Page 30 of Fury

Days rolled by.

One week connected to the next.

I got assignments, and I got them done. I spoke when spoken to. I hung out with the bros as often I could bear it. I hated calling attention to myself anymore than I had to, I was already enough of a freak with my fucked up hands and facial scars. Not to mention those looks of pity.

Spring was finally sticking around, and we were on a run to Austin, Texas. It felt so damned good to be back on my bike and riding for a long stretch on the open road. No ice, no snow, no rain. All of us in our tight formation, Flames before and behind me on the highway, Flames as far as the eye could see. We had stopped at a big bar on the outskirts of town. My eyes followed Reich, who as usual was the center of attention, the life of the party. He had a new girlfriend he’d brought with him, and was parading her around the crowded parking lot, shaking hands with men from another friendly club, not a care in the world.

I still couldn’t shake the bitterness inside me over the part Reich had played in my dad’s demise. I fanned those flames inside me every chance I got. It was my addiction.

“Man, you okay?”

I tore my focus away from Reich and steadied my gaze on Gyp, who’d been a fellow prospect and was now a junior member like me.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great.”

“Have another beer.”

I was wasted already, but I took the icy bottle from him and drank deep.

“You two oversee the prospects guarding our bikes,” said a familiar cutting voice.

“Us?” blurted out Gyp.

You didn’t talk back like that to an order. I raised my head. Reich stood in front of us, his bitch on his arm. “You want to rethink your question, fuckhead? You gotta show ‘em how it’s done, Gyp. Lotta clubs out here from all over. Ain’t taking any chances.”

“Yeah, ‘course. We’ll make sure everything’s good out here,” Gyp replied, his teeth dragging along his thick lip, his left leg shaking. His nervous tic. He had to cut that shit out.

Reich laughed, his attention shifting to me. “Yeah. How about you, cowboy? You been keeping mighty quiet these days. You got anything to say?”

“Nope.”

“Huh,” his eyes narrowed at me. He strode off.

Gyp and I stayed outside with the two prospects and made sure no one touched or breathed on our brothers’ bikes. There were plenty of people out here, everyone talking shit, sharing weed, buying and selling almost everything else, checking out each other’s rides. After a few hours the party inside had emptied out to the parking lot and the open area was banging with music and liquor and food service.

Reich was talking with Demon Seeds from Montana and One-Eyed Jacks from Colorado. Making cocktail party talk, slapping hands on shoulders, laughing at stupid jokes, flirting with different women, while he flirted with someone else.

A fight broke out just past where our last bike was parked.

“Stay here!” I shouted at Gyp over the roar of the crowd in the lot. I loved a good fight and was sick of standing around playing classroom monitor. Anyhow, Gyp was messing around with some girl he’d met, and he wasn’t about to go nowhere. He already had his tongue down her throat and his hand up her skirt.

One of our guys was involved in the fight, and I dove in to take his back. I got shoved and shoved back. People slammed into me, and I slammed right back. The booze, the wild jungle vibe, the driving metal music of the band playing only took me higher and deeper into the crush. I punched, I slugged, I bashed.

A hand grabbed me by the jacket collar and pulled. Reich.

“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled, twisting in his grip.

He sneered. “You nuts or something? You got five guys on you!”

That ages old hatred and resentment blistered inside me. I didn’t care about the five or five hundred men hitting me, I only cared that Reich was in my face. “Get off me, asshole!”

“Such a shit! Just like your ol’ man.”

“Fuck you! He’d still be here if it wasn’t for you. You—You killed him! You killed my dad, I know you did!”

He grabbed me by the throat and pulled me out of the throng like a school principal dragging a misbehaving boy out of the playground. He shoved me up against the high fence. “Listen and listen good. Your old man was a pain in my ass. Wouldn’t shut the fuck up, always arguing, butting in, contradicting just to hear himself blow air in the room.”

“My dad lived and breathed this club. It was literally in his fucking blood. He stood up for what he thought was right.” I ground my heels into the asphalt, my head twisting.

---