdays.
So, getting to see him isn’t going to happen until at least Monday, even with their phone call services available on the weekends.
The man is like a brother to me, and now my brother is sitting in jail, probably already wasting away.
The phone takes three rings before Rich picks up. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks over a yawn. “How was the club? Wesley isn’t home yet, so I’m guessing things went well with Poppy this time?”
“No, things are seriously fucked up, Rich. Wesley’s in jail.”
“What? Are you serious?”
My hand drags over my face, everything from tonight hitting me at once. “Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”
“What the fuck happened?” Rich questions, his frustration bleeding through the phone line. It’s the same animosity I feel pumping through my veins. The hot, bitter bite of resentment is a poison forged from betrayal and helpless fury. It surges with every heartbeat, daring me to lose control.
“The Hurricane Kiplinger sisters have struck again. This time it’s Tornado Poppy that’s wreaking havoc.”
“Explain,” Rich demands, his voice sharp with passion.
He and Wesley have been living together for months now, and as much as I love Wesley, I know Rich does too.
Maybe even more. People act like blood makes a family, but that’s bullshit.
You don’t need DNA to be brothers. What I feel for those two runs deeper than genetics.
They're my chosen family.
My ride-or-die.
“Wesley, being Wesley, was doing his best to change her mind about him. She, of course, fucking blew him off. This red-headed chick came slinking up to him asking for a dance, and he went off with her, and I guess Poppy got jealous, so she went to the bathroom. Next thing I know, some dude was thrown across the club, landing right underneath our table, and Wesley just starts wailing on him. According to Poppy, Wesley saw the guy touch her, and he just went crazy. You should’ve seen the murderous look in his eyes.
It was like he was feral. I’ve never seen anyone get that kind of beat down before.
Pretty sure he has a broken nose and a concussion after what Wesley did to his face.
You could barely recognize him afterwards.
Blood was everywhere, and his face was an ugly purple. ”
“Fuck, this is bad, Eddie. This is his third strike.”
“I know.”
“He’s gonna go to prison.”
“I fucking know.”
“For God knows how long.”
“Damn it! I know, Rich! Stop fucking reminding me.”
He remains silent for a few seconds, then sighs. “Fuck, what about your wedding?”
“Rich, I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to make it so you never speak again.”
He finally listens, changing the subject to something else I don’t want to talk about. “What happened with the Amber conversation?”
“It got broken up by my best friend being sent to jail.”
A stretch of silence extinguishes the anger starting to fester and brew beneath my skin.
“You can’t keep putting that off, Eddie. You should tell her.”
That’s all it takes. All the hot air boiling below my flesh ignites, and everything in me just explodes.
“I don’t need another fucking lecture, Rich.
I just got a fucking earful from my dad, who’s second guessing starting the motorcycle club with us now.
He says he doesn’t want to start it with a bunch of hot-head kids that don’t know how to hold their tempers.
He doesn’t want it to turn one percent. He wants a clean club. ”
“You know that won’t fucking happen if we join, Eddie. There’s no way in hell we could start a clean motorcycle club; trouble follows us everywhere we go. The idea of it makes me want to vomit,” he exclaims, laughing hysterically.
“Yeah, I know. Me too. Anyway, you need to call Parr and get your name added to Wesley’s list. First thing Monday morning, we’re going to go bail his ass out.”
“Sounds good. I hope your dad changes his mind about the club; it’s the only thing I’ve had to look forward to these last few weeks. Even bought myself a bike a couple days ago.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, got a screaming deal from this dude that was selling one online. He’s got a few other ones for sale, all of them in great working condition.”
“What’s he selling them for?”
“Cheap. Real Cheap. Says he’s done with the club life and wants to settle down with his daughter and girlfriend. Guess he used to be a cop too, or maybe he still is, I’m not too sure. The man just wants to find peace.”
“What’s the guy’s name?”
