Page 4
Coast
“I gotta ask,” I said, passing Caymen a beer as he stood looking at the empty pool.
The brothers had shown up just about a half an hour before, talking to Huck and the other OG guys for a while before being introduced to the rest of us.
There was a clear age gap between the two of them. Caymen, the older brother, had a solid eight or ten years on Dixon.
While both brothers were tall and fit, Caymen had that bulkier frame that came with age and more time in the gym. Both were also dark-haired and eyed, and sported various black and gray tattoos, but that was where the similarities ended.
Caymen had a wider jaw with a short beard, stern-looking brows, and a familiar dark look in his eyes.
Dixon, on the other hand, had a sharp jaw, a shit ton of lashes, and an easy smile.
“Ask what?” Caymen asked, popping the tab on his beer and taking a long swig.
“Your mom let you be named Caymen Cider?”
To that, Caymen snorted.
“Mom was probably hopped up on benzos my old man jacked from the hospital at the time and thought it was hilarious.”
Velle was going to have a lot of fun with that history.
I knocked my beer to his.
“Here’s to shitty moms. And shittier dads,” I said, having a set of those myself. Though I’d been careful not to divulge much of that to the club. Not even Velle with his all-seeing eyes.
Some shit was nobody’s business but my own.
“Have you two always wanted to be bikers?” I asked.
“We had a foster father once who had a bike. We all spent a lotta time cleaning it, tuning it up, going out on it. He was in a club. But the weekend warrior type. But he always said that joining a club was the best thing he ever did. That no matter what shit went down in life, knowing your brothers had your back helped you deal with it.”
“True enough.” I’d personally joined more for the partying and potential to do some crazy shit. Hell, the family aspect had been awkward and uncomfortable at first. But I’d been slowly but surely getting used to it. “Why’d it take so long to get here?”
“Necessity had us making our own way. Honestly, didn’t know you were out here. Probably would have made our way out this way sooner if we had. The grind has been getting old.”
“Different kind of grind here.”
“Heard all about the bitch work,” Caymen said, shooting me a small smirk before taking another sip of his drink. “We’re happy to earn our patches. Though, someone might have to teach Dixon how to work a dishwasher.”
“Eddie usually handles that.”
“Prospect?”
“Hangabout. He’s practically a brother. He’s here sometimes twice a day cooking for everyone.”
“No shit? Haven’t had a meal I didn’t buy or cook myself in a decade.”
“And you’ve never had anything like Eddie’s food.”
“What’s the club girl situation like?”
“We have a few regulars. A couple more who are around occasionally. But we like to do some… community outreach to get some other girls back here to party.”
“And the old ladies? What do I need to know about them?”
“That their husbands would rip off your arms and beat you to death with them if you so much as looked at ‘em sideways.”
“Got it,” Caymen agreed.
“They’re not around as much. Everyone’s off making and raising babies. For the most part, it’s just the single guys around the clubhouse most of the time.”
“Fine by me. What about the accommodations?”
“Alaric and Levee just moved into their own places, so you two should be getting their rooms.”
With the rate Huck was adding to the club, I figured it was only a matter of time before there were some plans for expansion to the clubhouse.
He’d built his own home off to the side.
But with another two prospects and the sounds of more on the horizon, it was going to start to feel cramped for those of us who didn’t move on and settle down.
“Not much to do out this way, right?”
“Hence why we party here. But there’s a new bar down in town we are gonna check out tonight, see if we can find some pretty to bring back here.”
“Sounds good to me. Been a long time since we had any time off to party.” Caymen’s gaze slid over toward where his brother was sitting on one of the chaise lounges next to Velle. The easy smile that had been on Dixon’s face a moment ago had fallen. “What’s his deal?”
“Velle… he has a talent for reading people. Huck likes it for the club. But some of us who don’t like anyone prodding around in our brains might want to be a little more careful around him. Got bomb-ass taste in music, though.”
“And what about him?” he asked, nodding his chin toward York.
“York used to bury bodies for the mob up in New York. Came down this way to take care of his grandfather. Got interested in the club. He’s good people. More on the serious side. But always up for a good time.”
