Friction (Oath Keepers MC Book 5) (13 page)

A few minutes later I hear his bike fire up, taking off loudly in a rush.

I take a shower to get myself to calm down some, then lie back in our bed and weep for hours until I’m able to cry myself to sleep.

I’m fuckin’ scum. What a goddamn piece of shit to put my hands like that on a woman—and one I care so much for, at that. I don’t get why I wasn’t allowed to just die years ago; clearly I’m not doing good for anyone here. Why do I have to dream these fucked up things? I just hurt someone very dear to me, and I had absolutely no clue about it until she told me. How can I poison her life like that? I thought I couldn’t stay away, but she doesn’t deserve to live like that—in fear—scared I could choke her to death in the middle of the night.

My ribs burn badly from her kicks, but I deserve every ounce of pain that comes my way after that shit. It seems to be my life’s legacy to fuck shit up with the people I care the most about. I ride until I come to a little piece-of-shit bar on the side of the road, and pull in. Drowning my thoughts in liquor is exactly what I need right now. Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will kill me tonight, ending my misery altogether.

A few of our Nomads’ bikes are here, so I know it’s a friendly bar to our club. Not that it would matter; I could really go for getting shot right now. I’m so fuckin’ sick of dealin’ with shit. Sadie’s the one thing that’s brought me any kind of joy in such a long time; yet, I’m ruining her. I’ve been sucking all the light out of her. I park the bike and head inside, ready to drink an entire bottle if they’ll allow it.

I can’t stop replaying her words over in my mind,
I choked her.
I took that sweet, innocent woman’s breath from her and caused her pain. The real kicker is I could have killed her unborn son. Wouldn’t that be my luck, not only my own little girl, but steal away someone else’s as well.

Jesus Christ,
I think as I make my way up to the bar and sit on the wood stool.

An older woman with long dark hair and wearing a red tank top comes up to me. “What can I get you?”

“Double rum and coke, with a shot of tequila.”

“Wow, you’re on a mission, huh, sweetie?”

“To drink, not to fuckin’ talk,” I grumble and she scowls at me. I could give a shit less; it gets her to shut up and get my drinks. I’m ready to drown out my entire life in this alcohol.

I throw back five shots, sucking down two drinks in between, ready to make everything fade away when one of the Nomads, Scot, approaches me.

His bushy eyebrows rise. “Aye, laddy, you on a death wish?”

“Yep, somethin’ like that.”

“Is it so bad ye can’t hash it out at the club?”

“They don’t understand me; there’s tension and I ain’t tryin’ to deal with that shit right now.”

He plops his hefty self on the stool next to me. “Whiskey ma’am.” He brushes his red beard through his fingers sending her a small smile.

The bartender nods, quickly filling his order.

“Have ye thought of goin’ solo?”

“Away from my brothers?”

“Aye, son,” the older man nods, peering at me.

Shaking my head, I sip my rum and coke. It’s a good idea though.

“Never let a rift come between you an’ ye brothers, give it some thought, maybe yer best as a Nomad. There’s been talk and ye may fit better with our pack.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Aye, laddy, you do that.” He knocks back the rest of his whiskey, tapping the glass lightly on the bar before setting it close to the edge to be cleaned, and then heads back over to the pool table with his brothers. A few glance my way sending chin lifts, which I return with a minute nod.

NOMAD.

I’ve never paid it any mind before, but maybe that’s exactly what I need, to be away from the club- away and Sadie. I’d hung out with them a little in the past and was hoping to head on a run with them anyhow. I’m guessin’ by ol’ Scot’s words, they would vote me in? I know they’re a fucked up group of misfits, and I probably wouldn’t stand out so much around them.

When they’ve been around the club, they’ve pretty well kept to themselves, but help out when called upon. They’re much more aggressive and violent, which fits me fairly well, as I clearly have anger issues. It would keep me from hurtin’ Sadie or her baby boy again. I need to bring this up to the Prez and see what he thinks, if he would even approve the transfer.

At that, I chuck back another shot, wanting nothing more than to make my thoughts from earlier disappear. Each time a whore peers in my direction or approaches me, I tell her she’s a bitch and to get lost. They think I’m being hateful, but they don’t realize I’m probably saving their lives.

Just like I need to leave and save Sadie’s life, no matter how much it will kill me to stay away. She deserves more; Sadie deserves the best. And, unfortunately, that isn’t me.

***

I wake to the hot sun beating down on my back and my mind throbbing, aching from all the alcohol I consumed the night prior. Picking my head up, a few pebbles fall from my face and I crack my eyes open to discover I’m laid out on the side of the bar in the parking lot next to my bike. I have gravel indentions all over my hands and I can feel them digging into my thighs as well.

I have no idea how in the fuck I ended up out here. I got so piss-ass drunk last night; I remember sitting at the bar drinking, then it all goes black afterwards.

I reach to my back pocket, patting around.
Yep, still have my wallet.
Not that I ever carry much on me anyhow, but at least it’s still there.

Attempting to stand, my foot gets stabbed about twenty times so I plop back down, dumping the rocks out of my boot. How in the fuck they ended up there, is no tellin’, unless I was dragged over here. That would explain it.

Stumbling the few paces over to my bike, I dig through my saddlebags, looking for my cocaine, only to come up empty. Some fuck took my coke outta here. Why are people always taking my shit?

