Page 70 of Red's Peril: Part 1

Fucking grateful that I’ve my own bathroom now, I manage to get to it in time, leaning over the commode and purging my stomach, grateful there’s no audience. It’s bad enough puking without one of your brothers giving a running commentary, and yes, I’ve been there and done that.

Once I’ve gotten over the feeling I’d prefer to die, I wait a moment for the room to stop spinning, then flush, and try standing upright. When my head stabilises, I try the shower. It’s powerful and hot, and probably thanks to Sarge, my toiletries are at hand.

My head’s all over the place, trying to process this sudden and unexpected change in my fortunes.

I’m the fucking VP.

It’s not that I’m afraid of the role or fucking up. I know I can do it. It’s just while I’ve committed to give my all to the club, I’ve never had dreams or visions of rising through it. The only officer I know of who left his role while still breathing had been Tide, our road captain, and that was only because he landed himself in prison.

Road Captain.The club had never replaced him. Maybe I’d broach the subject now. I know previously no one had wanted the job, but I’ve a feeling Joker would be up for it. Despite the drums banging in my head, I smile to myself.I’ve got power now.It wouldn’t hurt to use it.

But other than Tide, once an officer had the support of the club, they were in the role unless they seriously fucked up, or until they left it for a coffin. Even when Rainman had been laid in the ground, I’d had no inclination that I’d be chosen to replace him.

Brick could have easily already had a name in mind, one of the longstanding members.

They all chose me.

Sure, for the past three years I’ve put my heart and soul into this life. I’ve no family, so the Devils have become mine. I’ve nurtured the relationship and the club as I would have a wife and child, done my best for them, advised, cajoled, suggested… I suppose thinking back, most of my ideas had been acted upon, but I hadn’t wanted thanks for it. Why should I? When our income went up, I’d benefitted from it.

Being VP is going to heap responsibility on my shoulders, but hey, I’m up for it.I’m so fucking up for it.

Normally, I’d leave the bathroom dressed in at least a towel, but today I stride out naked knowing there’s no one to comment. I stretch, fart, scratch my balls, relishing the freedom of the basic human necessity,privacy.Something I’d gotten used to not having, and never expected.

Now if only the thumping beat in my head would stop.

I go to my bedside table, and hey, Sarge has worked his magic again. The inevitable pack of condoms is there, and under it, a pack of Advil. I take two tablets and swallow them dry, then pause, my hand on my stomach, willing it to settle.

Today’s a fresh start.

Dressed in my usual uniform of black jeans and black tee, I slide on my cut, glancing down at the fresh patch with pride. I run my fingers over it.Might not have been what you expected of me, Dad, but I hope you’re proud.

Perhaps it’s lucky I don’t have an old lady. Carrying no baggage means no distractions. I vow in that moment to be the best fucking VP this club has ever had. Well, when I get rid of my headache.

Lighting a cigarette, I take a drag, then, when satisfied it doesn’t make me want to throw up, open the door and step out. When I reach the clubroom, the state of the men around me suggests I wasn’t the only one to have overindulged last night.

Sarge, wiping down tables, looks cheerful, but Crash and Twister both have their heads in their hands. Keys doesn’t look much better, and Cobra blinks then slides shades down over his eyes.

At that moment, the door bangs open and two rowdy boys rush inside.

“I said play outside!” Rosa shouts, her voice piercing my brain. “Go on, take those water pistols back out.” Trist and Tom’s faces fall, but they thankfully obey her sharp demand. Then, as peace mercifully descends again, she notices me standing there, and beams a welcoming smile. “Breakfast, VP?”

Fucking hell.Her use of that title sounds good. I have to fight from keeping myself from grinning and punching my hand in the air.

Yeah. Something to eat might settle me. I nod, wince, then follow her into the kitchen. There I find Brick, nursing a coffee, but looking remarkably unscathed. As I recall, he’d left the party early.

He lights a cigarette as I stub mine out into an ashtray that’s already overflowing, then drains his coffee cup and stands.

“Eat, then come talk to me.” When I raise my chin, he goes to his old lady, and enfolds her in his arms. She relaxes into him briefly, then turns her face to his. Her eyes soften, and her hand cups his cheek. They stay like that for a few seconds.

I feel like an interloper. They’re close, I already know that, but such open affection between the pair is unusual. It almost makes me jealous for a relationship I don’t have.Would Cheryl have looked the same way at me?With such love and concern?

Berating myself for being maudlin, I take my eyes off the prez and his old lady and approach the stove. But Rosa, having dismissed her husband, gets in front of me and bats away my hand. She then proceeds to heap a plate with bacon, eggs, waffles and sausage links.

Three coffees, two more cigarettes and a big breakfast inside me, I feel human enough to go meet the prez.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As I approach Prez’s door, I hear him coughing. When I enter, he’s popping tablets out of a strip and washing them down with water.

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