“And him?” Caymen asked, looking over at Kylo.
“Did solo work for a long time until someone nearly punched his ticket for him. Came to join here not long after that. He’s not as serious as York and won’t shrink you like Velle. He’s the bird’s favorite person. Don’t take it personally.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What should I know about you? What might the other fucks say about you?”
“Me, I’m a Boy Scout,” I said, getting a snort out of him.
“Yeah, that Fuck You ink is real mature and grounded. And what’s the tat for?” he asked, nodding toward the tattoo that equaled thirteen notches.
Bodies.
They stood for bodies.
Ones in the ground.
Ones on my soul.
“A warning,” I told him, shrugging.
“Fair. I’m gonna go tap my brother out,” Caymen said, catching a look from his brother that clearly brought out his protective side.
As Caymen walked over to talk to Velle, I grabbed another beer and handed it to Dixon as he made his way back.
“He’s intense,” I said.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Dixon admitted, taking a swig that nearly drained the beer in one sip.
“Confess your biggest secrets?” I teased.
“Damn near. Coast, right?”
“Right,” I agreed. “I believe I was told you were, what was the word?”
“Crazy?” Coast asked.
“Unhinged,” Dixon corrected.
“Probably more accurate. Your brother’s not gonna give Velle shit, is he?”
“Nah. That’d be like trying to get a rock to talk. You guys planning on anything fun tonight?”
“Hitting the bar to find some girls to bring back here to party.”
“Sounds good to me. Need some light and fun after that. Feels like the guy reached into my head and rearranged some shit.”
“He won’t pry so much once you’re in. We’re just supposed to report back to Huck our first impressions of you two. Velle was trying to get as much info as he could.”
“I’m afraid he might know me better than anyone else ever has. In fifteen minutes. So, tell me about this bar.”
“Can’t. It’s new. Haven’t been there yet.”
“So, I’m hearing it will be packed. More choices. I’m gonna go take up Huck on his offer to tour the place. Tour?” he called to Caymen, who immediately got up and walked away from Velle.
“So, what’d all your head-shrinking squeeze out?” I asked when Velle made his way over toward me.
“Shitty parents. Hard times. Foster care. That part sounded mixed: some good experiences, some bad. My only real concern is that their loyalty to each other would be stronger than their loyalty to the club.”
“Didn’t think of that,” I admitted, but judging by the way Dixon gave his older brother a lifeline to get away from Velle, it did kind of suggest that their bond might always come first.
“I mean, it wouldn’t be a problem, per se, so long as they aren’t lying to the club about shit.
I mean, Seeley, Levee, and Alaric had a tighter bond with each other than the rest of us too.
It’s normal for some relationships to be tighter than others.
Though it’s not quite as normal for someone not to have any deep bonds with anyone,” he added.
I could feel his gaze boring into my face.
Then I went right ahead and ignored it.
“This is a weird way to ask me to Eiffel Tower some girl with you, man,” I said.
I got a snort out of Velle. But he was shaking his head too.
“Just saying: you joined a brotherhood. Be a part of it.”
With that little nugget, he walked off to talk to McCoy and Che, leaving me to ponder his words.
I wasn’t usually one for introspection. I didn’t need to get all up in my feelings, do my ‘shadow work,’ or ‘heal my inner child,’ or whatever other shit people were babbling on about.
Yeah, I’d been through some shit.
But so had everybody else.
What was the point of harping on it?
Though even as I tried to brush that off, I couldn’t help but wonder if all that shit I’d been through was the reason I didn’t let anyone within ten feet of me. Unless she had a great pair of legs and a big smile. And even then, it was just for the night.
But I didn’t like that train of thought. I hopped my ass right off, grabbed another beer, and chugged.
Luckily, everyone was in the drinking and good-time-having mood, even the OG members. They stuck around for a few rounds and some of Eddie’s enchiladas before heading back to their women and kids.
“Guess that means it’s time to hoof it,” I said, slipping into my shoes, a shirt, and my cut.
It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clubhouse to the closest town.
