Page 10

TEN

BOZO

I take a sip of the cheap whiskey. This pub isn’t one of the greatest, but the booze is cheap and it’s a little out of the town center so it’s not busy and cramped like a lot of the other pubs.

“You doing okay, kid?” Donal asks. The old, frail man is the owner. This is the pub Dad would come to after I’d won him a lot of money. He’d want to celebrate.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Donal's seen people at their worst. He never judges them. He always has a sympathetic ear and a drink ready for everyone. He doesn't push, just tops off their glasses and moves down the bar.

The whiskey burns going down, but it's a welcome distraction from the constant thoughts that are running through my head. Since I spoke with Pyro, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about joining the Fury Vipers motorcycle club. From everything I’ve heard, they’re supposed to be one of the best clubs there is. Anyone I’ve spoken to says they’re fair but you don’t want to cross them.

I take another sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest. The Fury Vipers have been around for decades. They’re based mainly in the US, but Pyro met Chloe Gallagher and the Fury Viper MC started a chapter here in Ireland. Everyone says the same thing. The Fury Vipers MC are a brotherhood, a family.

That’s not something I’ve ever had before. Gráinne is the only one who is even close to a family that I have.

The bell above the door chimes, and I glance over my shoulder. Two bikers saunter in, wearing the same cut Pyro had on the other night. They’re part of the Fury Vipers club too.

They move to the pool table at the back of the pub. They’re both American, their voices not loud, but also not quiet. They rack up the balls and start playing.

Donal shuffles over to take their order, exchanging familiar greetings. It's clear they're regulars here too. I haven’t seen them here before.

I turn back to my drink, my mind racing. Can I really do this? Join their world? What if they think just like my dad did, that I’m nothing more than a genius freak?

I signal Donal for another whiskey, and as he pours, I catch him eyeing the bikers, then me. There's a knowing look in his light brown eyes.

"Thinking of making some changes, lad?" he asks softly.

I hesitate then shrug slowly. "Maybe. I don't know yet."

He slides the fresh drink toward me. "Sometimes, the only way to know is to take the leap."

The thing is, I’m not sure if I’m wanting to take that leap. There’s still a lot I don’t know about them. I don’t take uncalculated risks. Never have, never will.

“Christ,” Donal grunts. “What the hell is Eamon doing here?”

I turn and see the man in question stumbling around. Christ, he’s drunk as a skunk and slurring his words like a motherfucker. There’s only one thing you can guarantee with Eamon: he’ll be belligerent while drunk and start a fight. The man spends the majority of his time in the drunk tank. He also has a gambling addiction and owes Lorcan more money than he’ll ever be able to repay.

Eamon staggers toward the bar, his bloodshot eyes scanning the room. His gaze lands on the bikers at the pool table, and a sneer twists his face.

"Well, well," he slurs, loud enough for everyone to hear. "If it ain't the Yankee boys playing dress-up."

The pub goes quiet. I tense, watching as the bikers slowly turn to face Eamon. The largest of them, a burly man with a thick beard, steps forward.

"You got a problem?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Eamon laughs, a harsh, grating sound. "Yeah, I got a problem. You lot, thinking you can come over here and act like you own the place."

Donal moves from behind the bar, his weathered face creased with worry. "Now, Eamon, let's not start any trouble. Why don't you head on home?"

But Eamon's too far gone, too drunk and angry to listen to reason. He shoves past Donal, nearly knocking the old man over. I stand up, ready to intervene, but the bikers beat me to it.

"Hey!" one of them shouts, grabbing Eamon's arm. "Watch it, asshole!"

Eamon whirls around, his fist already swinging. It connects with the biker's jaw with a sickening crack. In an instant, chaos erupts.

The bearded biker tackles Eamon, sending them both crashing into a nearby table. Glasses shatter, chairs topple, and patrons scramble to get out of the way.

I stand frozen, caught between the desire to help and the instinct to stay out of it. But when I see Donal trying to break up the fight, getting jostled and pushed in the process, I know I can't just stand by.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the melee. I grab Eamon's collar, yanking him back just as he's about to throw another punch. He stumbles, off-balance, and I use his momentum to spin him around.

"Eamon!" I shout, getting in his face. "That's enough! You need to leave, now!"

For a moment, his glazed eyes focus on me, confusion replacing the anger. Then recognition dawns, and he sneers.

