Page 14 of Dash

That moment right there, Jan holding Bowie’s hand and the way they looked at each other, that was true intimacy, and it was for them to share. There was no way to know how many more times they’d get to hold hands and share those looks.

Shit, when did he become a Hallmark movie?

“You need a minute?” Romeo whispered.

Shaking his head, Dash turned back. “Nah,” he said. “Didn’t want to intrude.”

When Dash glanced toward his club brother, rubbing at his own woman’s arm, the somberness of the room weighed on him. Sparrow’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying. He didn’t belong there. He’d done the respectful thing, he’d stopped in, let the president of the chapter know he was in town, but now, now it was time to let the family have their space.

The patch over had made them brothers, but he didn’t know Bowie. He respected the man after what went down for Romeo and Sparrow. He’d done right by them, and thus done right by Dash, but this was different.

“I don’t want to take any more of your time, Prez.” Dash looked between those in the room. They were family. “I’m here to help.”

“It’s a mess,” Bowie rasped.

“Shhh.” Jan rubbed his hand.

“Don’t worry about that,” Sparrow pleaded.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Romeo added.

And there wasn’t. The man knocked at death’s door. He’d be in Valhalla soon enough. However, Dash could see in his eyes that the guilt over his club’s condition ate at him more than the cancer that riddled his body.

“We’ll take care of your boys, brother,” Dash assured him. “You’ll be proud.”

Exiting the office, he closed the door and scrubbed his hands over his face. Wrapping his fingers around his beard, he tugged. While he squeezed his eyes shut, the picture of Bowie, white-haired, wearing a mask fogged from his breath, lying under the blanket coughing, flashed in his mind. He blinked to rid the image from his head.

He’d seen men die plenty of times. As a medic in the Army who’d done active duty, he’d seen what an IED could do. As a prospect for Odin’s Fury, he’d disposed of his share of bodies. As an Enforcer for the club, he’d done his share of contract work. Hell, in the patch over mess, he’d seen beatings and gunshot wounds, but that didn’t compare to what he’d just seen.

There were earned deaths, deaths of valor, and drawn out deaths of sickness. Each haunted him for different reasons.

Pulling his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he headed to the bathroom, determined that wouldn’t be his fate.

He’d heard of Scared Straight when he was a kid, but he’d been all right then. He didn’t get into too much trouble, so he’d never took part in a program. As an adult, he’d watched a few of those Scared Straight shows and laughed his ass off. Well, he’d just gotten his own version of scared straight, only it was scared to quit.

That didn’t have the same ring to it. He’d have to work on what he’d call it if and when he ever retold the story of how he quit smoking. You know, when he sold the series rights to Netflix or something. He’d give Bowie credit. It’d add to the man’s legacy, not like he needed it.

Once he’d flushed the cigarettes, pissed, and washed his hands, he headed for the bar. He found Clark and sat beside him. Basketball Tits served him a bottle of Alagash White. Look at that, there may be hope after all.

Turning to his brother, he noted the man had a glass of something clear. “Thought you were a beer drinker,” Dash said as he brought his own bottle to his lips. “Unless that’s water, and you just want the rest of us to think you switched to the hard stuff,” he added once he’d swallowed.

The serious expression on Clark’s face broke, offering a half smile. “You wouldn’t believe what I’m dealing with here,” he said and the strained expression returned. His gaze shifted to the bartender as he lifted the glass, taking the smallest of sips Dash had ever seen.

It took everything he had not to laugh. Alcoholism and bikers had a tendency to go hand in hand. Some managed it well, like Tex, others not so much. Some got sloppy, aggressive, mean, and had to shape up or ship out. Either Clark was aware, and just wanted to take the edge off, or he’d purposely ordered something nasty to avoid the temptation. The man was a quandary.

Dash slapped Clark on the back. His hand landed on the old leather between the top rocker which read Odin’s Fury, and the edge of Odin’s axe featured in their club colors. “Then I guess it’s a good thing Monty sent me to be your acting VP, eh?”

The current Vice President of the Ohio chapter turned his head, and snorted. “I thought you and the kid were attached at the cock?”

Taking his hand back, Dash chugged his beer. “Well, fuck you too,” he retorted and pushed off the bar. He couldn’t blame Clark for the assumption. He’d been assigned to Romeo since he was a prospect, and Romeo was literally still a kid—barely a teenager. As Tex’s son, one of Dash’s prospect duties had been to make sure Romeo stayed out of trouble. So yeah, they got close as the kid grew up. Naturally, they spent a lot of time together. “I’m going to see what Ohio has to offer.”

He needed to get Bowie off this mind. He didn’t know the scene in Akron. Hell, he didn’t know the scene in Ohio at all. His club needed him sharp, so drinking away the vision of the man dying in the president’s office every night wasn’t an option. That left one—boring pussy. There were worse things in the world.

“Up the stairs, go left, to the end, another left, second door. It says Enforcer. Room is vacant. It’s yours for as long as you’re here,” Clark offered without looking in his direction.

“You want your stuff, baby?” Basketball Tits asked from behind the bar.

“Thanks.” Dash reached for his clothes. He’d get the rest of his stuff from his saddle bags on his bike on his way to the room. He’d brought enough to last him a few days, which he could stretch for a few weeks if needed. Truth was, he didn’t know how long he’d be there. Glancing around, it’d be a while. Sighing, he headed outside.

---