Page 5 of Ghoul

Ghoul

The Clubhouse

Cleveland, Ohio

2001

The stench of death wasn’t one that was easily forgotten. The human brain was a wondrous thing for some, and for others, a curse. The smell of a dead body was one that stuck with a person. It circled the nostrils and settled into the deepest part of the skull where the sinuses laid—unless you rubbed vapor rub beneath your nose. Even if you didn’t do that, it wasn’t the worst part of taking a life. The worst part was the violent malice of recollection. I was never prepared for the memories to flood me when they did. They were unexpected and always unwanted. The act of taking someone’s life never made me flinch, but bearing the weight of another’s psyche for the rest of eternity, was crippling. A soul wasn’t something that could be snuffed out as easily as flesh could. A person’s spirit lived long after their body was desecrated and hidden.

The flashbacks were arbitrary; I could never predict when they would come or go. Somedays, they would burn brighter than any star claiming to be a planet. It would burn my retinas from the inside out, eating away at my sanity, leaving me to find any way possible to stop the burn. Other times, it could be described more as a mere feeling of uneasiness that would leave me with a blink of my eyes, returning to their crevice of origin.

“Looks like your enforcer is a little green around the gills, Spider.” Papa, the founder of the Tonopah, NV chapter coughed, taking a drag from the joint and passing it to the next brother.

“You sure that’s the same kid who took out Stunner?” Hawk from our Ankeny, IA chapter spoke for the first time since he’d sat down with us, sitting up and taking two drags.

I glanced at him from my peripheral vision and gave my head a slight shake. Hawk wasn’t that much older than I was, and he was calling me a kid. Fucker may as well have just turned and pissed on my boot.

I heard the words they spoke clearly but didn’t bother to respond. Despite how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince myself I was where I was. Logically, I knew I was about six shots and countless beers into the state party our chapter was hosting, where I was the guest of honor. A new cold brew was in my hand anytime the last neared emptiness, and the open lot overran with a sea of pussy. I could have any girl here that I wanted or any number of them at the same time.

Lucidities and sex didn’t hold much weight with me anymore, though. To me, I was in that dark warehouse with the man who I later learned was named Jacob “Stunner” St. Clair. I wasn’t sure what it was that set him apart from the rest. Nothing about him or the situation was much different from any other Spider and I had been in, at least that was what I thought at the time. We were convinced he was our rat. He was the newest hang-around to wander into our club, so it made perfect sense that he deserved every bit of torture he’d received. Thing was, perfection and sensibility rarely merged together, despite the old assumption. The verdict of his innocence still had yet to be proven, and ten years had added up between his death and now. He wasn’t the first person I’d killed or had assisted in taking their life. My sentence was supposed to be a lot longer than Spider’s, but he knew the right people. Our early release wasn’t something that he ever fully divulged all the details to me, but truthfully, I didn’t care. My body was overwhelmed with gratitude to be out in the fresh air, even if my mind was still locked up.

I always heard being incarcerated changed a person but hadn’t given it too much thought until I found myself in the clink. Any person who spent any sizeable amount of time in prison became institutionalized, whether they realized it or not. Being behind hypothetical bars—most correctional facilities used doors with tiny windows now versus the old school metal bars—wasn’t the worst part. It was being stripped of your basic human needs, such as being able to walk outdoors, stupidly bending your neck backward to stare into the sun. Anyone above the age of eleven understood it wasn’t good for you to do, yet simply having the right to do so was cathartic.

Before I was released, I hadn’t spent more than an hour out in the rec room every few days—if I was lucky—for a long time. Freedom wasn’t something I ever appreciated more than I do now. The transition back into the world would take time, but I didn’t care if I was always an awkward fuck in society. I would take it any day over being in solitary or the psych unit. I never claimed to be the sanest person, so the time I spent in the “nut hut” didn’t surprise me, but it did teach me a valuable lesson. There was a lot more sanity swimming around in my head than most of the guys up there clung to, or at least, that was what I hoped. When I had killed people, I didn’t do it because I had a temporary lapse of judgment, I was always aware of my surroundings and actions. It made me a perfect enforcer for the Bastards, but the mental repercussions were profound. At night, I would lie awake in the darkness and listen to random one-sided conversations and faint screams. It was there I questioned how much of it was real and how much was happening in my mind.

“Nah, he just needs a pick me up. Isn’t that right, Ghoul?” Spider enunciated my name and jabbed his elbow into my ribs, ripping me back into reality. He nodded, passing the joint to me, and I inhaled, my lungs expanding to their full compacity. Weed had always calmed my nerves, and Spider knew it, so anytime I got lost in my own mind, he sparked some with me.