"Well, if it ain't the little genius," he spits. "Daddy's golden goose. What are you gonna do, boy? Calculate me to death?"

I clench my jaw, fighting back the urge to punch him myself. Instead, I tighten my grip on his shirt and start pushing him toward the door.

"I said, leave," I growl.

Behind me, I hear the bikers regrouping, muttering to each other. I can feel their eyes on my back as I maneuver Eamon toward the exit. He's still struggling, but his drunken state makes him easy to control.

"Get your hands off me, you little shit!" he slurs, trying to twist out of my grip.

I ignore him, focusing on getting him out the door. Just as we reach the threshold, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I tense, expecting trouble, but when I turn, I see it's the bearded biker.

"Need a hand?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I hesitate for a moment, then nod. Together, we half-drag, half-carry Eamon out onto the street. The cool night air hits us, and Eamon seems to deflate, the fight going out of him.

"Go home, Eamon," I say, releasing him. "Sleep it off."

He stumbles away, muttering curses under his breath. I watch him go, making sure he doesn't fall or try to come back in. When he's out of sight, I turn to the biker.

"Thanks," I say, suddenly feeling awkward.

He nods, eyeing me with curiosity. "That was some quick thinking in there. You handled yourself well."

I shrug, not used to praise. "Just didn't want Donal's place getting trashed."

The biker grins. "Loyal. I like that." He extends his hand. "Name's Preacher."

I shake his hand, wanting to ask where he got the name Preacher from, but I refrain. Now ain’t the time. "Connor," I reply.

Preacher's eyebrows rise slightly. "Connor? As in the poker player, Connor?"

I nod, surprised. "You know me?" I ask, wondering how he knows my name.

"Sure do. My prez, Pyro, mentioned meeting you the other night. He said you were a smart kid."

I feel a flush of pride at Pyro's words, quickly followed by a wave of uncertainty. What else has Pyro told them about me?

Preacher seems to sense my unease. He claps me on the shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle for such a large man. "Hey, why don't you come back inside? I’m guessing if you’re good at cards, you’ll be good at pool, right?" There’s no weirdness to his tone, just stating a fact.

I hesitate, glancing back at the pub. Through the window, I can see Donal and the other biker cleaning up the mess from the fight. I should go back to my spot at the bar and leave it be, but there’s a part of me that wants to find out more about the bikers.

Maybe Donal was right. Maybe it is time to take a leap.

I take a deep breath and nod. "Yeah, alright. Thanks."

Preacher grins and leads me back into the pub. As we enter, I can feel the eyes of the other people on us. I follow Preacher to the pool table, wondering if I’m making the right decision.

As we approach the pool table, the other biker eyes me with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Preacher introduces me, "Wrath, this is Connor. He just helped us take out the trash."

The guy called Wrath is a little shorter than Preacher and has a full sleeve of tattoos. He nods appreciatively. "Nice work, kid. I'm Wrath."

Preacher turns to me. "What's your poison, Connor?"

"Whiskey," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nods approvingly and heads to the bar. I stand there awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with myself. I hate interacting with people I don’t know. Wrath breaks the silence.

"So, Connor, Pyro tells us you're quite the card shark."

I shrug, uncomfortable with the attention. "I'm alright."

Wrath snorts. "Alright? From what we heard, you're a fucking savant."

Before I can respond, Preacher returns with our drinks. He hands me a glass of whiskey, noticeably better quality than what I was drinking earlier.

"To new friends," he says, raising his glass.

We clink glasses and drink. The whiskey is smooth, warming me from the inside out. As I lower my glass, I notice Donal watching us from behind the bar. He gives me a small nod of approval.

Preacher leans against the pool table. "So, Connor, Pyro mentioned you might be interested in learning more about the club."

My heart rate picks up and I take another sip of whiskey to calm my nerves.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it," I admit.

Wrath grins. "Well, you've certainly got the balls for it. Not many people would jump into a fight like that."

"Especially not for a couple of strangers," Preacher adds.

I shrug again. "It was the right thing to do."

Preacher studies me for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "You know, Connor, the Fury Vipers aren't just about riding bikes and looking tough. We're a family. We take care of our own."

The word 'family' strikes a chord in me. I think about my father, about the years of exploitation and neglect. Could this be the family I've always wanted?

