Needing Me, Wanting You(12)

“Ugh.” I get chills up and down my spine, despite the humid heat of the bathroom. Imagining strangers is fine, but when it comes to my own family, it's almost creepy. I turn away and approach the mirror, wiping off the condensation and staring out past the yard and towards the highway. I can just barely make out the stripe of gray in the distance. Darren will have left already, might already be in the process of confronting Triple M. If everything goes according to plan, he'll be back in time for dinner and the only thing that might suffer is some pride. My brother doesn't care if they ride motorcycles or rob banks – we don't unnecessarily climb into other folks' business. What he cares about is if they do it around here, anywhere within driving distance of our hometown. That, and he doesn't want them parading around pretending to be a motorcycle club.

Tim is probably right: I bet they take their cuts. If things get really bad, I could see the boys getting into a scuffle. They killed a lot of men in Bested by Crows, and they fucked around with Broken Dallas. While Seventy-seven Brothers has no affiliation with either club, Darren might see that as a sign of disrespect. I twist my fingers together and try not to be nervous. I hardly see Darren as things stand anyway. Once a month, if I'm lucky. And he lives club business, breathes it in instead of air. This is all he does, all the time. So why is this particular item on the agenda getting my heart palpating and my hands sweating? Maybe because I know he's going to ride with the boys, even though he shouldn't. He hides himself in the back sometimes, but only on business he feels personally vested in. That doesn't happen often. Poor Triple M. They better watch themselves. I almost feel sorry for them.

“Get over yourself, Tease,” I say as I take a step back and move into the bedroom, dressing in a loose fitting shirt and a pair of jeans. When I'm around the guys, I dress like the name implies: corsets, leather pants, dark lipstick. When I'm alone, I'd rather lounge around in a faded gym shirt from my freshman year of high school and my sister's abandoned jeans, just a size too big for me.

I grab my magazine from last night and a pack of cigarettes and head out onto the front porch for some more people-watching fun. Our house is exactly ten blocks away from the clubhouse, along the same street. It's also a historic district, so we get tons of tourists, cameras flashing, eyes wide with wonder. Even our house is a relic from times past. There's a circular placard to the left of the front door. The Marston House: built circa 1719.

I curl up in a chair, cigarette pressed tight between my lips and start watching, flicking my eyes down to the page every now and again, just to pretend I'm actually reading. Maybe, if I'm lucky today, I'll actually see somebody worth looking at.





Beck

Chapter 6

I don't wait around to see what's what. This shit ain't coincidence, and I highly doubt that Seventy-seven Brothers is just stoppin' into town for a nice vacation. I can absolutely guarantee that they are not here for toast and jam.

“I hate being right, Goddamn it.” As predicted, here we go again. Another MC, another tussle. I flip my bike around and use those side streets I just memorized to zip back to the hotel. If Seventy-seven Brothers takes the exit from the highway, it'll take 'em about five minutes to catch up to us. Meaning, we can't really get nowhere, not with everybody spread all about, lounging on the fucking beach and whatever. We can make a stand though. I doubt the two cops that patrol this town have enough manpower to stop us.

When Kent was around, he made friends in weird places. Don't know how the man did it. Guess he had some sort of scary charisma or somethin'. I, myself, was immune from the start, but I was drawn to Gaine and Austin, Kimmi, like we'd been friends forever. Anyhow, whatever he did to keep us out of this sort of situation, it'd be nice to know. Startin' fights with other gangs is not my idea of a good time. Yes, I like to rough fuckers up every now and again, but the danger factor here is too high. One wrong move, one misspoken word, and that could be all it takes.

I hop off my bike and burst into the back door of the restaurant, sweating up a storm but trying my best to keep my calm. No need to get these touristy folks up in a tizzy. Luckily, my instincts are dead-on as usual – the lovebirds are still a nestin'. Austin sees me first, standing up from the table with pursed lips and eyes locked on mine.

“We got a problem, Pres. A big one.” I put a cigarette into my mouth and light up. Think there's a no smoking thing going on in here, but fuck 'em. What are they going to do? Arrest me? “To be precise with y'all, I'd say we had, I don't know, seventy-seven of them.”

“Fuck,” Austin snaps, making Christy jump. Poor little blonde belle. I wish we could've welcomed her and Amy under different circumstances, into the world we used to know, where everything was quiet and all our jobs were kept secret behind closed doors. I know it don't sound perfect, but it was nice. It worked. “Where are they?”