Wish I knew who it was so I could teach them a little lesson about stealing, especially from a biker. They’d be lucky if I didn’t pull some medieval shit and chop their hand off, like I threatened that prospect not too long ago.
Stupid fuckers.

I’m sure there’s some sort of shit storm waitin’ for me back at the club. It wouldn’t faze me if 2 Piece is on a warpath to slit my throat after the shit I pulled with Sadie baby last night. I can’t blame him, I kinda wanna take a knife to my jugular myself.

I load up on my loaner bike, the loud rev making my head pound even more.

Come on Daddy, pwease.

My daughter’s voice coaxes and it make me lean over the side retching up about a liter’s worth of alcohol and mixed drinks, knowing I would never be like this if she were here. I hate having her see me like this; she should be resting peacefully, not hanging on to me.

“I-I’m so sorry about this,” I utter pathetically, expelling more from my stomach, trying not to get it on my jeans.

Don’t be sad, Daddy.

“Please just move on with your momma; I don’t deserve you,” I choke out, spitting a few times.

I wipe my mouth and rev the engine multiple times, trying to drive her away from witnessing me lose myself. I could never be the father she needed. I didn’t deserve them, just like I don’t with Sadie and her son.

On that thought, I let off the brake slowly, making my way out of the gravel lot and take off for the clubhouse.

***

Surprisingly, the brothers and Sadie give me the space I need, so for a week I have the same routine, I sleep next to the bar, go to subway to eat a sandwich and then I’m back at the bar again. Midway through the week, I give in, buying a new pair of jeans, T-shirt, toothpaste and get a hotel to shower. It’s rough, but I make it.

After the week’s over with, along with my help on a late night excursion, I’m called back to the club for church.

Storms make trees take deeper roots.

-Dolly Parton

Church…

Slamming the gavel down,
Ares go over the plan we mapped out one last time. The room is damn near full with everyone, either back in town or still here from the club lockdown that was implemented two weeks ago.

Now we know a little more about the Iron Fists and what we have to do. We’ve discovered that they originate out of Cali. They have a smaller Texas chapter to the west between Odessa and El Paso, which we already knew about. The Texas chapter has about twenty members, each of them either rapists or women beaters, making us want to skin them even more.

I agree with Ares; I can’t believe it either that we haven’t run into them on any of our runs down I-10. Stupid fuckers are in our territory now, bad move on their part.

The motel they’re staying at wasn’t hard to find. Ares made a few phone calls around Austin to other surrounding clubs to confirm they’d seen an Iron Fist recently. Once we had a few spots to search, we found their bikes in no time.

Ares had a plan drawn up ASAP it seemed on what he wanted done, so he had me come along to assist. My ribs are still fucked, but I definitely wasn’t lettin’ my brothers handle the shit on their own, I want this Ghost fucker myself.

Yesterday we took their bikes and dropped them off at Rudy’s old chop shop to have them scraped up; pretty fuckin’ entertaining. I wish I’d seen their faces when they discovered their bikes were gone. It was the least we could do after the damage they caused at our clubhouse.

Ares smacks the table, drawing our attention to him, as he’s been fully patched to Vice President while I was out. The brothers called during one of my drunken nights and I gave them my vote via phone. Ares more than deserves the patch—the brother loves this club probably more than any of us, wouldn’t surprise me any if he even loved it more than the Prez.

“Brothers, everything went down without a hitch last night, taking the bikes. So far there’s been no blowback. I’m assumin’ either the dumb fucks haven’t stolen any cages yet, or they’re plottin’ something. We need to strike soon, before they’ve a chance to get too creative.”

Daddy.

Her voice starts in again and I tap away silently on the large table in front of me, anxious.
This can’t happen right now, I gotta be payin’ attention and not talking to you, baby.

Our road captain, Smiles, leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I think it’s best if the Nomads handle this.”

2 Piece gawks, pissed, and the Nomads, still in town, sit up straighter, their interest peaked. “No fuckin’ way. They attacked mine and Cain’s Ol’ Lady’s; we get to collect on that debt, brother.”

He leaves out the part about Sadie; surely she deserves some fuckin’ justice. It’s always just about their women though. It’s like after the Cali trip, he’s forgotten that it was a Fist who hit his sister, or maybe it’s just bothering me more than the others because I want to show the fuck how it feels to be hit.

“2 Piece,” Nightmare, the scary looking Nomad with long dark hair growls, “Smiles is right. If this blows back on the town some way, it’s better if we’re responsible for it, versus your club that resides here.”

Ares grumbles, interrupting everyone. “Look, I have to think of what’s best for not only the club, but also the towns around us. If anything comes back afterwards, then the Iron Fists will go after the Nomads, taking the Fists away from the main compound and keeping the city safe along with our families. Think of what Prez would want, if he were calling the shots right now.”

I pop my knuckles, drawing everyone’s attention. “I want in.”

Cain scoffs, “You’re no Nomad, brother.”

“Maybe I oughta be? Sick an’ tired of fuckin’ pussies,” I grumble, wanting to smash the prick in the face for talking to me like that in front of everyone. He may be the Enforcer now, but I’ve been a part of this club a hell of a lot longer than him.