Patrick Stone, aka Trick, the D.C. Prez, ran his thumb over his nostril and snorted the remainder of the drugs in front of him up his nose, adjusting the woman’s ass over his crotch. She was more of a kid than a woman—if she was a day over eighteen, it would surprise the fuck out of me. Her deep red roots peeked out at the top of her brassy blonde strands that she had swiped behind her ear with her fingertips.

“Looks like you and Heavy have a lot more than age in common with this sweet ass.” Trick nodded toward her, and his hand landed against her exposed milky thigh. “You’re all useless bitches.”

I didn’t know much about Heavy, other than his dad was a dick, so whether or not he was a bitch was beyond me. At this point, it didn’t matter, though. Trick had not only insulted me, but he was also an asshole to his kid. I believed in tough love as much as the next guy, but intentionally pointing out your son’s weaknesses to make yourself look better was something I understood all too well.

My dad was cut from the same cloth as Trick. It didn’t matter how much I did, it was never enough. My old man always demanded more from me, even when I didn’t have anything left to give. I would be forever grateful to Spider for taking me under his wing and letting me crash on his couch when I was eighteen when he didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground.

Heavy’s lack of response and the way his shoulders dropped ever so slightly told me we shared the same upbringing. I only hoped someone could do what Spider had done for me with Heavy. I was in no position to make a long-term commitment to be someone’s big brother, but I could do something to save Heavy some face in front of all the brothers right now. He wasn’t technically a brother yet, but there was no denying the kid would be patched in sooner rather than later. Even if he did not prefer the club life for himself, it was clear Trick would make sure that was the place his life would lead to. People like Trick, narcissists, liked to keep people around that made them feel superior. Easy targets. It didn’t matter if they were family or otherwise, simply being able to feel power over someone else was enough to make them overlook their own insecurities.

Under normal circumstances, it would be a colossal over-step to challenge another chapter’s president, but Spider gave no fucks when someone was on our territory and disrespected one of us. Unable to contain my anger anymore, I uncrossed my legs and let out a long exasperated breath. “I can convince you,” thundered out of my mouth as I exhaled the gray cloud and took another hit as I stood. I’d taken time to tone my anger down to a manageable level when I was in the prison’s dungeon or as civilians referred to it as solitary confinement. Still, it didn’t mean I was any less of a threat to society.

Looking down into Trick’s eyes, I bent over and pressed my mouth to the barely legal girl’s plump lips, blowing the smoke into hers, giving her a shotgun of weed. “We might be close to her age, but I can assure you, we aren’t the weak ones. If that’s what you meant.” My eyes connected with his, and his lips parted with shock. “When I inflict pain upon others, I do it with purpose.” I wrapped my hands around her shoulders and lifted her off his lap, there was no need for her to be in the middle of this. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Bring it on, little boy,” Trick sneered as he stood and pushed his broad chest against mine. We were both big guys, but what he had in size on me, I would make up for in speed. I had picked up a new trick or two when fights broke out in the yard. Being a convict had its advantages and disadvantages, time being one of them. There wasn’t a lot you could do to make it pass by any faster, so I worked out—a lot. I found if I pushed myself harder each day, it kept my mind busy. As a result, I was ripped. Hell, my body had never been in better condition my entire life, so it wouldn’t be hard to hand Trick’s ass to him on a silver serving platter.

“Dad,” Heavy said in a quiet voice.

“Heh, most of us know how frustrating it is on the inside.” Spider edged his body in between the two of us and threw his arm over Trick’s shoulders. “It’s just as shitty out here, ain’t that right, brother?” He elongated the last word and white-knuckled Trick’s shoulder blade. “Let’s go get a refill.”

“That dude is a fuckstick if I’ve ever seen one,” Wily commented, shaking his head as soon as they were out of earshot and plucking the remainder of the joint from my fingers to blow the ashes off.

“Fuckin’ right, he’s a dick. If you hadn’t said something to him, I was going to, Ghoul.” Lean, a brother from the Pittsburgh, PA chapter, added with a sharp inhale, popping his knuckles against each other.

“He’s the king of dicks. Trust me, you don’t know the half of it. Sorry about him,” Heavy added, not offering any type of excuses for his dad.

“I understand him more than I wish to,” I replied flatly, shrugging my shoulders, and headed to apologize to the girl with the bad dye job for putting my hands on her. I had witnessed my dad do that one too many times to my mom and swore I would never do that to a woman without her permission. If a woman gave me her consent to cause pain, that was a completely different story altogether.

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