Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Late Spring 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

In what I suspected was the only way he saw an opportunity to assemble the family that he had lived so long without, Shane bought three adjacent lots in an upscale neighborhood with his proceeds from the fight; and as the winter came to a close, the three homes he was having constructed were completed.

I couldn’t help but admire his newfound desires – and the reasons behind them – even if he didn’t admit what the driving force was behind his spending habits. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t need to, it was apparent.

A man who had spent his adult lifetime pinching every penny he earned seemed to now enjoy spending at least a portion of his fortune on the things and people he truly found valuable. A block from his home, a school was being built for special needs children, all funded by him entirely.

I sat in a lounge chair on the deck of my new home staring blankly at the massive swimming pool in Shane’s back yard. According to him, the pool was a community pool for all of us to share; and since we moved into our homes, we had done just that. Barbeques, gatherings, parties, and discussions happened on the deck of the pool on an almost daily basis.

Initially, being in Texas wasn’t an easy thing for me. Regardless of the animosity I felt toward my father for coercing my sister to give up her child for adoption, leaving him wasn’t a simple thing for me to do.

Sitting there gazing at the area where I had spent countless hours playing with my new nephew, I had a slight epiphany.

God is not only understanding and forgiving, he places in front of us all that is necessary to live a peaceful life. At times he may take from us, but he also provides. It is up to us, however, to see exactly what it is he is offering.

I stood from my seat. As my eyes continued to linger toward the pool, I was filled with a newfound gratitude for everything and everyone in my life. My mind took a short pause as well, acknowledging how both Katie and Casey were a tremendous blessing to me, each providing me unconditional love on varying levels. The two loves of my life were gained as a result of friends, not family. People I had met who were selfless, willing to offer themselves and the ones they loved all in an effort to become closer to a man who just happened into their lives.

I was now living in the polar opposite location from where I had spent the majority of my life. Learning how to live a life filled with love wasn’t a natural task for me, and as I turned away and began to walk toward the house, I chuckled at the similarities between Casey and me. In some respect we were each learning how to live life for the first time, neither of us fully understanding what was around the next corner.

As I opened the door leading into the house, I paused and turned back toward my lounge. My phone was on the table beside the chair, sitting idle, as always. It was a device I had never really become accustomed to, but appreciated nonetheless. I reached over the chair, picked up the phone, and typed a text message to Katie.

Thinking of you

I pressed
send
and turned toward the open door knowing no matter what happened, I would spend the rest of my life doing so.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Early Summer 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

The state of Texas was unique in many respects, but one in general that pertained to me. The state was occupied by a 1% MC who claimed the state as theirs sixty years prior. Any club who wanted to be respected, even non-1%ers, needed to get authorization from the Banditos to open a chapter in the state. It wasn’t as much a matter of necessity as it was a matter of respect.

Although our club was not going to be an outlaw club, we respectfully set up a meeting with all of the local clubs to assure there were going to be no surprises after the club began to operate in full force. Shane, Ripp and I went to the meeting with high hopes of their being little if any resistance to our starting the club.

The three of us were seated on one side of the room, with the entire group seated across the room glaring at us. More than a dozen various clubs, primarily 1% clubs, each had their respective presidents in attendance, with the exception of one local club, the Selected Sinners.

Their support came from my home town of Wichita, due to the local chapter being on a mandatory run. As Wichita was the parent chapter for the Sinners, no exception was taken to their representative or their participation. Although their representative showed up late, I was glad he did, because he seemed to be the only sensible man in the group.

With Shane on one side and Ripp on the other, I did my best to respond to the questions as they were asked.

“So you ain’t even gonna have a bottom rocker?” one of the men asked.

Jesus, how many times are you going to ask this question?

“That is correct. Our colors will employ an upper rocker, club logo, and an “MC” patch with no lower rocker. We claim no territory,” I responded.

“So you ain’t claimin’ the state of Texas as your territory?” another man asked.

The president of the Selected Sinners cleared his throat and turned toward the man who asked the question.

“That same question has been asked a dozen fucking times. Asked, and answered,” he said.

He continued to glare at the man, and continued. “They’re a fucking do-gooder club.”

Well, I wouldn’t call it that, but…

He turned to face me, met my gaze, and stared. After a moment of our eyes remaining locked, he leaned forward slightly and cleared his throat.

“What’s your hustle?” he asked.

He was asking what, if any, criminal activity the club was going to participate in to support themselves. Not all, but some 1% MCs ventured into a criminal enterprise.

