Page 99 of Straight to Me

The road turns dusty, lined with tall gum trees either side. Up ahead, the track opens out to a wide-open space.

A flat tin-roofed building shaped like a giant L comes into view. On one side, tall windows stretch from top to bottom, on the other, giant bifold doors are open to a patio area.

A lone Harley stands next to where Jack parks his beaten patrol car.

Jack lets VP and me out. I go to say thank you but I’m unable to suppress the yawn that escapes.

“Mads, you look rough. No disrespect,” he says.

“None taken. Just a lot of excitement for this early hour.”

VP wraps his arm around me. For a moment, I rest my head on his shoulder. If I allow my eyes to close, I could sleep right here.

“Once we say hi to Ronnie, we’ll grab a room,” VP says.

“Are we staying here?” I’d assumed we’d stay in a hotel or something.

“You saw what happened before. You’re in my world now, Mads. Here’s the safest place for us to stay.” I can’t argue. Earlier was beyond crazy. I don’t even think it’s really sunk in yet.

The three of us head towards the large building. VP keeps his arm wrapped around me, propping my tired body up.

“Those men, the ones who chased us and shot at your car?” I ask.

“Sodom Saviours,” Jack notes, “they’re our common enemy, mine and the Rippers.” He nods at VP.

“Will they attack again?” I check, just so I can mentally prepare myself.

“They try something new most weeks. We hurt them, they hurt us and so on.”

My cheeks slump. “It must be exhausting.”

“It can be, but don’t worry. Deano won’t let anything happen to you.” I half-heartedly smile at Jack, my arm tightening round VP. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” he adds, ushering us both forwards.

Once through the door, the clubhouse interior resembles that of the one back in Preston. It’s all open-planned apart from the left wing of the building. The whole space is much bigger, a familiar bike looks epic hanging on the wall.

Given the early hour, the place is dead, apart from a lone figure sat at the bar.

“Dad,” Jack says.

The man at the bar looks up to us. “Jack. Deano, how are you fella?” His accent has a northern peppering mixed with Australian, unlike his son’s strictly Aussie accent.

“Uncle Ronnie.”

VP lets me go as he meets his uncle. They hug each other, tight. It’s a deep, meaningful moment. Too much time appears to have passed since they last met.

“And who’s this?” Ronnie looks to me. He looks scarily similar to Rocco, just a tad more hair and a foot shorter. His face is happy and cheerful, not hardened like his doppelgänger.

“This is Mads,” VP introduces.

I wave my hand gingerly to Ronnie.

“Mads, it’s good of you to have made the trip with our Deano. Come, get sat down. Can I get you a drink?”

We move to the bar stools and take a seat.

“I could murder a brew if that’s okay?” Hoping I won’t be putting him out.

“No trouble at all. Jack, put the kettle on.”

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