Page 3 of Azrael

I scrubbed harder at a stubborn spot on my thumb, the skin raw underneath.The water ran clearer now, only faint traces of pink swirling down the drain.That spiral reminded me of something else.Something older.

My mother’s blood snaking down her face from a cut on her temple.One of the regulars had gotten drunk and broken a glass against her head.She’d plastered a smile on her face and assured me she was fine, but even then I’d known she was lying.

I grabbed some paper towels and wet them, wiping at the blood spatters on my shirt.Better to have a wet shirt than one covered in red.When I was done, I washed my hands once more then dried them.As I stared at my reflection, I tried to see my mother in me.I’d never known my dad, but I liked to think I didn’t have a damn thing in common with him.

My mom been dead a long-ass time.Cancer took her slow, gave me time to say goodbye, but not enough time to become the man she’d wanted me to be.College educated.Safe job.Family.

“Sorry, Mom,” I whispered.“Didn’t quite work out that way.”

Instead, I’d found the Devil’s Boneyard.Or they’d found me.Stripes had seen something in me.Potential, he called it.Cinder had given me purpose.The club had given me family.

Would she understand?I’d like to think so.Mom had been pragmatic about the world.“Sometimes good people have to do bad things to protect what matters,” she’d told me once, after I’d gotten suspended for breaking a bully’s nose.She hadn’t approved, exactly, but she’d understood.

The men in that alley weren’t good people.They would have brought poison into our town, destroyed lives, all for profit.I’d stopped that.Three lives against how many I’d potentially saved?

The math made sense to me, even if it wouldn’t have to her.

I checked myself in the mirror one more time.No visible blood.Nothing to attract attention.I ran my fingers through my hair and practiced looking normal.Not too hard.I’d gotten good at it over the years.

Before leaving, I wiped down everything I’d touched.The Devil’s Boneyard had friends in the police department, but certain habits kept you alive in this business.Attention to detail.Never get sloppy.

I unlocked the door.The attendant glanced up as I passed, his gaze moving over me in assessment.

“You look better,” he said, voice gravelly from years of cigarettes.

I stopped.“Better than what?”

He shrugged.“Than when you came in.Like maybe you found what you were looking for.”

Something about his stare made me take a closer look.The tattoo peeking out from his sleeve wasn’t just any ink.I recognized the style.Prison work.

“Maybe I did,” I said carefully.“You work here long?”

“Long enough to know when to mind my own business.”He tapped his finger against the counter.“Long enough to know what kind of men come through here needing to clean up.”

I felt my muscles tense, ready for trouble.“That right?”

He nodded toward my cut.“Devil’s Boneyard.You boys do good work.Kept my sister’s kid off the shit when the Undead Serpents were running it through here.I respect that.”

I relaxed slightly.“Just doing what needs doing.”

“Heard there’s new players moving in.Minions or some shit.”He spat into a cup beside the register.“Bad news, those boys.No respect.”

“No respect,” I agreed.“And not long for this world if they keep pushing.”

He nodded, understanding passing between us.“Good hunting, brother.”

I pushed open the door, night air cool against my face.The town spread out before me, lights glittering in the darkness.Most people out there had no idea what happened in the shadows to keep them safe.They didn’t know about men like me, or the lines we crossed so they wouldn’t have to.

That was fine.Let them sleep easy.I’d carry the weight of what I’d done tonight.Add it to all the rest.It wasn’t a burden anymore -- just the price of the life I’d chosen.

I started my bike and pulled onto the empty street.The compound waited, and after that, more work to be done.The town needed cleaning, and I was just getting started.

I rolled through the gates of the Devil’s Boneyard compound just past midnight, the tension easing from my shoulders as I passed under the skull-adorned archway.Home.Or the closest thing to it I’d had in years.Floodlights illuminated the lot where dozens of bikes stood in neat rows, chrome glinting like scattered stars.Two Prospects snapped to attention as I pulled up.

“They’re waiting for you,” one of them said, not meeting my eyes directly.Smart kid.He’d learn the rules fast enough -- never look too eager, never too scared.Balance was everything in this life.After the shit we’d dealt with, we’d cracked down on the rules when bringing in Prospects.Too many rotten apples.

“How long they been in there?”I asked.

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