I shook my head. “We don’t have one, nor will we. Simply some local fellas that have a common love for bikes, riding, and enjoying the open road. I’m a former Marine, and the brotherhood a club offers is important to me. We don’t need a hustle to support the club.”

He leaned back into his seat and nodded his head once.

“I say we vote,” he said. “They’re not claiming territory and they aren’t going to interfere with the business of any of the clubs in attendance. If a club isn’t here, as far as I’m concerned, they don’t care, and therefore have no say. We’ve been here thirty minutes, and that’s about twenty-eight too fucking long.”

He paused and turned his head toward the left and then toward the right. The meeting was a fly by the seat of your pants affair that no one was really in charge of, and although many had asked questions over the last thirty minutes, the Selected Sinners President seemed to be the one in charge, or at least he was taking charge.

“All in favor?” he asked.

“Aye,” voices from the group rang out.

“Opposed?” he asked.

Silence.

I glanced at Ripp and Shane and grinned. “There you have it, fellas. It’s official.”

“Appreciate all your time,” I said as I stood from my seat.

As a matter of respect, I waited for the men to stand up and either come speak to me or show their lack of interest and go speak to someone else. The first man to come speak was the president of the Selected Sinners.

“Slice,” he said as he stepped in front of me. “Welcome to Texas.”

“A-Train,” I said as I shook his hand. “President.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Dekk, the V.P., and Ripp, Sergeant-At-Arms.”

“Pleasure to meet you fellas. I’m pretty tight with Doc back in Wichita, he said you’re originally from there, speaks highly of you,” he said.

“Damned fine man,” I said.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Slice responded.

“Well, if you fellas don’t have plans, we’re headed out to a bar for drinks and a little food. Love to have you ride with us,” he said.

Being asked by a 1%er to ride with their club wasn’t unheard of, but it certainly wasn’t common, either. Even if I had other plans, I would have cancelled them out of respect to him and his club. In short, it was an honor to be invited, and it spoke volumes about Slice’s respect for us as a club for him to invite us.

“We’ll ride. Know where you’re going?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Hoping you’d know a place.”

“Red Shed,” Ripp said. “Best biker bar in town, and they’re 1%er friendly.

“Sounds like my kind of place,” Slice said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the fellas.”

“Be right there,” I said. “Just going to go shake a few hands.”

Ripp and Dekk followed Slice outside and I wandered the inside of the facility giving anyone an opportunity to speak or introduce themselves. After shaking two hands and being eye-fucked by the remainder of the wannbe gangsters, I stepped outside and peered along the length of motorcycles that had parked outside since we walked in.

“Ripp’s over there,” Dekk said as he tossed his head toward Ripp.

He stood forty feet away with four men, all who wore Selected Sinners colors. As my eyes attempted to adjust from the darkened building to the Texas sun, I noticed one of the men had a USMC tattoo on his forearm, which immediately caught my attention.

“Staff Sergeant Jacob!” he yelled.

I shifted my eyes from his bicep to his face.

My mind began to spin.

They told me you were dead.

I stood and stared. It couldn’t be. There was no way. He had to be be someone else.

I slowly walked in his direction. The closer I got, the clearer it became. I blinked my eyes. It had been ten years since I had seen him, but he looked exactly the same.  

“Sergeant Todelli? The fucking Toad? Holy shit, Brother, I thought you were dead,” I said.

He shook his head and grinned. “Fuck, I got medevaced out, treated, handed a Purple Heart, and went right fucking back. But I watched you get killed.”

Although I was told by the Lieutenant Colonel that there were no men killed in action in my platoon, Sergeant Todelli was the only casualty my platoon had later suffered from the Second Battle of Fallujah, or at least I had thought.

Seeing him opened a part of me that had long since been closed off, and I felt as if I had truly accomplished my task the day I was shot into a piece of Swiss cheese.

He opened his arms and we embraced. A whirlwind of emotion that had long since left me quickly returned, and I recalled the last battle I had seen him in. As I released him from my arms, I leaned back and studied him.

“Shit, that bastard didn’t kill me. Shot me a few times, but that’s it. They told me you died. I was out six months, handed a couple of medals, and went back. Longest six months of my fucking life. Had to beg those bastards to send me back, and when I got to battalion they said you were dead. I asked around, and no one remembered what happened to you. I guessed you died, but I didn’t know if it was the second in Fallujah or somewhere else,” I said.

“Alive and well,” he said. “But when they transferred me to first platoon in Charlie, I heard you died. Died a fucking hero,” he said.

