The first reason was that it was the day Cain had been awarded the rank of Vice President of the Blood Eagles MC, and the patch that went with it.
Cain had become a prospect at the age of seventeen, and in the nine years after that, he'd done everything he could to demonstrate his commitment to the club and the code they lived by. He'd proven himself to be a capable hijacker, cool under pressure, and talented in the art of violence when it was deemed necessary. He'd even managed to do a four-year stretch upstate without picking up a drug habit and without snitching, no matter what tantalizing rewards the feds and state's attorneys dangled in front of him.
He'd become almost as trusted and invaluable a resource to club president Hunter Dermott as Skipper Hammond had been. And when old Skip had a little too much to drink at his cousin's anniversary party and crashed his bike into an eighteen-wheeler on his way home—promptly going to that great biker rally in the sky—Hunter knocked on Cain's door, handed him a VP patch, and solemnly informed him that his time had come. At 26, Cain would be the youngest VP since 1972, when the Eagles were founded.
The patching ceremony took place in the Lost Knife, the bar that served as headquarters for the Blood Eagles. It was a shack at the outskirts of Micanaw, surrounded by about an acre of oily blacktop that served as the club's parking lot, drag strip, arena, shooting range, repair area, and open-air bazaar, depending on the needs of the moment.
Micanaw had been the Eagles' base of operations since the beginning. It was a small town full of poor folks with failed dreams who happily spent what little money they earned on the weed and opioids the Eagles sold, and local cops who were eager to take bribes to supplement salaries that barely let them survive on dog food.
Hunter used to say that Micanaw was an Indian word that meant “bloody soil,” but Hunter liked his tall tales, so Cain doubted it was true. He reckoned if it really was an Indian word, it probably meant “stinkweed” or something.
Still, it was home to the Eagles, the only real family Cain had ever known, and he didn't see himself leaving it anytime soon.
The party following the patching ceremony was held outside. There were long folding tables heaped with bags of chips and bowls of chili and dip, plus platters of burgers, chops, and steaks to toss on the fire pit. There were deep, icy coolers filled with beer.
And there were women. So many gorgeous women, and all of them eager to hang on Cain's neck or sit in his lap. In fact, there were only two he could remember who hadn't—Hunter's girlfriend Marian, and Hunter's sister Missy.
They were the second reason Cain knew he'd never forget that night.
No one noticed Missy much at first. She hadn't been dressed in a bikini and miniskirt and throwing herself at the men like the other girls were. She wore a black t-shirt and jeans with steel-toed work boots, her bright red hair pulled up in a blue kerchief as she kept the music playing on the loudspeakers and kept the tables full of food.
But a few hours into the party, Missy stomped over to one of the port-a-johns that had been rented for the occasion, stood in front of the blue plastic door, and put her ear to it. Even with two scantily-clad women massaging his neck and vying for his affections, Cain still couldn't help but watch the strange scene, wondering what Missy was up to.
Suddenly, Missy took a step back and slammed both hands against the door of the port-a-john, throwing all of her weight behind it. There were murmurs of amusement from the Eagles standing around her, and confused yelling and pounding emanated from inside the portable toilet moments before it fell over on its side with a crash and a splash. Anguished shrieks came from within, and for the first time, Cain realized there were two voices—a man and a woman.
There was laughter and applause from some of the Eagles who thought Missy had executed a brilliant prank, the first one they'd ever seen from her. But then Missy opened the door and reached in, dragging Marian out by her hair and tossing her onto the blacktop. Marian was sputtering and screaming, trying to wipe the shit, piss, and blue chemicals from her face and failing miserably.
A prospect named Tooth tried to climb out of the toilet after her, and the laughter and clapping died off almost immediately as the Eagles realized what Missy had already suspected.
Marian had been cheating on Hunter.
And worse, she'd been doing it just a few feet away from him, in the trashiest setting imaginable.
“You fucking bitch!” Marian whined. Her tears slid through the human waste caked on her face, and thick blue slime dripped from her hair and clothes. She reeked of used diapers and chlorine. Bubbles of snot formed around her nose and mouth as she spoke through lips that were almost pressed together, trying unsuccessfully to keep the muck from oozing into her mouth. “You goddamn cunt...look what you've done to meeeee, fuck...!”