Page 11 of The Oath We Take

I can’t help but laugh at the look of disgust on Grudge’s face. “Plan was to leave Friday at two p.m., but we can go as early as folks want.”

“Let’s make it eleven,” Butcher says.

“Done,” I say. “Eleven it is. Be sober enough to ride in formation. I emailed the schedule for breakfasts and coffee runs. No fucking slacking because I’ll flatten the first person who doesn’t do their bit.”

“Don’t know why we can’t just walk into town for breakfast,” Catfish grumbles.

“Remember how bad it was last year, trying to grab breakfast in Sturgis with that many bikers around,” Wraith says. “They’re thinking it could hit close to a million visitors this year. I’m not waiting two fucking hours for breakfast again.”

“Hope you aren’t expecting a culinary masterpiece,” Taco says. “My cooking skills are limited.”

I eye him across the table. “Then you got three days to figure out how to make a decent breakfast burrito because if you serve up burned anything to Smoke, he’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Fuck my life,” Taco groans.

“We can set up the cooking stations out back so you can practice,” Wraith says.

Taco flips him the bird.

Butcher laughs. “Relax. No one is expecting eggs Benedict. Scramble some eggs. Throw on some bacon. Bread’s fine. Just needs to be edible.”

“Maybe we should take some Pepto or antacids or something with us. Just as a precaution against Taco’s cooking,” Grudge says, and everyone laughs.

“Seriously, fuck you all,” Taco says, but he’s grinning as he says it.

“You’ll need your own sleeping bags, but no loading up the van with unnecessary shit,” I say.

“Yes, Dad.” Grudge rolls his eyes.

“Says the man who brought two feather pillows last year,” Wraith says.

Grudge chuckles. “Yeah, but I slept like a fucking baby on ‘em.”

“You’re all fucking soft-skinned,” says Grizz, one of the gnarly old-timers who drives a three-wheeler and starts at the rear of the pack and progressively drops behind. He must be a hundred and seven or some shit and still insists on heading to Sturgis with us at his own pace.

“Okay, let’s wrap it up,” Butcher says. “What else, Atom?”

“Weapons. Make sure you got all the right permits for concealed carry. Other than that, make your own call on what you’re comfortable with. Most of you have bike modifications and hidden weapons. Do not give the police reason to check your bike. Grudge is gonna do the bike check the night before, so be here between four and six. That’s it.”

Butcher slams the gavel. “All done, now get to business.”

I grab my shit to leave.

“Atom, what the fuck happened to your eye?” Butcher asks.

I wait until the others have left. “Whiskey Fever.”

Butcher sits up a little straighter and rolls his neck from left to right until it cracks. “You want to expand on that?”

I know I’m about to prod at something pretty raw for him. It bothers him that Ember resists letting him bring the bar into the Iron Outlaws fold.

“I wanna set up a schedule for discrete security at the bar.”

“You know Spitfire won’t let that happen. So, why are you bringing it up?”

I shrug, even as he uses his pet name for his daughter. Always said she had too much sass. “This shiner? It’s from a bar fight. Saw a guy getting handsy with a girl who didn’t want him. Not taking no for an answer. Saw a different one trying to persuade Ember to do something it looked like she didn’t want.”

“You sort that shit out?” Butcher asks.

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