18. Kevlar
Kevlar
The Knucklehead was exactly how Kevlar remembered.
A large bar in the front, with neon beer signs and Harley-Davidson memorabilia as far as the eye could see.
A stage to the left where local bands performed.
Even empty, the establishment screamed biker bar.
Stolen street signs adorned the walls between posters boasting future performers.
Unfortunately, the sign at the door troubled him.
Since when had Jerry declared no colors? This was a kick in the nuts.
This used to be the stomping grounds of the Roughneck Riders.
He’d had more beers underage in this place than he could count.
Back in the day, they had their own section.
The booths and the tables in the far corner had been their spot.
No one else could sit there. No reserved sign was needed. People just understood.
Standing among the empty tables as workers tended to broken lights and stocked the bar, Kevlar frowned at the Metallica poster, which hung where the Roughneck Riders’ logo had once been.
Kid tapped his arm, drawing his attention to the chubby balding man ambling toward them on bowed legs.
He’d never been an official member of the Roughneck Riders.
Apparently, he’d injured himself in his youth and couldn’t ride a motorcycle—a requirement for membership.
Despite that, Jerry had always been loyal to Snoopy and his former brothers.
“Baby Boy!” Jerry said joyfully as he gripped Kid’s face and patted it slightly.
“Jerry,” Kid mumbled.
Turning his attention to Kevlar, Jerry’s eyes sparkled. “Little Junior.”
He held out his arms, and Kevlar walked into his embrace, accepting the brief hug from his father’s longtime friend.
“We don’t go by those names anymore,” Kevlar explained.
Jerry pulled back, and his gaze flicked between them, focusing on the patches on their vests that they refused to remove before entering. Business hours hadn’t started. There weren’t any customers to speak of. This was their home. They weren’t about to take off their cuts.
Jerry frowned.
“We’re back,” Kevlar announced. “For good.”
“Things have been quiet lately,” Jerry said warily. “Nothing like they used to be.”
Back in the day, this place was a rowdy good time. Fights were common. Kevlar had a small scar on his cheek from his eighteenth birthday, caused by some asshole’s bulky skull ring. Stuff like that came with the territory.
Their territory.
“Our return won’t be like the old days,” Kevlar assured him.
The bar owner scrubbed his face, the conflict clear in his expression.
“I get it,” Kevlar said, resting a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “But my new club is not the same as my father’s. We aren’t the Roughneck Riders anymore. We are the Royal Bastards.”
Jerry glanced toward Kid as though seeking confirmation.
Kevlar’s brother nodded. “We’ve toned it down in our old age.”
The bar owner chuckled.
“Until we get our clubhouse going, we want to set up here,” Kevlar said.
Jerry stiffened.
Kevlar dropped his arm and stepped away, giving the bar owner his space. He didn’t want to have to strong-arm the man into this. They’d once been friends—practically family. He’d hoped for that arrangement again.
“Use the back room from time to time.” Kevlar gestured toward a door that led to a storage area. “Bring business. The Royal Bastards have a lot of buddies, and we’d like to count you as one of them.”
“We wanna hang out with our old friends,” Kid offered.
“Listen, boys,” Jerry began, obviously uncomfortable.
Kid wrapped an arm around Jerry’s shoulders. “What do you need?”
Jerry furrowed his brows.
“We can get it for you,” Kid declared.
Kevlar nodded. “It’ll be mutually beneficial.”
Jerry stepped away from Kevlar’s brother. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Kevlar smiled, attempting to be as warm and reassuring as possible. Though wearing ripped jeans, a wallet chain, and a black Henley beneath his leather cut, he probably came across as intimidating.
“There won’t be any. We just want to come home,” he said genuinely.
“No!” a woman shouted from behind them.
All three men whirled.
“Absolutely not,” Vanessa, Jerry’s niece and the widowed old lady of one of Kevlar’s former club brothers, came barreling toward them. “We did the biker thing once. We don’t want it again.”
The petite blond woman, with massive fake tits and far too much makeup for the middle of the afternoon, placed her hands on her hips defiantly and glared at the two of them.
“We may be a place where bikers frequent, but we aren’t partnering again. That ship has sailed.”
This was a hurdle Kevlar hadn’t expected.
“It’s okay,” Jerry reassured her.
She shook her head. “You’re more than welcome to come drink here, but leave your cuts at home. We aren’t that kind of place anymore.”
Kid laughed.
She glared.
Kevlar sighed. Why were the women of Oklahoma City, and his past, pissed that he had come home? Wasn’t anyone happy to see him?
Then again, his family hadn’t been the only ones to lose someone when the Roughneck Riders fell. Her old man, the father of her kids, died. That was a hard pill to swallow.
“Us coming home is not going to be the same.” He’d be telling a lot of people that.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“The Royal Bastards aren’t the Roughneck Riders,” Kevlar clarified. “They’re better.”
“How’s Gunnar?” Kid asked about her son.
Her chin lifted. “Don’t—”
“Does he still draw?” Kid continued.
“This isn’t about—”
“We were once family.” Kid scooted closer to her and took her hand.
Her throat bobbed with a swallow, and the tough exterior softened ever so slightly.
Kevlar studied Kid. Had he missed something all those years ago? Entirely possible. He had his head pretty far up his own ass at the time.
As an old lady, she would’ve been off-limits to the brothers. She was essentially married, though not legally, to Diesel, the man who had fucked everything up and tried to have Harper killed while conducting a coup. He was the reason the Roughneck Riders were gone.
None of that was Vanessa’s fault. There was a lot of baggage to unpack.
Kid held her gaze. “We’re back,” he whispered.
Kevlar and Jerry exchanged looks. The bar owner shrugged.
What the hell was going on? Kevlar didn’t dare ask because he didn’t want to ruin it. Instead, he let his brother work his magic.
“For good.” Kid smiled warmly.
“The arrangement won’t be like last time?” Vanessa asked.
Kid shook his head. “It’ll be better.”
From his mouth to Satan’s ears. That was the plan.