Page 14 of Wolf.e
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Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling down the half mile long driveway to the Hounds of Hell Clubhouse.
“Holy crap…so many people,” I whisper to Layla, taking in the long line of pickup trucks, SUVs, and of course, Harleys.A lotof them. If I had to guess, I’d say there are at least seventy-five bikes parked along the grass of the drive leading up to the house.
“Almost the whole family is here this weekend.” She proceeds to tell me that members of HOH came all the way from outside Chicago, Boston, and New York to be here this weekend.
The property is huge. It seems to go on forever, with a wide creek running behind it. I can see a bonfire happening at the side of the property on a vast patio, the outdoor kitchen is fit for a king with what has to be a ten-foot peninsula with built in grills and a smoker. The smell of smoke and weed hangs heavy in the June night air and the lightning bugs are out in full force.
But the real party is in the massive pole barn style building in the center that houses the Hounds of Hell welded metal sign along with their insignia. I can hear the music from here—a Metallica song—and a lot of people are singing along.
Layla leads us around the tall building, and we enter through the side door.
The scene unfolding is not the scene I pictured for theclubhouse. Edison lights hang everywhere—so do paper lanterns—and they omit a soft glow over the entire space. It’s smoky and warm, long tables fill the space, and the entire ceiling is exposed beam with greenery woven through. Each table is adorned with centerpieces and candles, and the dessert table on the opposite side has me drooling already.
People are everywhere, laughing, drinking beer, there is a wall of dartboards where it appears a big tournament of sorts is happening. It’s happy—cozy—and feels like a family home. I can’t make sense of it. This looks nothing like the dark underworld I pictured when growing up. Many of the men that wander around wear the leather vest I just learned on the way here is called a cut. The mean looking wolf skull eyes me down from their backs. Above it sits a curved banner patch readingHounds of Hell, and below it, some of the men have an extra banner that curves upwards. It readsSoldier of Bedlamand I wonder why some have it and some don’t.
Layla gasps and covers her mouth with her hands as she takes in her surroundings.
“I did good, baby? I’ve been working on it with the boy all week.” A tiny little woman approaches. Her voice is loud for her size, just like her stark white hair teased up and her cherry red lips. She wears a black and white cheetah print dress. I instantly feel comfortable with her.
“Shell…” Layla leans in to hug her tightly. “It’s so beautiful, I can’t even believe it, thank you for making sure he did a good job.”
The small woman looks right at me over Layla’s shoulder and smiles.
“Who’s this beauty?” She lets go of Layla and holds out both her hands, taking mine into hers.
“This is my lifelong friend Brinley, my jelly.” She winks.“She just…came back to town, I told her she had to come and be a part of everything this weekend.” Layla smiles, not divulging my shit storm of a life right now.
Bless her.
“Well, we’re glad to have you, sweetie. Make yourself at home. I’m Shelly. Think of me like the hospitality department. Anyone fucks with you at all, see me and I’ll take care of them.”
The look on her face tells me she will. I nod back at her.
“How the fuck do you expect me not to drag you into the hallway looking like this…fuck.” A grizzly voice sounds.
Shelly swats the tall, muscular tattooed man from the photos in Layla’s home. He’s got a buzz cut and a bushy beard as he wraps his arms around Layla from behind and starts kissing a line down her shoulder like there is no one else in the room. I smile as I watch them, and that pang of envy hits me again with the passion he has for her.
“Don’t gross your old mother out,” Shelly scoffs.
That small woman birthed this mammoth?
Her bear of a son wears a club vest that bears the patchSgt at Arms. I don’t know anything about motorcycle clubs, but I’ve watched enough old movies with my dad to know a Sergeant at Arms is a top ranked man. Any thoughts I had of her future husband just being a low-ranking member of the club are out the window now.
“This is my Sean,” Layla says as she pushes his face off her neck.
Sean looks up. “Hey, new girl.” He grins at me.
“She isn’t new, I’ve known her since I was eight. I told you she was coming.”
Sean looks me over, and I start to worry I’ve done something wrong.
“She’s not a cop,” Layla adds.
Sean shrugs and shakes my hand like a perfect gentleman.
“Old habits. Nice to meet you…”
