Page 35 of Charger

THIRTEEN

Six Years Later

Charger

“Surprise!”

Fuck. I skid to a stop just as a balloon floats by my head. A goddamn balloon. Streamers? Balloons? This isn’t happening. Not for my birthday. Fuck my birthday.

Chain approaches me with a slap to the shoulder. “Say anything about the fucking streamers or any of the other decorations, and I’ll cut your balls off. Oh, and happy birthday, kid.”

Ha, kid. Guess turning twenty-five means I’m still a kid. Well shit, I don’t feel like one. Not after the shit I’ve seen or been through over the years. That little boy with the Batman underwear is long gone.

From the sound of Chain’s warning, I can assume that his Ol’ Lady had everything and anything to do with this shindig. I don’t do birthdays. And I sure as fuck don’t do surprises. I haven’t celebrated a birthday in a long-ass time and I would like to keep it that way. But Mags, being the sweet woman that she is, just had to throw me a birthday party. Her heart is in the right place, but this shit just isn’t me.

Maggie, aka Mags, is also Chain’s Ol’ Lady. Which means by default, hands off or you get them sent through a meat grinder along with whatever other body part he feels is necessary. That’s what it means to have an Ol’ Lady. It means to claim her. To protect her as yours. That’s real shit right there, and more than any piece of paper could offer.

I catch her from the corner of my eye as she walks over to me, with a smile that could light up a dark room. The small hint of age around her eyes lets us know she’s been through hell and back in this club. She’s the “momma” of the club, so to speak. But I don’t think it’s a title she regrets, not even a little. Chain was the one to start this biker club from the ground up. Maggie was with him from the start. Side by side.

“Happy birthday! I hope I didn’t go too overboard. I mean, maybe I could have eased up on the decorations a little.” She stares at the balloons in question.

“You, overboard? Never, woman.” Chain winks.

“Nah, I appreciate it, Mags. Everything is great, even the balloons and streamers.”

“Oh, good.” Relief fills her eyes. “We just couldn’t let your twenty-fifth birthday go unnoticed, now, could we?” Oh, you definitely could have. “Well, I’d better go check on the cake and make sure no one has stuck their grubby fingers in it.” She kisses us both on the cheek, then heads straight for the kitchen on a mission.

“Well, kid, go mingle, drink, get some pussy. I don’t know? Do whatever it is you want. It’s your birthday so live it up.” Before I can say anything, he yells over my shoulder. “Hey, you!” He points at a prospect. “Don’t fucking touch that balloon. Damn kid,” he rambles under his breath as he walks away. Yeah, he would do anything for Mags—that’s for damn sure.

The place is packed with the usual club hang-arounds, some members, and those prospects waiting (hoping) to get patched-in. Lucky for me, I earned my way in just fine, got patched-in last year. I owe a lot to this club and I would gladly put my life on the line for any one of them. Most days I do. Not because it’s part of the job description. There’s more to it than that… Chain, along with the others, saved my life. These guys are my brothers, maybe not by blood but definitely by bond. It helps fill the void that’s been missing for the last six years.

“Hey, man.” Tank strolls over to me, holding two beers. He hands one off to me. Dude’s a big fucker, half the reason for his name. The other reason? He served his time in the army, drove those armored machines around like a boss.

He takes a swig before we sit down at the bar. “How’s it feel to be at the mid-point to thirty? Think it sucks now? You just wait till you’re my age.”

“Your age? You realize that you’re only six years older than me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, but it feels like I’m a hell of a lot older. My fucking knees crack like a seventy-year-old. But…” He takes back another swig of beer. “At least my dick is still in pristine condition.”

“You’re fucked up, man.” I shake my head. But laughter follows.

“I know. The ladies dig it though. Makes me a freak in the sheets.” He leans back and stretches his massive arms above his head. “Speaking of ladies, I noticed you haven’t touched Stiletto lately. She’s been hittin’ up Throttle and Bullet for an easy lay.” He laughs, which sounds like thunder. “Those guys would fuck anything with a pussy, doesn’t matter who it is. But something tells me you don’t give a shit.”

“Nope. I don’t give a shit.” Leaning forward onto the bar, I signal for Tequila to get me another beer. “She can fuck whoever she wants. She isn’t my Ol’ Lady. Never will be.” Stiletto doesn’t mean anything to me. But the feeling is mutual. She’s there when I need a good lay, but that’s it.

Tank whistles. “All right, all right. Fair enough.”

Tequila comes back with another beer, setting a shot glass down next to it. “Here you go, handsome. It’s your birthday after all.” She leans forward, letting her tits spill out of her shirt. Would I be lying if I said she wasn’t hot as hell? Yeah, but for some reason lately, only one girl keeps showing up in my mind. The same one I haven’t spoken to in years. She’s been consuming me, today especially. Every birthday has been hell since I was like twelve.

I slam the shot back, feeling the burn from the alcohol. “Thanks, Tequila.”

She smiles with her pouty lips, swaying her hips as she works her way to Hush, who’s at the other end of the bar. “Now, that is one hot piece of ass.” When I don’t say anything, Tank leans forward, finishing off his beer. “Where’s your head been at, brother?”

“Ah, fuck. I don’t know, man, just been off lately. Birthdays and shit always have this effect on me.”

“This have anything to do with that girl that you won’t talk about?”

That girl.

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