It wasn’t anything to write home about. It was full of factories and businesses no one I knew had ever needed to buy anything from. And the whole area smelled like grease and eighteen-wheeler exhaust.
I went ahead and tamped down the memories that particular scent brought up as I made my way to the door, glad there wasn’t a bouncer sitting there to pester us about stupid shit. Like our IDs. Or if we had weapons on us.
“Ugh,” Velle grumbled as swamp rock spilled out of the bar and onto the street. “Seriously?”
“What do you want? We live near the swamplands,” I said, shrugging, and making my way inside.
Did I appreciate Velle’s varied music catalog that featured everything from current chart-toppers that made the girls want to shake their asses to moody alt-rock for us to chill with some beers to—and everything in between?
Sure. But I’d been born and raised on swamp and country.
I had a twang in my blood. So I felt right at home as we walked inside.
The place had clearly been updated to look like a modern version of an old dive bar. A shiny new bar matched the shiny new floors, but featured tables with dings, dents, and carvings in them, all shellacked to preserve the imperfections.
There was a jukebox toward the back corner, and while that shit looked real old, it had a digital screen and music selection.
Sitting before it was a dance floor but no one was on it, despite the crush of people.
Then again, who danced to old anti-war songs?
Velle made a beeline for the jukebox, ignoring a few old-timers who told him not to put on any of that “city shit.”
“Huck said they used to come here back before it got shut down for illegal gambling,” Kylo said, moving in at my side. “Said they had twenty-four beers on tap.”
Which might have been why the group of six or seven girls hanging around, ignoring the glaring eyes from the mostly male clientele, looked so miserable.
I could easily see the scraggly-haired bartender telling them they didn’t make any of that “girly shit” and told them to order beer instead.
They were probably local girls who’d been excited their town was finally getting a place to hang out, spent hours getting themselves all prettied up, only to realize this was not a bar they’d ever step foot in again.
Really, the owners weren’t thinking.
You had to make the place appealing to the women. You drew in a bunch of skirts, and the men followed; the money flowed when they tried to buy them drinks.
Running a place like this was only going to make the girls decide to catch a ride into Miami to party instead.
“They’re really leaning into making this place a sausage fest,” Dixon said, gaze skimming the crowd.
“Means those girls are just looking for somewhere else to go,” I said, nodding toward them, slapping Dixon on the back, then making my way over to the girls.
It was easy work, really.
Sure, the promise of margaritas and a pool helped, but there was one of us for each of their preferences.
Dixon had the pretty boy, laid-back charm. Kylo had that six-four and mysterious thing going for him. York and Caymen brought the older, more rough-around-the-edges vibes. Velle was the alternative, understanding one. And then there was me. The chaos.
It was easy as boosting a car with the keys still in the ignition.
We only had to suffer through one round of beers of questionable temperature and half a dozen complaints about Velle’s musical choices and the girls were already ordering ride shares to bring ‘em back to our place.
Soon enough, the cars lined up and a mix of girls and bikers climbed in, already starting to pair off for the night.
I was about to slide into the last car myself when there was a loud pop not far off.
“I’ll meet you there,” I said, slamming the door then tapping the hood so the driver pulled off.
I reached back, keeping my hand over where my gun was hidden as I crept down the street toward the sound.
Only one thing made that sound.
A gunshot.
This was one of those instances where Huck would probably tell me I was a dumbass and flirting with trouble. But I couldn’t help myself. I was curious who was shooting in our neck of the woods.
I had to move through an alley toward the next street over and I’d just made it out of the mouth when some chick came fucking flying down the street like her ass was on fire, both her arms clutching something tight to her chest, her eyes huge, wild, panicked.
Spotting me, a gasp escaped her.
“Someone after you?” I asked as she slowed, unsure about moving close to me.
The only answer she gave me was a tight nod before glancing back over her shoulder.
“Come here,” I said, reaching for her arm.
And when I pulled it away from her chest, I realized it was a fucking baby she was clutching.
“Shit,” I said, dragging her halfway down the alley as I heard voices. “Alright, work with me here,” I said.
Then pinned her to the wall.