Page 143 of Running from Drac
“Sticking with it. The count just fits, you know?” My stomach sours as memories of Amber and I filter in. She’s the whole reason I even have the nickname in the first place.
A guy with long auburn hair sits behind a desk when we enter. There are a few other guys sitting just off to our left, waiting for the classes to start. As we walk up to the desk, the guy grins, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. He could be a damn model if he wanted to.
“Hey, you must be Rich and Eddie!” he greets as two dimples form on both sides of his cheeks. “I’m going to be your instructor. The name’s Blake.” He sticks out a hand that I eagerly take. The faster we get this going, the faster I get on my bike and our little club started.
“We are. Thanks for doing this.”
“Eh, it’s nothing. I’ve been riding since I first got my license. This shit’s in my blood.” He grins, running a hand through his long locks.
“You ride with a club?”
He laughs. “Yeah no. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it, but I just haven’t found the right club, I guess.”
Pointing to me and Rich, I tell him, “We’re forming a club. It won’t be here though; it’ll be in Fernley. I just bought a plot of land out there and I’m building a clubhouse.”
“What kind of club are you looking to put together?”
“We were kinda leaning one percent.”
The guy grimaces. “Ah, you’re wanting one ofthoseclubs.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve seen firsthand what those clubs do to people,” Blake finishes, the smile dropping from his face like a mask falling off. “My uncle patched into a one-percenter crew down south. Rode with them for years. Thought they were his family until they turned on him for trying to leave. They cut his cut off his back with a goddamn box cutter and left him bleeding out in a ditch.”
Rich and I exchange a glance.
Blake shrugs, but his jaw ticks. “I’m not saying all clubs are bad. But once you go one percent, you don’t just ride. You owe. You take sides. You start bleeding for colors instead of people. And half the time, you don’t even see it’s happening until it’s too late.”
There’s a heaviness in the air now, something unspoken pulling at all of us.
I nod slowly, uncertain. “I get what you’re saying. But I want something real. Brotherhood. Loyalty. No politics. Just people I trust, protecting what’s ours.”
Blake studies me. “Then make damn sure everyone you let in wants the same thing. Or you’ll be the one bleeding.”
“How about you? Would you be interested?”
Blake laughs loudly. “Damn, you have some big ass balls, dude. I’ve been propositioned numerous times by clubs, but none of them have ever had the balls to do it here.” He points up to the camera. “We record everything here.”
Shit.
He laughs again. “Don’t worry, brother. You’re still a baby when it comes to this shit. Forming a club isn’t easy. You need order and structure. You gotta lay out the rules and what you want to happen. You can’t just let anyone join. You gotta be strategic and select your members carefully. You don’t know me from Adam. I could be a crazed serial killer and you wouldn’t even know it.”
“Funny you should say that,” I reply, chuckling to myself. “Our club is called the Elm Street Riders MC. All our club names are based on horror monsters and horror legends. I’m gonna go by Drac, and this grumpy motherfucker is going to be called Krampus when we finally get this shit going. We got a buddy in jail who’s our Voorhees. Even the clubhouse is going to be built on Elm Street, that’s the block I moved to.”
“Now that’s a club I can get behind. My bike out there, I call her Phantasma. It’s after those old Phantasm movies.”
“See you’d be perfect! We’d call you Phantom or some shit. We’re still in the planning stages, but I’d love to have a guy like you, a real seasoned rider, join us.”
“I dunno, man,” Blake exclaims, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m kinda against that lifestyle. If I’m going to join a club, I want it to be one that rides for a cause. Not one that rides for mayhem.”
“Oh, we ain’t looking to—”
SLAM.
Blake pales, his entire body going rigid and still, eyes widening in annoyance.
A fucking hot as hell blonde is standing in the doorway, shoe tapping, arms curled around her solid C-cup chest as she angrily stares at Blake behind the counter.
