TWENTY-TWO
Throttle
I haven’t left, staring at her apartment door like it’s going to re-open. The betrayal I saw in her angelic eyes was enough to rip me in two. She’s better off without me entirely. It’s for the best.
I hear slow footsteps behind me and brace for any confrontation. As soon as they grow nearer, I swing around locking my fingers into the guy’s shirt.
“Hey. Hey, son. I mean no harm.” The old man smiles, baring yellow, rotting teeth while holding up a bottle of whiskey. “Care to join? Been desperate for a drinking buddy for a long time.”
I release him and he stumbles back, slowly sitting his ass down on the hallway floor. His prosthetic in front.
I don’t like him hanging out this close to her place, but something tells me he’s not bringing her any trouble. Just a drunken old man.
I glance at the door one more time before looking back at the old man on the floor. I have no idea why, but I slink down next to him. He looks like he could have been big, well-built back in his day, but right now he just looks frail and weak as if he’s been through hell and back.
“That a boy.” He takes out a tiny glass from his pocket and pours a shot into it.
I hold up the glass, studying the cleanliness of it. It’s not.
He shrugs. “Alcohol should kill it.”
“Great,” I say sarcastically.
“Cheers to life. I guess.” He clinks his glass to mine and both of us drink up, me enjoying the slight burn.
“Names Frank,” he hiccups.
“Throttle.” I nod, resting my arms on my bent knees.
“What kind of fucking name is that, kid?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Road name.” I show him the patches on my cut. “And I race dirt bikes.”
“Ahh. I see. Had a grandson who raced. Poor boy was terrible.” He shakes his head.
Grandson. So, the old guy is a grandpa. His hat also reads Veteran.
“You were in the Military?”
He lets out a deep laugh. “Shit. I forget I wear this ol’ thing.” He shuffles uncomfortably in place, pouring us another shot. “War will fuck you up. Nasty place.”
I wouldn’t doubt it. I never knew anyone who was in the army, except Tank and he never talks about it, so we never ask.
Not knowing what to add, we stay silent for a few minutes before he says, “Lost my marriage because of it. My kids. My grandkids. Haven’t seen them in years. Want nothing to do with an old geezer like me.”
“Why is that?”
He holds up the bottle of whiskey. “Became a drunk.”
“Never thought about getting help? Going into rehab?”
He laughs. “Nah. To be honest, I enjoy it too much. After all, I chose it over my family.” He coughs. “Though, I do wonder what it would have been like to put them first. Or got over myself and stopped trying to protect them from me.”
We lock eyes for a moment. I know where he’s going with this.
“She’s a special one. That woman in there.” He points to Tequila’s apartment. “Reminds me of my wife back in the day. Beautiful. Smart. Knows what she wants in life. You’d be a damn fool to pass that up.”
“She deserves better. Not someone like me.”
Frank smacks the back of my head, jolting me forward.
“What the fuck, old man?”
“Did you not just hear my sob story, kid? Get your head out of your ass.”
“I’m no good for her,” I tell him as I rub the sore spot.
“Jesus. You youngsters are as dumb as they come now a days. If you ask me, this place is no good for her.” I didn’t ask. “ And you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself tells me you give a shit. Makes you one of the good ones.” He staggers upright, snatching his glasses and sticking them back into his pockets. “Let her be the judge of whether you deserve her or not.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Do the right thing, kid. And here’s another piece of advice.” He leans down, the smell of alcohol protruding from his breath. “Get yourself a haircut.” He laughs and with that, he wobbles down the hall and down the stairs.
What does he know anyway? Not my life or where I’ve come from. Doesn’t know the dangers I wake up to everyday. The enemies me and my club make on an almost daily basis. I can’t get her involved with me. It wouldn’t be fair. Wouldn’t be safe. They always target what makes the enemies weak and she would be it. But… his words hit hard. Let her be the judge… maybe.
I glance at her door one last time before getting up to leave. What I do know for certain, I’ll be getting her out of here. To a place that doesn’t have a drunk old man roaming the halls late at night.
I make a detour back to the clubhouse. It’s one I find myself taking more than I want or should.
Despite how far, I still find myself riding through every so often. Like an old nostalgia trip. It reopens the wounds, but I can’t seem to stop. I think sometimes I revisit it to remind myself to keep being the man they didn’t want me to be.
Keeps me motivated.
As I turn down the street, I’ve ridden my bicycle on plenty of times as a kid, I slow my Harley in front of my childhood house. I’d like to say it held great memories, but that would be a lie.
