Chapter 14
Humbug
Probation feels like a collar.
No rides. No runs. No say.
Just chores and silence and the weight of brothers’ eyes on my back. They call it discipline. I call it time served for the sin of wanting something I ain’t supposed to.
Frost’s the one who gives me orders. “You keep your head down, Humbug. You work the yard. You show up to church meetings. No side trips to town, no bullshit.”
I nod. Don’t argue. Don’t tell him I still hear Carol’s voice every time the wind comes through the trees.
The first week’s engines. I fix everything that don’t need fixing. Oil changes, chain work, tune-ups. When I run out of bikes, I work on the generator. When that don’t break, I sit in the garage until it does.
It snows most nights. The whole world goes white, quiet as a graveyard. The others play cards or drink, talk about runs that don’t include me. Every time I look up, someone’s watching, waiting for me to fuck up again.
One night, Frost slides a beer across the table. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Then don’t make us regret keeping you.”
That’s the thing about the Executioners, brotherhood only lasts as long as you keep the code. The second your heart gets too loud, they call it weakness.
I try drowning mine in bourbon. Ain’t workin’. I try to ignore the itch in my chest that sounds like Carol humming under her breath. That ain’t working either. I delete Carol’s number so I ain’t even tempted. But I ain’t saying it doesn’t hurt that she doesn’t try my number.
By the second week, Trina shows up. She comes storming through the compound gates like she still has a key, wearing fur and her best perfume that could choke a saint.
“Jack,” she says, voice all sweet venom. “You gonna make me stand out here, or you gonna let your wife in?”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected, even though the papers ain’t signed.
She pushed past me anyway, boots clicking like gunfire. “Same difference until you fix it.”
Inside, she looks around like she’s taking inventory, new patches, missing trophies, anything she could twist into evidence.
“What do you want, Trina?”
“What I’ve always wanted. For you to stop embarrassing me. Come home.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. “That ship sank years ago.”
She smirks. “Maybe I’m sentimental.”
She brings whiskey, the good kind, and old habits die slow. We drink. We argue. The kind of arguing that lives under your skin until long after it’s over.
She accuses. I deflect. She asks if Carol’s worth losing everything over. I tell her that ain’t her business.
She gets close then, too close. Perfume and regret fill the air. Her fingers trail my chest like she’s checking to see if the heart underneath is still hers.
In that moment, I let her. Because pains got a way of dressing up like comfort when you’re lonely enough. Her mouth finds mine, hot and bitter. I kiss her back just long enough to remember why I left.
Trina’s beautiful. Dangerous. Familiar. But she’s also poison, and I already swallowed enough.
I pull back, breath rough. “Don’t.”
She stares at me, eyes wide and cold. “You think she’s better than me?”
“I think she ain’t you.”
She slaps me, hard.
I let her.
Then she grabs her purse, swears, and storms out. The sound of her tires cutting through the snow echoes long after she’s gone.
Week three’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Word around the club is Trina has been running her mouth. Talking to cops. Talking to lawyers. Talking to anyone who’ll listen about the “bartender” from Evervale.
Frost calls me into church. “You handle that woman?”
“Trying.”
“Try harder. She’s bad for business.”
“I know.”
Being benched from riding is like being dead but left walking. Nights stretch long. The guys drink, play pool, talk about the women they been with. I sit, pretending not to care, pretending I ain’t seeing Carol in every damn shadow.
Sometimes I drive the truck into town anyway, park down the block from Sno-Globes, just to see the lights. Never go inside. Just watch through the windshield like a coward. The fake holiday keeps rolling on without me.
Evervale sparkles. The club don’t.
By the last week, the snow starts melting.
The roads turn slick, gray slush hiding ice underneath.
I just finished changing the oil in Frost’s truck when he walked up. “You’re almost clear,” he said. “Keep your nose clean another few days.”
I wipe my hands. “Yeah.”
“You hear from Trina?”
“No.”
“She’s been sniffin’ around the courthouse. You better pray she doesn’t bite.”
That night, I drink alone in my room. I find an old photo stuffed behind the mirror, me and Trina, back when things were easy. She’s laughing. I ain’t.
I tear it in half and throw both pieces in the trash.
Can’t sleep. Every sound outside makes me think of Carol, her laugh, the way she said my name like a secret.
I want to call her, but I don’t. I promised Prez I’d keep my head down. Promised myself I’d do one thing right. And Prez is right. If Carol can’t wait a month, maybe she’s too young for me.
The next morning, I go for a walk down to the edge of the property where the road cuts toward town. Snow refroze overnight, crisp and clean, no tire tracks yet. I stand there staring at it and think how easy it would be to follow that road, to see her again.
But I turn back.
Frost’s waiting when I get to the gate. “Where you headed?”
“Nowhere.”
He smirks. “Good. Stay that way.”
On day twenty-eight, Trina calls.
Her voice comes through sweet and slurred. “You think she’s special, don’t you?”
“Don’t do this, Trina.”
“She’s trash. You’ll see. The whole town will.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ll find out.”
The line goes dead.
I should go after her. I know she’s planning something. But I’m tired. Tired of being the bad guy, tired of cleaning up messes I don’t start, tired of pretending this is just punishment and not penance.
So, I stay put. Wait out the last two days like they’ll change something.
They don’t.
Lil’ Nick hands me my keys back. “After this weekend, you’re free, brother. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say.
But that night, I can’t shake the cold crawling through my chest. I light a cigarette, stared out at the woods, and think about calling Carol. Think about telling her I’m coming by soon.
That’s when my phone buzzes. Unknown number.
You proud of her?
My gut goes cold. Trina.
Before I can text back, Frost comes running from the garage.
“What the fuck’s going on?”
“Sugar’s on the phone. Says there’s trouble in town. Something about paint. Your wife’s name came up.”
I drop the cigarette. “What kind of paint?”
“Red,” Frost said. “Real red.” He hands me the phone. I hear a conversation. Carol’s in trouble.
I don’t wait for permission.
I grab my jacket and keys.
Probation’s over.
If Trina went after Carol, I ain’t staying another second behind these gates.