Page 8 of Siren's Salvation

Present Day…

The bass thumps through my chest as I weave through the crowd, dodging flying elbows and sloshing drinks.

The clubhouse is packed wall-to-wall with leather-clad bikers, ol’ ladies, some of the older club kids, and wannabe patch bunnies, all here to ring in the New Year with the Reapers Rejects MC.

Multicolored lights flash across grinning faces, and the air is thick with the mixed scents of whiskey, champagne, and whatever beers the brothers and sisters are drinking.

There’s so much noise and things going on in here.

I’m not normally the type who gets overstimulated, but there are so many extra people here today.

I need some fresh air and a moment to clear my head.

Slipping away from the crowd, I make my way outside, the cool Montana night air a welcome relief on my flushed skin.

I reach into my pocket, fishing out the joint I rolled earlier.

It's some of the good stuff Dex and I have been growing on the far end of the property.

As I light up, I can't help but smirk.

If only the old-timers knew what we were really doing.

They don’t have a fucking clue, but we wanted to make sure we got it right before we pitched the idea to them.

It could be a great success, or Zane and Blackjack are going to make us burn it all down for not discussing it with them first.

I take a long hit, the smoke curling up into the night sky.

It's oddly peaceful out here, alone with my thoughts and the distant roar of celebration inside the clubhouse.

I heard that back in the day, this farm used to produce corn, wheat, and they’d rent fields out to other farmers.

There were some rumors about beef cattle, but I’m not sure how true that is.

We have beef cattle on about twenty acres right now, and hogs, but just enough to sustain the families within the club.

The unused land could be put to much better use growing cash crops like marijuana.

Taking a deep drag, I savor the familiar burn in my lungs.

Who would've thought Blackjack's son would turn out to be such a green thumb?

Then again, maybe it's in the blood—Blackjack's always been good at cultivating things.

As the smoke curls around me, my eyes adjust to the darkness.

There’s a load of laughter coming from around the corner.

That's when I spot them—three figures huddled near the edge of the clubhouse.

I can make out Noelle's blonde hair catching the moonlight.

With her are Aggie and Davina, passing something between them.

I don’t know what it is, but these girls aren’t up to anything good.

I was a young, rebellious teenager once too, so I can only imagine what they’re passing back and forth.

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