That bicycle I rode… I stole it. Jacked it from Tyler dickwad’s driveway and hid it in my friend’s shed. But the dirt bike I had… I bought that with the money I saved up from working at the local bowling alley. Sure, my parents let me keep it, let me ride it, but I know it just about killed them to watch me start to head down a different path then they wanted. Apparently owning a dirt bike was Satan’s work. Leading me down a dark path.
My old house always looked the same. The two-story home with blue shutters, white siding and a small porch that still had that beat up swing. The only memory—only good one I always held onto—happened there on that very swing. I was twelve.
“Ready to talk about it?” my dad asks as we sway, watching the morning sun rise.
I rub my right eye, but the pain is too much, and the left-over sting feels like it’s going to explode.
I take the bag of frozen peas my dad hands me, placing it on my shiner. The cold feels so good.
“Dad. Why are people so mean?”
He sighs with a tired smile. “Some people are going through more than we will ever know and others… well, others are born with evil buried deep inside them. The devil works in mysterious ways, and we can’t control who he picks.” He unclasps the cross chain he has worn since I could remember and hooks it around my neck. “I want you to always wear this. Never take it off, son. It will guide and protect you.”
I hold the gold cross in the palm of my hand. I’d like to believe him, that wearing this will keep me safe. But how can something we can’t see ward off the bad?
He knows my doubt. “It’s called faith son.” My dad gets up, the swing springing to one side.
“Dad. Can I ask you another question?”
He stops, grasping the door frame. “Yeah, son. What is it?”
“Do I disappoint you?”
He winces, eyes seeming sad. “No, Levi. You will never disappoint me.”
When he goes back inside, I kick my legs smiling.
That makes me happy.
Too bad that wasn’t true.
The porch light flicks on, and the front door swings open. There’s a brief second mine and my dad’s eyes lock before I take off.
The first time seeing him since I was eighteen and it stings.
It’s dark, but with the small light casting on his face, I can see he looks similar, only greyer.
Glancing back in my side mirror, he stands there, hands in pockets, watching me.
Tonight, was the last time I’ll be reliving my childhood. It’s all a distant memory now.
When I get back to the clubhouse, I avoid the bar. In fact, I avoid it all. Bar, hang-arounds, everything.
Walking toward the back, Bullet pulls me aside. “Got your tracker.” He hands me the small device and I slip it into my vest pocket.
“Thanks, brother.”
“When are you planning for this to go down?”
“Not sure. Probably give it a few days for it to cool down after what happened.”
“That’s not a bad idea. You tell Chain?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Was it wrong going behind our President’s back? Hell yeah. The repercussions won’t be good.
“Like I said. My name stays out of your mouths. I’m VP for Christ’s sake. Chain will take my patch and shove it down my throat.”
“You got it, man. I appreciate this.”
We don’t need anyone else finding out which is why I shut my mouth when Brass approaches.
“Right. Well, I’m taking off, it’s past my bedtime.” Bullet shoulder claps me. “Prospect.” He nods.
“Damn I can’t wait to patch in.”
“What makes you so sure you will?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. There’s a hint of concern from him and that was enough satisfaction.
Brass doesn’t have to worry. He’s been proving himself just fine and if he keeps it up, he’ll be in by spring. But I like to see him sweat a bit.
Forgetting about the patch, he turns angry, taking a challenging step to me. “Why the fuck you have your girl staying at a place like that dump?”
My jealousy swirls at the bottom of my stomach. Even though I put him on Tequila to make sure she stays out of trouble, hearing him talk about her like she’s his concern, has me feeling a type of way I don’t like.
“Watch it, prospect,” I threaten, taking my step toward him.
“Fuck that. If she were my girl—”
My girl. Those words immediately piss me off.
“She’s not your girl which makes it none of your goddamn business. You follow her and make sure she’s safe. That’s your fucking job, prospect, and don’t forget it.”
“Exactly. Making sure she’s safe. And she’s fucking not safe living in a shit hole place like that. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I fist the front of his leather, throwing him back against the wall. “What’s the matter? Got a thing for my woman. Might want to rethink that.”
I swear the corner of his mouth twitches. For what?
We’re the same height, but he’s got more muscle than I do. Doesn’t mean I can’t handle him.
Both our nostrils flare like raging bulls.
“You’re lucky I’m a prospect because you’d be rethinking about putting your hands on me, brother .” His threatening words do nothing to scare me, it just makes me want to break his neck more.
I unclench his leather, not wanting to have to answer to Chain tonight and why I squashed his new guy like a bug. “I’m working on it. You just worry about what you’ve been ordered to do or good luck patching in.” I turn, leaving him behind before I do something stupid.
“She deserves better. She’s a sweet girl. Don’t be a fucking dick.”
I stop, squeezing my fists at my sides. “That’s why me and her will never happen.” I palm open the back door, heading for the shop.