Page 2 of Patching Over

As the tea kettle starts heating, I place my call. When he answers, sounding surprisingly alert despite the early morning hour, I don’t hesitate. “Ogun, you must help him find her.”

“Who, Grandme’? Who the hell am I helpingnow?”

Uncharacteristically, perhaps because the vision has me extremely unsettled, I snap, “Ogun! Listen! The man they call Brick. You must help him find her. Time is of the essence. Do you understand?”

“What I understand is that you have me traipsing all over the damn country. But we happen to be en route to his clubhouse now. He and his club are getting patched over into the Royal Bastards. Several of us from various chapters are going down to help them party.” I know he typically doesn’t share information of this sort with me, but based on his tone, he has possibly seen why things are so dire for this unknown female that had someone from the spiritual realm reaching out to me on her behalf.

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you soon. Be safe.” I disconnect the call, fix my tea, then head into my room. There will be no more sleep this evening. Instead, I am on a mission to find out what I can in order to assist however possible.

As I gather my things, I whisper, “We will find her, I promise.”

CHAPTER

ONE

Brick

As I sit inside the room we use for church, my eyes take in the memorabilia from years past. Shadowboxes adorn the walls with the cuts of our fallen brothers and in some cases, them and their old ladies if they went at the same time. Pictures of the members through the years are between them, giving anyone who looks at the wall a clear glimpse of the club’s varied and somewhat colorful history. Newer shadowboxes now house the cuts of me and my men since we’re all wearing Prospect cuts for the Royal Bastards. The Roanoke Raiders MC will officially disassemble once we patch over.

Last year, while attending Declan’s wedding, I let it be known that we were ready to move, so to speak. With many of the old timers retiring and moving away, our club was no longer as big as we once were. Knowing that we had similar ideologies, Declan talked to Jameson and lo and behold, we became a clubhouse full of prospects for the Royal Bastards.

Thankfully, after many discussions with Jameson, he was willing to allow us to have this ‘legacy’ wall since the men beforeus created the club we are today, while the cuts we presently wear indicate who we’re going to be in the future.

Brothers with thousands of others at our backs.

My grandfather, Astro, started the Roanoke Raiders MC with his best friend, Buck, when they came home from a war that everyone wanted to forget. Over the years, many men have sat in this room, planning things to make our lives better or eradicate threats. I took over the gavel from my father, Riffraff, five years ago after he stepped down when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Fucking cruel-ass disease, that’s for sure. He’s now in an assisted living facility, completely dependent on others for his care. I know he’d hate it if he were in his right mind, but thankfully, he has no clue as his bad days are now outweighing the good ones. I make a mental note to get him and his day nurse out to the clubhouse at least once a month since she’s indicated whenever he’s around the brothers, he seems to do much better. He regals her with stories of his youth, sometimes salacious ones if her giggles are any indication, and since he was my hero growing up, I’ll do whatever it takes to give him those good days. Once he passes, we’ll add his cut, which he wears while operating his motorized wheelchair throughout the property. I briefly glance at the double shadowbox, the one that houses Bonzai and Lorelei’s cuts. Definitely a dark time for our club, one that saw many losses and left my brother, Banshee, an orphan.

Thankfully, my folks took him in, not that the club would’ve allowed the system to get him. He’s my right hand, my vice president, and best friend, and thanks to the time he donated blood to me, we’re brothers in and outside of the club. He walks into the room, a scowl on his face. “You okay, Brother?” I ask.

“Eh, same day, different shit. You know how it goes.”

“I do. Glad this time is almost behind us,” I advise.

“You and me both. It wasn’t as bad as when we prospected for the club initially, but it was still sometimes galling to be toldby members that haven’t lived the life as long as we have how to do shit or even, what to do,” he grumbles.

I can’t help chuckling at his words. “Wasn’t that bad, Ban. We didn’t have to scrub out the shitters or anything like that. Just be available to help with transports as needed, and of course, lend our muscle when called upon. Coulda been a shit ton worse.”

“Speaking of, we need to get the club girls on board with shit. They’ve been slacking around here.”

“So, what you’re saying is they’re tired of cleaning up our shit?” I ask, now laughing out loud.

“Leathyr told a brother she was too tired the other night when he approached her to suck his dick,” he states.

“She can’t do that. I mean, she can say no, of course, but if she’s down in the common area, she’s supposed to be available. That’s the fucking rule.”

“She said she’d spent all fucking day scrubbing down the restrooms and we needed to learn to piss into the fucking bowl or some shit.”

Sighing, I nod. “I’ll talk to them, all of them. I really don’t want to bring in an outsider to keep this place clean, but we haven’t been able to add any prospects since we were under probation with the Royal Bastards. Hopefully, that’ll change since I know we’ve had a few guys who appear to be interested hanging around.”

“They might just want to be part of the RBMC though,” he replies. “Otherwise, why weren’t they around when it was just us?”

“Maybe because they weren’t quite old enough yet? The twins from down the road have been doing whatever they could for years to help out around outside just waiting to be old enough.”

“Ah, the twins. They’ll be fun and I’m sure the girls will love having someone else keep up with this place.” Looking around,he growls out, “Where the fuck is everyone else? We’ve got shit to do to get ready for this weekend.”

“Keep your panties in check, Banshee, we heard the two of you talking and wanted to give y’all the privacy you needed,” Kracken calls out, pushing the door open wider to admit the rest of the club. Everyone takes their seats after Rooster makes sure the big door is closed then stands in front of it with his arms across his chest.

I take the gavel, worn with age and use, and slam it onto the table, yelling, “Shut the fuck up, we got shit to discuss!” As silence slowly falls, I look at each of my brothers, men I’ve fought and fucked alongside for years now, confident in the path we’re about to take. “It’s been a helluva year, brothers.”

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