Page 26 of Sweet Pea

Sweet Pea

I awoke disoriented to the sound of bikes passing through the Sanctuary gates. I couldn’t tell exactly how many, but from the sheer volume of the pipes, I’d guess around a dozen. Unaware if the riders were friend or foe, I pulled the pistol I had hidden underneath my mattress and quietly got out of bed.

After Wolf’s “resignation” from the Saints, and Kitty’s subsequent reaction, Minus had instructed Clutch to collect and lock up any and all guns. Only those on guard duty would be armed. No exceptions. Minus feared the Spiders would be looking for any opportunity to ignite the war between us, and guns only increased the chances of violence happening in the streets of Portland. He was probably right but there was no way in hell I was gonna ride unarmed. Especially now. I figured whatever Minus would do to me if he found my gun couldn’t be worse than finding myself in a gunfight without a gun.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and was surprised to see it was 10:00 am. I never slept in this late, but a severe case of cottonmouth and a raging headache reminded me of how much I drank last night, not to mention everything else that went down. Jesus, what the fuck was I thinking?

I walked to the opposite side of the room to look out the window, but three loud raps on my door caused me to spin around and take aim.

Two more thumps.

I pulled back the hammer and held my breath.

“Pea, you in there?” my brother, Ropes called out, causing me to exhale and lower my weapon. “The guys are back from the run. Church is starting soon.”

“Yeah, be right there,” I replied, relieved I wasn’t going to have to engage in gunplay while battling a hangover.

I put the gun back in its hiding place, got dressed, and joined Ropes and the others outside. A small group of Saints had just returned from a charity run with the Bikers for Kids, including Doozer, one of the three soldiers under my newly appointed command along with Spike and Tacky.

Doozer was the club’s youngest but most promising member, and I saw him as the little brother I never had. He was patched in on his twenty-third birthday after only eight months of being a prospect. He was loyal to the club, more than capable with his hands, and was as charming as the Devil himself. The club had high hopes for him, and I was more than happy to have him as one of my soldiers.

Presently, Doozer appeared to be laying his famous charm on one of the BFK’s more intriguing members, a pretty young rider named Trouble. They were currently standing hip to hip, leaning against Doozer’s bike, arms around each other, seemingly unaware of the swirling chaos of bikes and bikers surrounding them. It was painfully obvious that Doozer had only volunteered to go on the run to spend time with Trouble, not that she seemed to mind.

“They been like this during the whole trip?” I asked, approaching Cowboy, the BFK’s President.

“Only the entire fucking time,” he responded dryly.

“They seem...happy.”

“I know. It’s fucking weird. I didn’t even know Trouble knew how to smile.”

I laughed. “He keep his hands off her ass long enough to be of any use to you out there?”

“He’s a good soldier. He stayed sharp on the road, did as he was told, and the kids loved him wherever we went.”

“Oh, yeah?”

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