Page 7 of Alex

Clean and I walk out to our bikes passing Gin and Crystal, one of our club bunnies. “You alright Prez, you need more backup?” Gin asks, ready to push the woman away from him and hop on his bike with us.

“Nah, stay here. It’s just a bar, no affiliation with anyone we have problems with.” I tell Gin. I’m not completely sure that there is no affiliation, but I don’t want them to think now that I’ve become the president, I can’t stand on my own two feet. Gin smirks at me but he doesn’t say another word. He’s another one that doesn’t think that I’m ready for this position. He may not have said so but I can tell with every fucking glance that I’m right.

Clean and I set out on the road and we make it to the bar in less than twenty minutes. Hector is the owner of a small niche bar downtown. It specializes in Jazz and live music, along with live interactive shows. From what he says they’re usually pretty entertaining. I have yet to come down here and see one. The problem is he’s so far downtown that he’s been ripped off quite a few times and he just doesn’t have the funds to keep replacing his equipment.

“I just need someone to keep those bastards away from the bar and my patrons. That’s all.” Hector says.

“Yeah, it seems like a simple protection detail. Nothing crazy.” I say and look over to Clean who is sitting at the table with Hector and I. He hasn’t said a word since he got here but his leg is tapping furiously and he’s sweating.

“Clean, you good?” I pat his arm and wait for him to look up at me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He says but the muscles in his jaw are locked up, so it comes out harsh.

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine. In fact, you look like you might hurl.”

“It’s fin…” He stops talking abruptly, looks away and the tapping picks up speed before he looks back up to me. “I’m sorry, Prez.” He shakes his head and I squint my eyes. What’s he sorry for? Just as I’m about to ask him a loud gurgling sound comes from his stomach and he clenches his hands together on the table.

“What the fuck! You got a fucking alien trying to get out of your guts or something?” I laugh at him. “I knew that sandwich and milk was going to fuck you up.”

Clean groans and taps harder. He looks like he’s really in pain, fuck I guess this shit isn’t funny anymore. “You need a hospital?”

“Bathroom.” He spits out.

“Straight back.” Hector gestures and Clean surges up with his hand over his mouth, running in that direction.

For thirty minutes Hector and I shoot the breeze while Clean vomits and shits his life away. Seems like he has food poisoning but he’s refusing to go to the hospital.

“I’ll be good Prez, just need a few seconds to get my head right. Little dizzy.” Clean says weakly.

Hector pushes a glass of juice in his hands, “You should be, you don’t have anything left in your system. You’re going to need to rest for a little while.”

“Yeah, I will when I get back to the clubhouse.” Clean tries to get up from the bathroom floor where he’s been laying down.

“You think I’m going to let you ride anywhere like this?” I push him back down. “Last fucking thing I need right now is for you to fucking wipe out.”

“I have a cot in the back room. It’s yours if you want to take a nap, get some food and drink. You can leave after that.” Hector offers.

“That sounds like a good idea. I have to get over to the trailer manufacturer to check on our order, but I can get Wire to come up here and sit with you.” I help Clean up to his feet.

“You sure Prez, I can ride. I can do it.” Clean tries to tell me but from the dead weight I’m trying to lift, I know he can’t.

“Yeah, Clean. Just get yourself together. I’ll be fine riding twenty minutes on my own.”

“Okay, a bed sounds nice. Fuck, I’m tired.” Clean sways as Hector and I help him to the small cot. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

* * *

I should have known.

Shit always fucking happens when you’re alone. I look over my shoulder again and just as I suspected, those guys are still back there. Four guys on motorcycles are about three blocks away. I can’t see who they are or if they’re a threat to me. They’ve kept their distance and haven’t done anything threatening, so it could just be four people out for a ride. Unfortunately, my anxiety is ramping up big time. I can’t call the club and tell them to come guns blazing if I’m not sure, but then again, I don’t really want to find out if I’m right.

I look behind myself again and the four of them must be laughing about something because they are still at the light joshing around. One of them hits the other and throws his head back in what I can only assume is a cackle. I’m being fucking paranoid. They aren’t Rolling Cobras, and no one is after me.

I pull off and ride back towards the clubhouse, but I go the long way just in case. The four of them rode in a different direction and just as I’m about to speed back toward the clubhouse the four of them skid back onto the road behind me. Aggressively picking up speed and getting close enough for me to see their patches.

Rolling Cobras.

I should’ve fucking known.

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