I shook my head and grinned. “Shit, the medevac chopper flew out, and I laid in the fucking street returning fire until a Corpsman drug me behind that building. Fucking sniper shot me twice, but your chopper hadn’t made it out yet. Hell, I had to stay and make sure my Marines got out of there safely. And he had to shoot me one more time for before I got him,” I said.

“
Ready for anything, counting on nothing
,” he said with a laugh.

It was the motto of the 2/7 Marines.

“Isn’t that the truth. Damn, it’s good to see you,” I said with a nod.

He grinned and nodded his head. “Good to be seen. And fuck it’s good to know you’re alive.”

Axton crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back slightly. “I’m guessing you two fuckers don’t need an introduction?”

“Not at all,” Toad said with a laugh.

“So what the fuck are you doing
here
?” he asked.

“Trying to start a new chapter for our club. Just trying to make sure we don’t step on any toes,” I said.

“One percent club?” he asked.

“We’re not a 1%er, club, no. We don’t claim territory, and we don’t have any hustle. We just ride and have a deep brotherhood. It’s a nationwide group of firefighters, military, and friends of. We can talk about it at the bar,” I said.

Finding out he was alive and well was a huge relief, and quite a boost to my military ego. The emotion I was filled with was unexplainable, and would be the equivalent of someone learning their brother was alive after mourning his death for more than a decade. I stood there admiring him feeling better than I had felt since the war ended, and most definitely more accomplished than I had felt throughout all of my experience in combat.

I shook my head, still incapable of believing it was him. “Damn it’s good to see you. Let me introduce you to the soon-to-be Vice-President and Sergeant-at-Arms. Two of the best motherfuckers to ever grace this earth.”

“Big bastard here is Mike Ripton, but just call him Ripp,” I said as I extended my arm toward Ripp.

“Ripp, this is Toad, a Marine brother of mine. Toad, this is the one and only Ripp,” I said.

“Nice to meet you,” Toad said as his eyes fell to Ripp’s Chucks.

Most bikers rode their bikes in boots and jeans, but Ripp wasn’t most bikers. Dressed in his typical cargo shorts, wife beater, and Chuck’s he looked like he was going to the beach, not on a motorcycle ride.

Toad coughed a laugh. “Do you ride in those fucking tennis shoes?”

“Pleasure to meet ya,” Ripp said as he reached down and grabbed his foot. As he lifted his foot to his chest, he continued. “But these ain’t tennis shoes, Brother. They’re fuckin’ Chuck’s.”

Toad’s eyes widened as Ripp released his foot.

“And fuck, yes, I ride in ‘em. Hell, I even keep ‘em on when I fuck,” Ripp said.

I shook my head and pointed to Shane, who, as always, had stood silently. 

“Ripp’s going to be the SAA. And this fella here…”

“You’re Shane fucking Dekkar,” Toad said excitedly.

Shane pulled his hood from his head and extended his hand. “Sure am. Pleasure to meet you, Sir. And call me Dekk.”

Toad glanced over his shoulder and quickly turned around. “You’ve got to be fucking shittin’ me. You’ve got the Heavyweight Champion of the fucking World as your Vice President? Otis, did you see this?”

A man standing behind him who was no less than six foot six nodded in our direction. “Sure as fuck did. Axton introduced us while you were zoned out.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dekkar, call me Toad. And that fight a while back, against Brock? Best fucking fight I’ve ever seen. We all watched it in our clubhouse. Son-of-a-bitch that was a good fight,” Toad said. 

“Thank you, Sir, I appreciate it. He was a tough opponent,” Dekk said.

“Fellas, I want you to meet Staff Sergeant Jacob. Known by his Marine brethren as
The A-Train
, because when he’s coming, not a fucking thing can stop him,” Toad said to the group of men as he stepped between where we were standing and the building.

The group was standing alongside the motorcycles, facing the building, and Toad was facing the group, waving his arms as if he was announcing the arrival of a celebrity. It was easy to forgive his excitement, because I felt exactly the same way, I only did a better job of hiding my emotion.

Slice stood from the side of what I assumed was his bike. “Well, if all you fuckers are done swapping spit and hugging each other, maybe we should head out to the bar.”

“Axton, my two o’clock,” Toad said.

I glanced over my shoulder to see what he was shouting about. A car slowly pulled into the parking lot. I turned around and shifted my eyes back to Toad, who was looking behind me and now clearly appeared to be concerned.

I’d seen the look a thousand times. Something was wrong, and when something was wrong with one of my Marines, something was wrong with me. With the car being the only thing I knew of that was behind me, and Toad’s eyes widening, I glanced over my shoulder again.