"What would joining entail?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral. I’m truly interested. It’s just a huge fucking decision.

Preacher exchanges glances with Wrath. "Well, first you'd start as a prospect. You'd have to prove yourself; show that you're loyal and willing to put the club first."

"And if I do?"

"Then you become a full member. A brother," Wrath says with a grin. “You’d have to be determined, and you’d need to have the balls to stick with it.”

I nod, taking it all in. It's a lot to consider.

“That’s all for another day. Right now, we’re going to play pool. I want to see what the kid’s got,” Preacher says as he racks up the balls.

I smile. This is something I can do. It’s angles and precision. I’ve been playing pool for as long as I can remember. I must admit that I’m a lot more at ease around these guys than I had thought I’d be. But Preacher’s right, today isn’t the day to decide. Right now, I’m focusing on the game. Tomorrow is a new day.

“Connor, that was a good game.” Lorcan grins as he hands me the money I won. “Gotta admit, taking you on was without a doubt the best decision I’ve ever made. You make me an extremely rich man.”

I hear laughter behind me and turn to see Jerry Houlihan grinning as he steps up to us. “You got to him before anyone else could, Lorcan. Na Cártaí Dubha are lucky to have him.”

The organization that Lorcan owns has grown a hell of a lot since I joined them. I technically don’t work solely for them, but when I play poker, Na Cártaí Dubha take a percentage of the profit as they’re the ones who are staking me in the game. It’s a win-win for me as if I lose—which is extremely rare—then I don’t lose money, Na Cártaí Dubha does. But I make them more money than any other revenue they have.

“You poached him when he was a boy, Lorcan,” Jer continues. “No one stood a chance.”

“That’s because the boy is smart and knows what will make him the most money,” Lorcan chuckles.

“That he is. Now, when’s the next game? I’m wanting to win back some of my money. The boy fleeced me.”

I chuckle. That’s one thing I haven’t done. Jer knows how to play and he’s damn good at it. However, Eamon is beyond pissed. He borrowed a hundred thousand from Lorcan, more money than ever before, and he lost it within the first hour and has been seething quietly ever since.

I can feel Eamon's glare burning into my back as Jer and Lorcan chat. I try to focus on the conversation, but my instincts are screaming at me to watch my back.

"Next game's in two weeks," Lorcan says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Same place, same stakes. You in, Jer?"

Jerry nods eagerly. "Wouldn't miss it. Maybe I'll get lucky and the kid here will have an off night."

We all laugh, but I can feel the burn of Eamon's stare. It’s starting to become unbearable. I glance over my shoulder, catching his bloodshot eyes for a moment before he looks away, muttering something under his breath.

"I’m going to head on home," I say, turning back to Lorcan and Jer. "I’ll see you soon."

Lorcan nods, his smile still bright and filled with happiness. He's made a lot of money this evening. No doubt he’ll spend it on expensive suits, much like the one he’s wearing now. "Alright, Connor. We'll be in touch about the next game. Speak to you soon."

I nod my thanks and make my way to the door, purposely avoiding Eamon's corner of the room. I step outside, and I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease that's settled over me.

I've barely made it halfway down the block when I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy, stumbling footsteps. I don't need to turn around to know who it is.

"Hey, you little shit!" Eamon's slurred voice calls out. "Where do you think you're going?"

I keep walking, not giving him the satisfaction of turning. "Go home, Eamon. Sleep it off."

But Eamon's not backing down. I hear him getting closer, his breathing ragged and angry. "You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you can just waltz in and take everyone's money?"

I spin around, finally facing him. He's swaying on his feet, eyes unfocused but filled with rage. "I didn't take anything, Eamon. You lost fair and square."

He lunges forward, grabbing my shirt. His breath reeks of cheap whiskey. "Fair? Nothing's fair about you, you freak. You used that big brain of yours to cheat us all."

I try to push him off but he's got a death grip on my shirt. "I don't cheat, Eamon. You know that. Now let go before you do something you'll regret."

He laughs, and it’s a harsh, bitter sound. "Regret? The only thing I regret is not putting you in your place sooner."

His fist comes flying toward my face, but his drunken state makes him slow and clumsy. I manage to duck, feeling the whoosh of air as his fist passes over my head.

“Fucking knew he’d start somethin’,” I hear someone growl.

