Page 2 of Gunner
“Yeah, darlin’. Bring us another round and put it on my tab,” he replied and gestured to the chair in front of me.
I pushed it out with my foot and dug into my food. Smokey sat down and waited until I came up for air to speak.
“You from around here?”
“Born and raised.” I fought not to roll my eyes as I finished the last of my fries.
“How long you been out?”
“Four days. I’m here to get something, then I’m moving on,” I replied, draining my second beer and finally feeling the buzz from the alcohol. Looking him in the eye, I spoke clearly, “I’m not looking for any trouble.”
“Where you headed?” I shrugged as another beer was placed in front of me. He grabbed his and held it up, waiting for me to lift mine. I lifted it, and we clinked the necks together. “Welcome home. I’m Smokey, President of the Death Hounds MC.”
“Kade, and thanks.”
Taking a swallow from the cold bottle, I glanced at the men across the room and saw one about my age, tall, with shoulder-length blond hair, walking over to join us. He pulled up a chair and turned it around, sitting across the seat like he was riding a motorcycle, and draped his arms over the back.
“This is Bullet, my VP. This is Kade. He just got out a few days ago.”
“Good to meet you. I remember my transition back to civilian life. It sucked ass trying to figure out my next move.” He chuckled and reached his fist out.
I tapped my fist to his and leaned back, curious about their intentions.
“You know how to ride?” Smokey asked, and I smiled.
“Yeah. My pops taught me to ride. That’s why I’m here, to pick up my bike from the storage facility before I take off.”
Bullet chuckled, and I wondered what the joke was but decided my prickly attitude with them would only get my ass kicked, so I kept my judgments to myself.
“Where you headed?” Bullet asked, and I shrugged again.
“Not sure. I’ll let the road tell me where to go next.”
Honestly, I had no destination in mind for my future, and somehow, I sensed these two men understood that. I craved the feel of the wind on my face and the freedom from riding, but I couldn’t ramble forever. The call to brotherhood was still too deep, and I hoped time on the road with the wind at my face would help me relieve some of the emptiness I was experiencing.
“Why don’t you stop by the clubhouse tomorrow afternoon? We can have a few drinks and maybe we can help you figure out your next step,” Smokey explained, and I realized I had nothing to lose.
“Sure. I’ve got to pick my bike up at ten and I was planning on hanging for a few days.”
Both men stood, and as they walked away, Bullet looked over his shoulder and asked, “What do you ride?”
“95 Harley Evo Softail,” I replied with pride.
I didn’t have much, but I bought my bike from a junkyard and worked my ass off to get her just perfect. It was the only thing I spent money on during my time in the service. I stored her here after Pops died and I was set to deploy again. She’d been in storage for over a year.
The two men smiled, and Smokey smacked Bullet on the back as they returned to their friends and I finished my beer, wondering what I just got myself into.