“Oliver, but his club calls him Cipher. He’s part of the Hands of Justice LEMC. I guess he’s like their president or something.”
“Never thought I’d see the day where I’d consider buying a bike from a cop.”
Rich laughs. “He’s cool, man. He used to be part of a one percent club; he was undercover, but he says they still felt like family to him.
People like us don’t bother him as long as we stay out of trouble.
I’ll text you his number. I just signed up to get my motorcycle license, and the class is in two months. You should sign up too.”
My thoughts return to that morning I spent riding my dad’s bike, the freedom I felt on the open road, the peace that gripped my soul and never left. Rich is right; this club is something we all need, even Wesley.
“Maybe I’ll buy Wesley a bike too? It’ll give him something to look forward to when he gets out.”
There’s a short pause before Rich says, “You can’t just keep dipping into your savings, Eddie. What about your plans to buy that plot of land and buy Old Man Peterson out of business?”
“The business can wait a bit. This is more important. We need a foundation, Rich, one that we can cultivate and grow into something big. I’ve dreamed about the Elm Street Riders MC ever since we joked about it that night after I broke up with Amber.”
Rich is usually a man of very few words, but tonight his tongue is loose and out of control.
“Then it’s settled. Buy yourself a bike from Cipher, we’ll get our licenses to ride, then we’ll start a club.
We need this, Eddie. Like you said, Wesley needs something to look forward to when he gets out. Hopefully, before your wedding.”
“If I even have a wedding.”
“Stop talking like that, Eddie. You’re going to have a damn wedding, even if I have to drag you down that aisle myself. Stop putting negative vibes into it.”
“This coming from the man who hates everything.”
He chuckles. “Just be happy I don’t hate you, too. Anyway, I’m gonna let you go. I was already half asleep when you called, and I have to get to work early tomorrow; somebody has to fill in for Wesley’s shift.”
“Shit, I didn’t even think about that.”
“Good thing I do most of the thinking for us,” Rich jokes. “Anyway, try to get some sleep, bro, you fucking need it.”
“Night.”
The phone goes dead, and the heaviness of everything sits like an anvil on my chest. With the pressure building, the force crushes my rib cage like it might split open from the inside out.
Nothing feels right. The whole night has been a blur of chaos and bad decisions, and I can’t stop thinking that Wesley getting arrested is more than just bad timing; it’s a sign…
a warning… an omen carved into the night.
I feel it echoing through every bone in my body.
If this is just the surface of what’s to come, I hate to see what’s in store for me next.
My phone chimes twice. The first is a text message from Rich with the number of the guy selling the motorcycles; the other is from Amber… she’s worried.
I stare at her name on my screen for a long time. Part of me wants to ignore it, and let it sit unanswered like everything else I’ve been avoiding. But I can’t. Even though every instinct screams at me to leave it alone.
She picks up after two rings, her voice low and cautious. “Are you okay?”
“Why are you whispering?” I question.
“Pippa is asleep in the next room, and she doesn’t know what went down tonight.”
Pippa… it’s always fucking Pippa.
“Fuck Pippa. Talk to me normally. That bitch doesn’t deserve to sleep.”
“Damn, Eddie, what’s gotten into you?” Amber asks, a little stunned. If she had any idea what I’m carrying right now, she wouldn’t ask.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “I’m just tired of her shit, that’s all.”
Amber sighs, but there’s frustration underneath it. “So, you’re still not going to tell me what’s wrong, I’m guessing.”
“My best friend just got arrested for protecting your goddamn maid of honor. How the fuck am I supposed to feel?”
Her voice sharpens. “I don’t know, Eddie. But it feels like you’re keeping something from me. I saw it in your eyes at the club. You were going to say something about the night we broke up. Did you fuck somebody? Is that what you were trying to tell me?”
My chest tightens. Shit, did Pippa already tell her?
“Because if you did, it’s fine,” she continues, trying to keep her voice steady. “You broke up with me. I deserved it. If you slept with someone else, I get why.”