Page 30 of Bozo

I take another sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest. The Fury Vipers have been around for decades. They’re based mainly in the US, but Pyro met Chloe Gallagher and theFury Viper MC started a chapter here in Ireland. Everyone says the same thing. The Fury Vipers MC are a brotherhood, a family.

That’s not something I’ve ever had before. Gráinne is the only one who is even close to a family that I have.

The bell above the door chimes, and I glance over my shoulder. Two bikers saunter in, wearing the same cut Pyro had on the other night. They’re part of the Fury Vipers club too.

They move to the pool table at the back of the pub. They’re both American, their voices not loud, but also not quiet. They rack up the balls and start playing.

Donal shuffles over to take their order, exchanging familiar greetings. It's clear they're regulars here too. I haven’t seen them here before.

I turn back to my drink, my mind racing. Can I really do this? Join their world? What if they think just like my dad did, that I’m nothing more than a genius freak?

I signal Donal for another whiskey, and as he pours, I catch him eyeing the bikers, then me. There's a knowing look in his light brown eyes.

"Thinking of making some changes, lad?" he asks softly.

I hesitate then shrug slowly. "Maybe. I don't know yet."

He slides the fresh drink toward me. "Sometimes, the only way to know is to take the leap."

The thing is, I’m not sure if I’m wanting to take that leap. There’s still a lot I don’t know about them. I don’t take uncalculated risks. Never have, never will.

“Christ,” Donal grunts. “What the hell is Eamon doing here?”

I turn and see the man in question stumbling around. Christ, he’s drunk as a skunk and slurring his words like a motherfucker. There’s only one thing you can guarantee with Eamon: he’ll be belligerent while drunk and start a fight. The man spends the majority of his time in the drunk tank. He alsohas a gambling addiction and owes Lorcan more money than he’ll ever be able to repay.

Eamon staggers toward the bar, his bloodshot eyes scanning the room. His gaze lands on the bikers at the pool table, and a sneer twists his face.

"Well, well," he slurs, loud enough for everyone to hear. "If it ain't the Yankee boys playing dress-up."

The pub goes quiet. I tense, watching as the bikers slowly turn to face Eamon. The largest of them, a burly man with a thick beard, steps forward.

"You got a problem?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Eamon laughs, a harsh, grating sound. "Yeah, I got a problem. You lot, thinking you can come over here and act like you own the place."

Donal moves from behind the bar, his weathered face creased with worry. "Now, Eamon, let's not start any trouble. Why don't you head on home?"

But Eamon's too far gone, too drunk and angry to listen to reason. He shoves past Donal, nearly knocking the old man over. I stand up, ready to intervene, but the bikers beat me to it.

"Hey!" one of them shouts, grabbing Eamon's arm. "Watch it, asshole!"

Eamon whirls around, his fist already swinging. It connects with the biker's jaw with a sickening crack. In an instant, chaos erupts.

The bearded biker tackles Eamon, sending them both crashing into a nearby table. Glasses shatter, chairs topple, and patrons scramble to get out of the way.

I stand frozen, caught between the desire to help and the instinct to stay out of it. But when I see Donal trying to break up the fight, getting jostled and pushed in the process, I know I can't just stand by.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the melee. I grab Eamon's collar, yanking him back just as he's about to throw another punch. He stumbles, off-balance, and I use his momentum to spin him around.

"Eamon!" I shout, getting in his face. "That's enough! You need to leave, now!"

For a moment, his glazed eyes focus on me, confusion replacing the anger. Then recognition dawns, and he sneers.

"Well, if it ain't the little genius," he spits. "Daddy's golden goose. What are you gonna do, boy? Calculate me to death?"

I clench my jaw, fighting back the urge to punch him myself. Instead, I tighten my grip on his shirt and start pushing him toward the door.

"I said, leave," I growl.

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