Page 10 of Playing for Keeps

I try to imagine Lola McGraw at the homestead. The image in my head feels like a lie. She’s mine yet also a creature trapped in a very specific location. I can’t imagine her in my parents’ house or living at the homestead.

In fact, she lives and works in Basin Rock. Her family runs the town. Is commuting even possible?

I’ll likely need to give up my plans to live at the homestead. Before today, I hadn’t thought about the Blood-Red Suns Motorcycle Club or Basin Rock. I didn’t give Duke McGraw much mind, either.

The reality of what I’ve agreed to hits me while the house fills up with people. I don’t show my panic, but I’m suddenly aware I might have bitten off way more than my flawless teeth can chew.

LOLA, AKA DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL HAS GOT ISSUES

I find myself too flipping shocked about the Val thing to do more than follow Duke around for the rest of the day. I sit quietly in the corner of Blood-Red Suns’ clubhouse while my dad explains the club’s future to the meatheads.

My father spent years rounding up every halfway decent young man in this area. Many had no dads or loser ones. Duke was a shining star in a town filled with black holes. These young men couldn’t help feeling drawn to him. The club offered them direction and a chance at a better life.

Duke has always kept them in line and not just through aggression. He can be truly inspiring. Yet, if violence is necessary, my dad fights better than any of those younger mooks.

“I never teach them my secrets,” was how he explained how he always wins. “After enough of them lost fights, they stopped trying.”

Only a few tried, especially after Duke and Dallas got into a huge brawl. I’ve never forgiven my uncle for challenging my father in such a public way. There was no universe where Dallas could win. Why embarrass himself and injure my dad on a pipedream?

All because my slutty aunt Gingerly was convinced her man was the real brains behind the Blood-Red Suns. She stopped spewing that nonsense after my father overpowered Dallas. In the end, she threw herself over her man’s limp body when my dad kept stomping on the defeated man’s crotch.

“You’ll steal his manhood!” she cried in horror.

Duke only shrugged and spat blood on the ground. “I’m okay with that. Are we done here?”

My uncle admitted defeat, and the younger guys earned even more respect for the man who led them.

That doesn’t mean they don’t go rabble-rouser when they hear the news about the club’s future.

“I don’t want to be a Rawkfist fucker,” Cubby whines. I instantly glare at the asshole with his long, stringy black hair and a somewhat handsome face. “What the hell is a ‘rawkfist’ anyway?”

“Would you rather be patched over by the Charleston club?” Duke demands.

Cubby’s thick shoulders sag. None of these men want to be bossed around by the crazy dictator running the Charleston club. That doesn’t mean they want to take orders from Val Mercer, either.

I picture the beautiful beefcake standing where my dad is and exerting his power over these men. The image feels like a lie. Val is gorgeous and funny, but he isn’t Duke.

“We’re all making sacrifices here,” my dad explains when the men mutter in quiet defiance. “I built this club out of nothing. My mom came up with the name. The Blood-Red Suns was my third baby, and it’ll be gone soon.”

Duke’s voice refuses to reveal his pain. He always hides the stress and loneliness he feels at the top. Those unspent feelings built up until he had a panic attack and saw his life ending.

Right now, none of his fears are obvious. He mostly looks annoyed by their whining.

“Let’s remember how we got here,” Duke grumbles and lets his dark-blue gaze wash over them. “I tried to mentor more than one of you dumbasses, but you always want to be each other’s buddies. No rules for the bros, right?”

Though the club members act like big dumb kids, they’re all huge men. If just one of them could have grown a brain, maybe Val Mercer wouldn’t be my father’s only choice.

“What about Dallas?” Cubby asks.

“He likes Florida, and I prefer him in another state.”

“Maybe we should all go to Florida,” Mucky says, and I notice other guys nodding.

“Dude, no,” Cubby tells the man next to him. “I tried that shit, and it’s so hot. Made my balls itch all the time.”

“That’s the kind of wisdom that makes it hard to believe you couldn’t keep Tuesday Mercer interested,” Knobby mutters, winning a shove from Cubby.

“I want you to remember this moment,” Duke says in a scary hard voice. “When you feel like Val is a bad president or you don’t like wearing the Rawkfist vest, you remember this moment right here. I’m giving up my club to keep you assholes safe. I tried to teach one of you, just one fucking guy, to run things. None of you wanted to step up. So now, you’ll take shit from Val Mercer and his club. And if any of you give me pushback over that decision, I plan to remind you of this moment by punching you in the fucking throat.”

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