Chapter 6 Zara
Bush’s expression turns thoughtful when I tell him about how my father is spending his time now. “I was just as surprised as you when he joined them,” I say. “When we lived in Adelaide, he never mentioned wanting to ride motorcycles.”
“Did he know about motorcycle clubs before he confronted the Bushrangers?” Bush asks.
“He must have. He knew about Zeke’s club.
Although I don’t think the Outriders are an outlaw club.
They’re tough and keep themselves separate from the townfolk, but they don’t cause trouble.
In fact, they sponsor a charity run every few months to raise money for different programs in the area.
I’ve seen them raise large sums for the hospitals, sick children, disabled vets, animals, and they even earned enough money to rebuild a church that burned down. ”
Bush rubs his chin as he stares at the wall.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He glances at me and nods. “Of course, what do you want to know?”
“The last time I saw you, you warned us to get out of town and stay away from Bushrangers. You told us you were leaving the club and leaving Australia. How did you end up with the Demon Dawgs?”
That gets a real reaction. His mouth quirks, like he’s amused by the question—or maybe by how long it’s taken me to ask it. He shifts his weight, boots scraping softly against the wooden floors.
“It’s not a short story,” he says.
“I’ve got time.”
He studies me for a second, then exhales. “Alright.”
I sit on the bed waiting for him to begin.
“Because this is where I belong. These guys are my family. Before I joined the Bushrangers, I was alone. I had parents, but not ones I could count on. My friends became my family, and when I discovered the Bushrangers, I thought I had found my forever family. They were tight, and they relied on each other. It wasn’t until they went after the townfolk that I questioned my decision. ”
“Before that, they offered you what you needed?”
He nods. “They did. With them, I found a home. I found a job. My entire life became tied to the club, and I was happy. I’m all for making money, but when they started stealing it from those who were struggling to survive, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
Especially when they threatened physical harm to innocent people. ”
“So, you came here looking for a different club?”
“No, I came here to hide. Australia wasn’t exactly safe for me anymore. So, I came here to get lost for a year or two. I arrived in Los Angeles with a duffel bag of clothes. I didn’t have much of a plan. I figured I’d be here for six months, maybe a year.”
“So how did you end up in Chicago?”
He grins. “I figured while I was here, I’d take a road trip.
The US is huge. I knew I could travel for six months or longer and still not see everything.
I bought a motorcycle and headed up the coast. I drove from Los Angeles, through California, Oregon, and into Washington.
When I hit Seattle, I took I-90 and travelled east. My goal was to eventually reach the East Coast, sell my bike, and fly home. ”
I can picture it easily: the man I remember roaring out of Los Angeles with nothing tying him down.
His eyes unfocus slightly now, like he’s watching the miles roll past again.
“Chicago wasn’t the destination,” he says. “Just… where I stopped.”
“And met Chrome,” I say.
He chuckles. “In a diner. I pulled up and saw the bikes, but figured they were just weekend warriors, until I saw the kuttes. I almost left, but I was starving.” Bush chuckles. “They saw me arrive and asked me to join them.”
“I’m guessing you did,” I say with a grin.
“I did. They heard my accent. Started asking questions. One thing led to another. We talked bikes and riding the road.” He shrugs. “Chrome invited me to crash at the clubhouse for a few days.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “A few days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into this.”
“This,” I repeat, glancing at his kutte. “Chrome knows about what happened in Australia?”
“He does. They all do. I had to tell them before I accepted their offer to join. Luckily, they’d been through something similar, so they got me.”
I frown. “Something similar? How?”
“I won’t share the details, but I can tell you some of it.
Not sure how much you know about motorcycle clubs, but some, like the Bushrangers, have a single chapter.
Others have multiple. The Demon Dawgs have chapters in several cities.
Their main chapter is in San Diego. But they also have chapters in Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Boston, Seattle, and here in Chicago.
Their newest chapter is in New Orleans.”
“Wow, so they’re bigger than the club in Adelaide?”
“Much bigger. Now each chapter has a President, and the President runs their club; however, they have allegiance to the President of the San Diego Chapter. His name is Dante. He’s been President for about ten years. His father was the President before him. His father, Dale, was nothing like Dante.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” I admit.
“Let’s just say Dale would have felt at home with the Bushrangers.”
“Ah. Got it. He wasn’t picky about how the club made its money.”
“Exactly. He did some pretty bad stuff. Worse than the Bushrangers. Dale convinced other Presidents to follow his lead.”
“So, what you’re saying is that ten years ago the Demon Dawgs weren’t the good guys?”
He chuckles. “That’s a good way to put it. No, they weren’t the good guys.”
“What happened?” I ask, suddenly worried that I made a mistake agreeing to stay here.
“Someone murdered Dale. Executed him in an abandoned gas station. The other Presidents voted Dante in to take Dale’s place.
Dante discovered what his father had been doing and lost it.
He tore through his club and the others, making sure the shit Dale was doing stopped.
We’re not saints by any definition, but under Dante’s leadership, we don’t hurt innocent people, either. ”
I reach over and touch the 1% patch on his kutte. “You still have this patch. I know what it means.”
He nods. “As I said, we aren’t saints. We have legal businesses. That’s how we make most of our money; however, we don’t have a problem breaking the law when necessary.”
“When necessary?” I ask with a smirk.
“Let’s just say if we see someone getting hurt, we don’t call the police.”
“You handle it yourself?”
He nods.
I chew on my bottom lip as I consider what he is and isn’t saying.
No, I never saw Bush as a saint, but he had been my guardian angel back in Adelaide.
Should I trust someone who isn’t afraid to admit they’ll break the law?
Could I trust them? The truth is, I already trust Bush.
I trusted him when he was Whip. He was the first person I thought of when I saw Menace at the hotel.
“I’m glad I saw you when I was on my way to the hotel. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d seen Menace and didn’t know you were nearby.”
“Me, too. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out what he wants. If he’s here for me, we’ll take care of it.”
I didn’t have to ask what that meant, and to be honest, I didn’t care. There are people in this world who make things worse. Menace was one of those people. You just knew when you looked at him that his heart and soul were black.
When Bush’s phone rings, he pulls it out and checks the display. “It’s Chrome. I have to take this. Goodnight, Zara. Sleep well. I’ll come by and get you in the morning for breakfast, and we’ll take you to your appointments.”
“Thank you,” I say as he turns and leaves the room. I hear him answer his phone as he closes the door.
I unzip my suitcase and carry my toiletry bag into the bathroom.
I’m surprised at how nice the bathroom is, considering we’re in a biker’s clubhouse.
It’s clean and looks as if it was updated recently.
I wash my face and brush my teeth before returning to the bedroom to change into sleep shorts and a tank.
Crawling into bed, I stare up at the ceiling and wonder about how I’ve wound up in a biker clubhouse when I expected to be sleeping in a hotel.
This trip has been nothing like I expected.
I don’t expect to fall asleep easily, but I drop off quickly.