Page 3 of Raze

“What in the hell is goin’ down here?” I stare at all the shocked faces in front of me, the only sound audible now is the clock ticking on the wall and the beer dripping from the tap.

“Raze.” Ruckus climbs himself outta the five-man maul, managing to stand on his feet. “Pleased ya here.” He smiles. Wiping the blood from his hands onto his jeans before holding it out to me. I take a look around the clubhouse and all its broken parts. Wondering who I can trust and who I can’t.

“Clean this place the fuck up.” I look at the men I’ve been sent here to lead and question my own fuckin’ sanity. I had a peaceful life back in Wyoming. I owned a bar no one drank at, in a town where no one knew me. Life was lonely and it was fuckin’ perfect.

“You all got church at 9 am tomorrow.” I walk past all the stunned faces toward the side door that leads out onto the balcony.

“9 am!” I hear someone comment, and when I turn my head back around the culprit immediately drops his head. “I’ll be there, Boss,” he tells me sheepishly, and I quickly move on, stepping out onto the decked balcony and taking in the view of the ocean.

There’s more people out here, hanging out on our beach and sitting around the fire pit, all of ‘em lookin’ outta their heads. I don’t know what Cliff Adams’ vision for this club was, but I’m sure strung-out teenage girls and wasted wreck-heads wasn’t what Jimmer wanted when he sent him out here to set this charter up. It’s hard to believe now, but there was a time when I saw the beauty in this place. A time when all my dreams and plans for the future were based around it, but dreams fade and futures get crushed. I guess some of us are sadistic enough to drag ourselves back to the past and allow ourselves to be reminded of that.

I rest my elbows on the wooden rails that look out over the beach and take in some more of that air. I don’t have my own vision yet, and that scares me. When I get into something, I like to have a plan, and it feels as if all this has been suddenly dumped on me from a great fuckin height.

“Raze.” I look over my shoulder when Ruckus comes to stand beside me.

“You want me to get one of the girls to make ya up a room? I could get ‘em to look at that too, I don’t know if you remember but Polly’s pretty handy with a needle.” He frowns when he notices the slash on my arm, but he doesn’t question it.

“Nah, I got somewhere to stay.” At least, I think I do.

I leave him on the balcony and take the steps down to the beach, passing all the hangouts that are here having fun as I head toward the lifeguard tower that marks the start of our territory. The state don’t guard these waters. We own this patch of beach. When Jimmer Carson bought the motel he made a promise to the chief of police and the mayor that the Souls would keep this side of town clean, so long as we had our privacy. I can already see, from the short time I’ve been in town, that Cliff Adams ain’t seen Jimmer’s promise through.

I veer away from the water, toward the beachside hut that used to be mine, wondering what will be left of it. I’m sure many a storm has passed through here over the years, along with curious teenagers and folk sleeping rough. So, I'm surprised to find the place still standing strong. The chains I bolted the doors with are still holding up and although the porch needs fixing up, the rest of the place looks as if it’s still watertight. I find the key to the bolt on my keyring and have to be firm with the lock since it’s rusted, but eventually, I get it busted and manage to open the doors to the place I was gonna call home.

It’s only a small space but I have everything I need, and when I look at all the dust that’s collected on my furniture I can’t help thinking back to how I felt when I left. This dust has built heavier over time, much like my hatred, and I know Cliff Adams’ soul was promised to Wrath but I will make sure I’m there to watch his suffering when it gets taken.

I head to the small restroom at the back of the hut and reach into the cupboard above the basin so I can take out the first aid box, then moving back outside to the porch where it’s light, I grab the bottle of Jack outta my duffle bag and take a seat on the bench.

My phone vibrates and when I check it, I see a message from a number I don’t know.

We need to talk. Polly.

“Here’s to being home.” I raise the bottle toward the ocean before knocking it back, then taking the needle and thread from the box I set to work, sewing up the wound on my arm.

Keep your head low and don’t draw attention to yourself. That's what Kane told me to do. And I’ve already failed. I’m tired from my brain going over what happened, and all the driving I’ve done. I’m drained from all the panicking and constant looking over my shoulder. Is it really surprising that I lost concentration for a few seconds and reversed into that guy's bike? I slam my hand into my steering wheel in frustration. Of all the people in this city who I could have crashed into, it just had to be one of them.

I may not have grown up around here, but I’ve heard plenty about The Dirty Souls. Their club is known nationwide, their members are feared just as much as they’re respected, but the Souls that reside here in Long Beach are renowned for being different. Apparently, they are feral men, who don’t even abide by their own club rules. I’ve heard the stories, but after coming into contact with the one whose bike I knocked over at the diner, I find myself questioning if all I’ve heard is true. He seemed to be a reasonable guy. Handsome as hell, but that’s beside the point. What happened today could have turned out very bad for me and I need to be more alert.

My palms are sweating and I can feel my pulse beating as I contemplate spending another night sleeping in my car. I don’t have much left of the cash my brother gave me when he insisted that I get out of town. I can’t risk using my credit card in case they have someone trying to track me and I’m fully aware that this cash isn’t going to last me very long in a city like this one.

“Come on, think.” I tap my hands against the wheel, trying to come up with a plan. I’m so tempted to turn on the cell phone and call Kane. Just hearing my big brother's voice would make me feel better. But he made me promise not to contact him, and knowing how serious all this is I can’t risk going against his word. I roll my seat back and reach onto the backseat for the sleeping bag and pillow, then attempting to make myself comfortable I try to get some sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see the blood on my hands all over again. The pain of regret twists itself in my gut and makes it impossible to get any sleep. I shouldn’t have even been at the club that night, Kane was always telling me to stay away from there. But I got spooked and chose not to listen to him.

All this is my fault, and now I have a whole gang of bikers probably wanting to hunt me down and make me pay for killing one of their members.

I’ve ruined everything for Kane. All he ever wanted was to be a Reaper and in one split-second decision, I took that dream away from him.

I feel my chest tighten and the nerves in my stomach knot when I think about the danger I’ve got us into.

The Satan’s Reapers were the club our father belonged to before he got sent to jail. I don’t know much about what happened, but I do know that he pissed off a lot of people with the way he behaved after his arrest. Kane had to work so hard to prove that he’s nothing like him for the club to even consider making him a prospect, and now because of me, all that work has been for nothing.

I toss and turn, barely getting a wink of sleep through the night, but I must drift off at some point because I get woken by the sound of a huge truck honking its horn behind me. Sitting bolt upright, I flip him the bird out my rear view window, then starting my engine I pull out of the bay I’m parked in and move on to the motel that’s a few 100 yards up the street. My stomach is rumbling so I decide to head for the reception to see if there's a vending machine I can grab something from.

The woman behind the desk has the phone pressed against her ear and smiles at me when I step inside.

I smile back and head for the vending machine to the left of her desk browsing through the options while she talks to her friend about what an asshole her boyfriend is.

“Can you believe his idea of an apology was to send me a basket of muffins? Fucking muffins! He knows I’ve got to fit into that bridesmaid dress for Cheryl's wedding next month.” She looks across at me and her expression changes. She frowns as if she’s concerned and I immediately wonder if she knows something. “Tess, I’ll call you back.” She hangs up the phone and steps out from behind her desk.

“Honey, are you okay? You look kinda pale.”

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