Page 14 of Raiden

“I realize that no one properly explained to you how things are here, so I’m going to tell you, so you have it as your truth. People see biker clubs as no good. They see the bike and the patches and they think outlaw like it’s a bad thing and most of the time, it can be. Not us. Your grandfather—Zale’s father—started this club. Peterson Grand wanted it clean. He had a few buddies that were fucked up, coming back from the war and other hard shit. Clubs were popping up all over, getting popular for all the wrong reasons, attracting all the wrong kinds of guys.”

“Very true.”

I can barely concentrate because I’m watching her. Sticking out in all her biker glory, she still looks so elemental outhere with the birds trilling and the mosquitoes whining, the sun dappling through the leaves and plants.

I force myself to continue and not get distracted again. “They were virtually lawless, even if they didn’t start out that way. We don’t have many rules, but one of his was no hard drugs. Guys could drink their face off, but he didn’t truck with anything more than weed. It kept the violence down, I’ll give him that. He wanted to be a family and that’s what we’ve always been. If you want to give up your colors and do something else, you’re free to go. We believe patching in should be for life, but no one’s getting shot because they want to do something different. People grow and change. That’s just a fact. We’re man enough to understand. But while you’re in the club, you’re a brother, and that means having each other’s back. It means acting with honor.”

Widow’s eyes are on me, she gives a nod of understanding, and I continue.

“We wanted to look after this city, not terrorize it. Sure, when we ride out it’s awe inspiring. All that power and all those bikes rumbling like a thunderstorm of wrath brought down by Zeus himself. Violence talks, but so does kindness, compassion, and peace. Even Zale didn’t believe in people fearing him. We thought he was a good prez, and he was, until the power went to his head. It’s hard, leading all of this, making all those tough choices and knowing no one can outvote you, dealing with all the money and being on top of it all. Zale used to be a different kind of man and that’s why we’re a different sort of club. It’s all due to his raising and his own dad’s ideas. It’s common sense, really. You’re the maker of your own destiny and the creator of your own problems. You start that shit and you’re just opening the door for a bunch of lives ruined, but also for others to stepup and take you on because they want a piece of that empire. We might rule Hart in our own way, but the city tolerates the club because of the good we do. We’ve eliminated the small-time dealers so there’s a fuck of a lot less violence. Gray’s working with the council right now to rezone some buildings for low-income housing.”

“Don’t pretend you’re saints.” She interrupts dryly. “You still have your strip clubs and you’re doing well because of drugs, whether they’re hard or not.”

“Yeah, we’ve got our clubs. Got tons of legit business, like any smart club. Not all of what we do is illegal. The only other club rules we have came directly from Zale’s father himself. Don’t dishonor your club. Don’t walk around acting like you’re above anything or anyone else or like you own Hart because we’re all just a part of building something we can be proud of. Our families live here. We’re raising our kids up here. We want it to be the kind of place that they can be safe and free in. This club does good things even though we might not be the best sort of men. Don’t ever harm a woman. That’s where we’re different. You can’t tell me in your experience you’ve seen the club whores worth anything. No doesn’t mean no if you’re a biker. You’re above caring about what other people think.”

She rolls her eyes hard. Far beyond the regular eyeroll. “You’re so high on your own importance.”

“Because we treat our women well and refuse to see the club whores as non-humans? Guess what, princess, they’re the ones servicing you. That the kind of woman you want to abuse and piss off? We don’t allow underage girls at our strip clubs or anywhere else. Fucking makes me sick what other clubs are doing. You think riding a bike gives you the power to determinethe worth of another person, to make them small and keep them there?”

“I’m sorry. No.” She laughs because she clearly can’t help her incredulity. “You can’t expect bikers to conform to that though.”

“We’re a small club. We’ve always been careful about who we let in.”

“How has that not bit you in the ass? Someone you turn away looking to make a point of the embarrassment?”

She has a point. “We’re the only chapter and won’t be expanding anywhere anytime soon. You can’t control the men who you aren’t with every day. How can you think of those men as your club brothers when you don’t even know them? How can you die for a stranger?”

“So none of you have violent, fucked up pasts.”

“Not saying that.”

“Anyone can become an animal. It just takes the right situation.”

“Sure. But we try not to get ourselves into that kind of shit.”

She crosses her arms and stalks off. I’m not sure where she thinks she’s going. She as lost as I am. At least talking about this has done something to take my mind off my growling stomach and the unease at not knowing where I am.

She turns when I follow her. “You sound more like a group of small-town whiners going to Sunday school than a group of outlaw bikers getting their hands dirty, riding and living hard on the wrong side of the law.”

“Yeah? Does abusing women and snorting blow make you tough?”

“What happens when someone comes for you, and you’re not prepared? You have to take them on their terms. What happens when someone makes a mistake and it gets personal and that enemy has the manpower and the desire to wipe you off the face of the earth? Where does your self-preservation plan get you then? What happens when your golden boy of a prez makes a mistake? Why does he get a pass and not my father when they both betrayed their men?”

Fuck, I really don’t want to talk about that. “Zale took away our freedom.”

“Yourfreedom,” she corrects. “But how is it not currently the same thing? Was Zale incorrect in assuming there’d be a mutiny in favor of his son? Where’s the morality in betraying your prez?”

“I forgot that the only prez you’ve ever known is one selfishly out there for his own interests. Men join up because they want a brotherhood. They want to get out from under the fuckers telling them what to do and not giving a shit that they’re nothing more than a cog in a machine. That’s the kind of prez you and the rest of your ridiculous Berserkers serve.” She gives a shrug.

We’re circling around, which is exactly what I don’t want to be doing. I came out here to apologize and I want to leave it at that. Besides, it’s getting later and later in the afternoon. I’m wasting time talking, when I should be figuring out how the hell to get back to our bikes before we have to spend the night out here.

“Trust comes hard when it’s been shot to all fuck and gone, which isn’t your fault.” I stick my hand out. “I said vows I didn’t mean at the time, but like you, I obey my prez. I wanted what was best for Hart and for our club, wanted to have my brothers alive and our families whole and together. I wanted to live free. I meant that. I mean it right here and now. Truce?”

She studies my palm. I don’t lower it. This is something I’m not backing down on. We’re not leaving here until she takes it.

We probably won’t be leaving here even if she shakes my hand.

We’re still lost as all holy fuck.

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