11. Gator
Chapter eleven
Gator
After that pathetic excuse for a man who rated out his club was cleaned up, and after the pre-party favor we sent up to Tulsa was delivered, we had only one choice.
Strike first and fast. That decision had been set in concrete the moment Nutz tagged and bagged his ass before bringing him to the clubhouse.
Looking back, I know this moment set off a domino effect, changing all our lives, but it was the only decision we could have made.
We needed to ensure the Riders knew we weren’t fucking around.
“Kill all the men inside, burn the clubhouse to the ground” was the game plan. Waiting wasn’t an option; we killed a chapter president. We had four days before the whole state was crawling with slimy fucks. We needed to send a message and eliminate any home base they might have had.
We made it to Tulsa, Oklahoma, in a little under two hours.
The city lights flickered through the bug-spattered windshield as we blared down the interstate, the scream of Buzzard’s engine already settled into a steady, familiar thrum beside me.
I could feel the tension rolling off him, a cocktail of adrenaline and anticipation that made my heart beat a little faster.
Following our Road Captains' instructions and hand signals, we took the upcoming exit off the highway, weaving through a maze of cracked side streets toward the Riders’ clubhouse.
It wasn’t much, just an old shotgun-style house with peeling paint and a chain-link fence, but it was quiet and out of the way.
The kind of place where no one asked questions and the neighbors minded their own damn business.
We parked a block over at an old, abandoned gas station so we could continue on foot without alerting the Riders to their impending doom.
Tiny and Nutz arrived an hour earlier to keep an eye on the fuckers before our arrival.
I killed the engine, and the sudden silence rang in my ears.
I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and prepared for what we were about to do.
Turning my head to look at the brothers behind me, I spy Rock, tying his hair up in a ponytail, shoot me a look with a wide grin. “You ready?” he asks, his voice low as the weight of what was about to happen settles on our shoulders.
I nod. “Let’s get this over with.” I swing my leg over my bike with practiced ease and head toward the van that holds all our weapons.
There’s no room for hesitation tonight. We move out, boots crunching on gravel as we approach the rundown clubhouse, our shadows casting an eerie scene under the flickering streetlights, most of which are broken.
The adrenaline kicks in. All my senses sharpen, my nerves buzzing, my mind locking onto the mission at hand, preparing me for what’s to come.
This is a message, and we intend to deliver it with a bang.
I’ll be damned and buried before anyone threatens my family.
I’m proud to have my grandfather behind me tonight.
After church yesterday, when he learned about Emma and Fijor, he was over the moon.
He pulled me close and hugged me tighter than he had in years.
Sharing that moment with him, knowing I might not get one with my own dad, was bittersweet.
He told me I’d better be prepared for my grandmother in the morning because he’d only been able to buy me a few days’ reprieve, and she’s already known since the first night they got here.
We marched up to the house, and everyone immediately filed out and surrounded it.
When we reached the gas station, Tiny warned us that ten of the brothers had left the clubhouse, two of whom he guessed were Snake and his father, the National President, Fury.
We knew we didn’t have time to waste. We had to strike first. We took stock of the twelve bikes left in the yard of the rundown house, which was serving as a clubhouse.
A club is supposed to take pride in its clubhouse, and this dilapidated shit-fest isn’t screaming pride, I can tell you that.
Trash littered the yard, the chain-link fence was broken and rusted in places, and the front gate was completely off its hinges, leaning against the house and surrounded by overgrown grass.
I leap onto the front porch, guns drawn. I count to twenty, then brace and lift my size-sixteen booted foot, kicking in the front door while shouting “dingdong.”
“Freeze, no one fucking move, hands where I can see them!” I yell in a front door splinters under my force and caves in, allowing my brothers and me to step through.
While Rock does the same at the back door, four brothers file in.
Startled faces spin toward us as the sound of splintered wood still rings out in the dimly lit room.
My brothers and I surge in, guns drawn, every muscle coiled and ready for battle.
The air reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke, laced with the sharp sting of adrenaline.
Chairs scrape across the floor as a couple of Riders reach for their guns, but our raised barrels stop them in their tracks.
With a sharp nod to Rock, we split up. Brothers line up the men who will soon meet their end in the main room, while others check the corners and back rooms. Gunshots blast through the house as men in the back rooms are killed.
Everyone freezes in fear, wondering if they'll be next.
There’s no hesitation. In seconds, the Riders line up, hands raised, fear etched on their faces as they realize just how royally fucked they are.
I watch as the realization sets in their eyes that these are their last moments on Earth.
Tonight, the message will be delivered loud and clear: no one threatens us.
Shots ring out into the night as Riders’ bodies thud to the floor.
All our souls are a little more tainted, but it’s the price that had to be paid for the safety of my family.
After the last non-Heathen body drops to the floor, I look my brother in the eyes.
“Burn the mother fucker.” I step out into the night air, lighting a cigarette and using the harsh, full-flavored nicotine like a beacon to breathe and slow my adrenaline as I wait for my brothers to finish their business.
My grandfather steps out onto the porch behind me, reminding me I’m doing this for the next generation of Heathen.
I’m part of this life because I was born into it, and I’ll die for it just like the men before me.
My grandfather built this nation, and I’ll be damned before I let some piss ant threaten it.
Every person who joins this life knows the target on their back that comes with the patch, yet we choose this life every day. There is no greater loyalty.
The men in that house were not good; hell, I probably did the world a favor.
I’ll sleep easy tonight after slipping inside my old lady, even with the marks that just went on my soul.
I’ll sleep easy because I know it’s not my family going home in a body bag tonight.
That’s all I give a fuck about. Protecting the Heathen Nation is the only goal.
I don’t fight fair; I fight final. I’ll burn this whole world down just to prove why you don’t fuck with a Heathen and why you don’t come for mine.
My grandfather walks past me, cupping my shoulder in support as he steps off the porch.
The look he gives me as he passes says he fully supports how I’m running the nation.
I take a long drag on my cigarette with steady hands, bowing my head slightly in appreciation.
I was raised by these ruthless, loving men.
I’ll outsmart them every day of the week because I learned from the generations before me.
I roll my neck, releasing the tension, as I flick my cigarette onto one of the bodies.
We all start making our way home. The fire roars, engulfing the house and cleaning away all the evidence that it was us from the local pigs inside.
The cops won't know who did this. Fury, that bum-ass bitch, will know it was us who did it, and that’s all that matters.
We ride down the highway, back to the promise of home.
Engines roar beneath us as the night cloaks everything in a silver haze.
The moon is full, hanging heavy in the sky, casting long shadows that flicker across the road and through the thick line of trees along the shoulder.
The cool air rushes against my skin, and for a moment, all the problems in our world and blood feel like they are worlds away.
Moonlight bounces off the chrome, reminding me this is our world, wild, untamed, and forever Heathen.
I grip the handlebars, letting the bike's steady roar drown out everything but the freedom of the open road.