Page 12 of Lost Soul

“You’re the best,” she squeals leaning over the table and wrapping her arms around my neck. Hayley’s high-pitched squeal attracts the girl’s attention and for the briefest, sweetest of moments, our eyes connect, but I lose them before I have the chance to figure what to do about it.

I keep my eye on the girl while we eat. It seems what Hayley told me is accurate, she is a loner. This place is loaded with kids, all from the same college she goes to, not one of them speak to her or even bothers to look at her. It puzzles me, because I struggle to keep my eyes off her.

Her long fingers type away at her laptop, eyes occasionally looking up over the screen catching me watching her. I figure I could sit and stare at her all day, but it isn’t doing me any good. So, I get up and pay the check, before me and Hayley make our way back to the compound.

The club is only a fifteen-minute drive from town. The Blue Spruce Resort had been popular back in the early nineties, but business had died out during the turn of the century. The owner of the resort ran up a debt with Prez, and the club had taken over the land and buildings as payment. It’s been home to the Dirty Souls ever since. The place is perfect for club needs, with twenty vacation cabins, all surrounding the large lake that centers the resort. Then another fifteen staff cabins that edge the woodland, us members call it Sluts sanctuary because it’s where the club whores reside. At the very top of the resort are two much bigger lodges, where Prez and Chop live, and the main building that years ago would have hosted entertainment evenings for families taking their annual vacation in the peaceful Colorado Mountains became our clubhouse. The club only made a few alterations to it, it still has a decent size bar and a stage.

We also have two smaller bar rooms on either side of the foyer that are a lot less rowdy and have a strict member’s only policy. On the second floor, is an industrial kitchen, that despite being a little dated still works, and a dining hall that’s perfect for lockdowns and special occasions—though it’s never used much anymore. The club lost the family vibe it used to have after Mary-Ann died, a lot of the brothers with families had chosen to change Charters. So upstairs doesn’t get used all that often, except for the old offices that have now been pretty much converted into rutting rooms.

I pull into the compound driving up the long dirt track, passing the clubhouse and the garage opposite that Chop and Skid run. I take a left where the track splits for the quickest route up to Prez’s lodge.

“You know a girl like that would never go for a guy like you?” Hayley breaks our comfortable silence by bringing up the girl from Bernie’s again. The sarcastic smirk on her face pissing me off, mainly because she’s right, and I hate how much it stings.

“She’d take one look at that cut and run a mile,” she continues.

“Hey, chicks dig the fuckin’ cut.” I nudge her playfully trying to distract myself.

“Yeah, the ones you hang around with, not girls like her. You want in her panties, you’re gonna have to lose it,” Hayley taunts.

“Well, there’s shit all chance of that happening. You won’t catch me taking this cut off for no pussy,” I tell her firmly, pulling to a stop outside the lodge.

Hayley opens the door and slides out of the truck. “And you promise you’ll take me tomorrow night?” she checks, narrowing her eyes at me, daring me to go back on my word.

“Do your homework on the girl, and yeah. I’m sure I can talk Prez round.” Hayley takes me off guard when she jumps back inside, wrapping her arms around my neck, and then smiling before she shuts the door behind her. I watch her inside before I move on, following the track down to my own cabin.

Hanging out with Hayley always loosens me up a little, she doesn’t look at me with the same fear that she does the other guys. Sometimes I wonder if she forgets that I’m one of them, if she blanks out all the things I do that make me equally as sick, if not worse.

Of course, there was every chance she doesn’t know. No one discusses club business outside of church. So, the fact that I’m one of the most fucked up people who attends probably gets overlooked by anyone who doesn’t know better.

My blonde hair, blue eyes, and the all-American look hold a deception. Not many would believe that I’m the one Prez sends in when rules have been broken. If we needed someone to talk, I’m the guy who will willingly reach my fist down the throat of a man and tear out all his secrets.

I’d been taught by the master, Vex, an original like my pa and Prez, there ain’t nothing worth hearing that he hadn’t managed to pry out of a man’s soul.

As soon as I patched in, I began my own fucked up apprenticeship with him as my mentor. Vex got too old to ride, and stepped down a year ago. I’d been honored when he’d suggested to Prez that I step up and take over his role. The old man lives somewhere off the grid now, enjoying his retirement. The stubborn old fucker was far too proud to let any of us take care of him.

He always told me that I had something in me that couldn’t be taught.

No conscience.

No remorse.

I could sleep like a baby after putting an end to a waste of a life, and I held no empathy when torturing the truth out of someone. Ninety-nine percent of the time if the guy got to me, his fate had been decided anyway.

I’ve never killed a man who didn’t deserve to die, in my opinion the actions I perform lay on everyone’s conscience. We make all our decisions as a club. I’m just the guy that sees them through.

I enjoy the rush of keeping someone dangling on the edge between life and death. Take pleasure from the power of a sorry assed fucker’s next breath, depending on my patience. And I revel in watching the final seconds of life, the moments just after the panic calms and the realization settles in that no matter how hard you fight, it’s over. It leaves only the hope that death will come quickly. And there’s something real fascinating in the relief that washes over the eyes when life slips out of them.

Where nothing quite beats watching the life drain from another man’s eyes, spending time with Hayley comes a very close second. She doesn’t see the monster in me. To her, I’ll always be the guy who saved her life, the older brother she looks up to. The good guy who she shares her happy times with.

I like being that guy for her, and sometimes I like being that guy a little for me too.

Still, I don’t doubt that Hayley knows more than what we tell her, she’s a savvy girl and must have guessed my hands aren’t clean of violence. So I conclude that just like me, she’s happy to pretend that side of me doesn’t exist.

I pull into the yard in front of the long stretch of cabins that are built in a huge half circle arched around the lake. When I park up outside mine, there’s no sign of Troj being home. No doubt he’ll be at the outbuilding that’s been converted into a gym. He’s got an upcoming fight, and has been hitting it hard lately.

I head straight for the bathroom and grab myself a quick shower, some nomads are riding in tonight, and it’d be rude not to show them a good time on their first night at the club. I try, but fail to stop my mind from wandering back to the girl at Bernie’s, and the fact that Hayley’s right.

She’s far too innocent for me. I’ll bet that I’m exactly the kind of guy her mama and papa warn her to stay away from, and I don’t doubt that she’s the good girl type who listens to them. Abiding by all the rules they set for her.

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