6. Beth
Chapter six
Beth
Past…
Somewhere between the trauma of life and the prayer to keep going, these women stitch me back together day after day.
When the pressure is high enough, anything will crack.
But as the saying goes, mountains are built by earthquakes.
With the help of these women, I stand before you as one of the highest mountains.
Family, that’s what life’s all about. The rest is just details and gravy, baby.
This sisterhood is the glue that holds this club together.
My man may carry the financial burden and the club’s responsibilities on his back, but I can assure you this circus needs a ringmaster, and I’m it.
I run a tight shipwreck, baby. It’s full of chaos, but somehow it all flows.
The life I live is filled with love, and I love the life I live.
These ladies are what keep my tribe running smoothly, if I’m being honest. At the end of the day, when I don’t think I have anything left to give, I have them in my corner, cheering me on.
They help where they can, when they can.
If that means one sister picks up all the kids from school while the others handle dinner or run errands, that’s what happens.
My world wouldn’t work without these women.
Trust me, I tried. The beautiful marriage everyone envies today wasn’t always this green. It’s this green because of my tribe.
A fist flies somewhere in the back as a barroom brawl erupts around us.
“Anyway, like I was saying, the kids need more after-school programs around here, outside of football. We should do a poker run or something to help fund the school’s extracurricular activities,” I say, stubbing out my cigarette at a crowded table with my sisters.
I didn’t give a shit who was fighting whom because all I wanted was a night out with my sisters.
Everyone has their tipping point, though.
Mine came when this asshole knocked into our table, spilling a drink all over my new purse.
“That’s it! Just because they’re Heathens doesn’t mean they have to act like it,” I growl, pulling my mini 9mm from my now sopping-wet purse.
I fire two shots into the smoke-filled air of the crowded bar, and all noise and movement around me, including the barroom brawl, stop.
I stand from my seat, shaking my wet purse, droplets of liquor flying.
I pull a fifty from the outside pocket and slam it down on the wet table next to the overturned glasses.
“Ain’t nothing worse than a wet purse. I’m done for the night,” I say, stuffing my gun back into my now-wet purse before plastering on a fake smile.
“Love you, sisters. I’ll see you in the morning for coffee at the diner in town after dropping the kids off at school.
” I blow them all air kisses, then shout at the bartender.
“Jerry, call me in the morning, and I’ll have someone come patch the hole in the roof!
” Really, I did the man a favor; he’s been needing a new roof for months.
I light a fresh cigarette as I step out into the night’s cold air, cupping the flame to keep the wind from blowing it out.
I feel Tank and Gunner following me out into the open gravel parking lot, the sounds from inside the bar tucked away in a muffled growl from the slam of the heavy metal door.
The neon signs of different beer companies litter the outside wall of this country bar, tucked off the side of the busy highway.
Their heavy boots crunch on the gravel as they step in front of me.
“Take me back home to the compound, big guy. DJ has school in the morning.”
The compound isn’t much right now, just an old metal building.
The guys are tuning the clubhouse. A few families, including ours, have set up single-wide trailers for us to live in.
One day it will be magical, a place for us to grow and raise our families.
The club acquired the property from a guy who owed the club money.
He put the land up as collateral, and when he couldn’t pay, it became ours.
“By the way,” I mutter through a cloud of smoke.
“If the brothers keep fighting like this, we should just go ahead and start a fight night or some bullshit. At least then we could make some money off their asses instead of paying for the damage.” Gunner nods in agreement, a sly smile crossing his face.
“Shit, that could really bring in some cash for the club,” Gunner says with a wide grin. I can see dollar signs in his eyes.
“Damn, baby, I knew I didn’t keep you around just for your fine ass,” Tank jokes.
“That’s right, I'm the complete package,” I deadpan, stubbing my cigarette under my heeled boot before walking over to Tank's bike.
As I walk to the bike, I hear Tank talking to Gunner, “Let’s bring it up at church.
We can start it out of the clubhouse until we make enough money to build a building for it or some shit.
We can charge an entry fee, charge for drinks, and run betting on the boys and whoever wants to step into the ring.
” I know how this goes. If I leave them talking much longer, I’ll be waiting out here by the bike for at least another thirty minutes.
“Let’s go, baby.” I holler at Tank because it’s just us three in the parking lot.
If anyone else had been around, I would have kept waiting instead of arguing with him in public.
As the president of the club, getting reamed out by your ol lady isn’t a good look. Life of an ol lady, hurry up and wait.
"Another night for the book, Beth?” Gunner chuckles, poking fun at me in a brotherly way.
Fucking asshole always giving me shit for writing down thoughts or things that happen to us.
I’ve started throwing around the idea of writing a book, and they give me shit for it.
One day, when we are old and gray, they will be happy I had the forethought to write it down for us in my younger years.
The three of us have been through hell together, and tonight was just another page in the story, one I’d be sure to write down, no matter how much shit they give me for it.
***
Present…
In the blink of an eye, the years rush by.
One day, you’re an exhausted new wife and mother, struggling to keep your head above water, and the next, you’re a sixty-year-old woman who doesn’t even bat an eye at the ten outlaw bikers in your front yard.
I had become immune to seeing them. They were as much a fixture as the cross around my neck.
I adjusted to this lifestyle like a duck to water, as if I were born into it.
I was comfortable and at ease with the men who needed this life because they didn’t fit in anywhere else.
I’m more comfortable in a room full of these wild men than in a room with a single civilian man.
I know some of these men have taken lives.
I know some have done and seen awful things, not only for their own sake but for the sake of the club.
I’m not much different, though. I needed this life as much as they do.
This lifestyle isn’t for the faint of heart; it chooses you long before you choose it.
But knowing the dark things these men are capable of never clouded my judgment of them or of my husband, because I knew that when it all came down to it, they had a good moral code.
Starting the club had been an easy decision.
Being in your twenties and feeling alone is a tough experience.
Once Tank got out of the service and we started our own little family, we didn't have much family to speak of.
We were young, dumb, and broke, living on love.
My parents were divorced and living their own lives, and Tank didn't have much family either.
Any family we both had, we didn't seem to speak to very often.
After Tank got out of the service, he drank more and became more aggressive.
You could tell he wasn't happy with where his life was heading.
It wasn't that he was unhappy with me or our little family; you could tell he was missing something, and, to be honest, so was I. We needed a tribe, so to speak.
Being in a motorcycle club is one thing, but the outlaw world is a different breed altogether.
The club didn’t take the decision to go outlaw lightly, but it was made to support the growth of our family.
When you’re so broke you can’t see which way is up, you’ll sometimes do a few illegal things to make ends meet.
I had been so scared and broke that, at one point, all I was doing to keep living was breathing through one cigarette at a time and one prayer at a time, not knowing how we would even make it through the next day, let alone the next week.
By the time the club was founded and Tank pulled himself out of the bottle, we were drowning in a mountain of debt, trying to make ends meet on the income from Tank's construction company. We were barely scraping by; the term paycheck-to-paycheck would have been a luxury. It wasn’t just my family who felt the sting of this economy; the other brothers and their families did too.
We had a dream of a nice compound for all of us to live on, and we wanted savings by the time we all retired.
We wanted legitimate companies to bring in income for the club and the brothers' wallets. We wanted to create the American dream of generational wealth and to make the financial struggle stop with us. But we needed a way to get there, and the nine-to-fives we were all putting in weren’t cutting it.