I spot a glint of silver as Eamon rights himself before getting ready to attack again. The fucker has a knife and there’s an angry look in his eyes.

“I’ve lost everything,” he growls, edging closer to me.

I square my shoulders and wait for him to attack. I may be a freak and a genius, but I know how to take care of myself.

“Touch him,” I hear that voice say, “and you’ll die.”

I turn to my left, shocked to see Pyro still here, not to mention Wrath and Preacher alongside him.

“We knew he was up to no good,” Pyro explains. “Fucker couldn’t keep his eyes off you all night. Bastard.”

Eamon's eyes dart between me and the bikers, his grip on the knife tightening. He doesn’t heed the warning. Instead, he lunges forward, the blade of his knife coming toward me. He’s drunk and sloppy, which means I’m able to move out of the way and grab hold of his wrist. I pull it back, loving the snap I hear as the knife in his hand drops to the ground.

“Fucking warned you,” Pryo growls as he steps forward, his fist slamming into Eamon’s face over and over again.

I watch in shock as Pyro unleashes a flurry of punches on Eamon. The drunk man crumples to the ground, his face a bloody mess. Pyro doesn't stop, his fists continuing to rain down on Eamon's now unconscious form.

"Pyro," Preacher says firmly, placing a hand on his president's shoulder. "That's enough. He's done."

Pyro stands, his breathing ragged as he stares down at the asshole on the ground. There’s no mistaking that he’s dead. His face is caved in from the beating he took.

“Fuck,” Wrath growls low. “We need to sort this shit out.” He walks away, his cell to his ear, and I hear him talking. He’ll have someone here to clean up.

Pyro turns to me, his knuckles split and covered in blood, his eyes wild with rage. "You okay, kid?"

I nod, still processing what just happened. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." I’ve never had someone step up for me before. Fuck, it feels fucking good.

Pyro spits on the ground next to Eamon's prone form. "Serves the bastard right. Nobody threatens one of ours."

His words hit me hard. One of ours. Is that what I am now?

"We should get out of here," Preacher says, glancing around. "Wrath is sorting everything."

Pyro nods then looks at me. "Meet us at the clubhouse, Connor."

I nod and watch as he and Preacher move toward their bikes. I hear their engines roar to life and know that it’s time to go.

I stand there for a moment, staring at Eamon's lifeless body. The reality of what just happened starts to sink in. A man is dead because of me. Because he threatened me.

But there's no time to dwell on it. I need to get out of here before anyone else shows up. I turn toward my car, slide in, and start up the engine, my mind racing. Everything has changed in the span of a few minutes. The Fury Vipers just killed a man to protect me. They called me one of theirs. I hadn’t known if I wanted to join, but I do now. They already think of me as one of their own. It’s something I’ve always looked for: a family, a brotherhood, a sense of belonging, and with the Fury Vipers, I feel that’s exactly what I’ll have.

As I drive, I can't help but think about how this night has turned out. I went from winning a poker game to witnessing a murder in the span of a few hours. And now I'm heading to a biker clubhouse in the middle of the night.

I pull up to the clubhouse, seeing Pyro and Preacher's bikes already parked outside. Taking a deep breath, I step out of my car and walk toward the entrance. Before I can even knock, the door swings open.

Pyro stands there, his knuckles now cleaned of blood but still raw and red. "Come on in, kid," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I step inside, immediately hit by the smell of leather, cigarette smoke, and beer. The main room is dimly lit, with a bar along one wall and various leather couches and chairs scattered around. A few other members are there, all eyeing me curiously.

Pyro leads me to a back room, closing the door behind us. Preacher is already there, along with another man I don't recognize.

"Connor, this is Raptor, our VP," Pyro introduces. The man nods at me, his face serious.

"Alright, kid," Pyro says, sitting down and gesturing for me to do the same. "We need to talk about what happened tonight."

I nod, sitting down across from him. "Thank you," I say. “I appreciate what you did.”

Pyro's face hardens. "He deserved it. Nobody threatens one of ours and gets away with it."

There it is again. One of ours.

“So, what do you say, kid?” Raptor asks with a grin. “You ready to become a prospect?”

I don’t even need to think. I’ve made up my mind.

“Yes,” I say with a grin. “I am.”

I know it’s the right decision for me. I’ve been searching for something my entire life, and tonight I finally found it. This is what I want.