Page 94 of Not So Goode
Crow eyed me. “So. There you go. I was a criminal, an enforcer for an outlaw motorcycle gang. Lost my girlfriend and baby in a shooting, killed a guy in a drunken bar brawl, spent two years in a federal maximum-security penitentiary for manslaughter.” He waited. “Now you know. You want to know more? Might as well know everything. The years I worked for Tran as an enforcer, I was a monster. I was angry about Mom and Dad. Started to feel invincible. I beat people to a pulp for crossing the club. Did evil shit for the club. Pulled the trigger for the club more than once.”
“I thought you said you’d never held a gun?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I lied. I don’t carry a gun, haven’t since I got out of jail. I hate guns now and I did then too, but when Tran gave me an order, I followed it. Tran’s a good guy, but don’t get in the way of his business, and don’t cross him. He’s my second dad, but I had to stay clear of him when I got out of the pen. I knew I’d end up right back where I’d been—enforcing, going down that violent path. I wanted something different. I wanted to live, and if I went back to the club, even though Tran had cleaned up the club, gotten rid of the nastier drugs like meth and quit running the prostitution circles, it was still an outlaw club, still ran pot in serious amounts, as well as really top-tier pure Columbian blow. I wanted none of it.”
I was confused. “I thought once you joined a gang like that you couldn’t leave.”
He laughed. “Call it a gang in front of Tran and he’d be pissed. It’s aclub. Different.” He sighed. “It’s not simple, no. You’re in for life. Especially when you’re deep in the elements that put it outside the law, like I was. But I’m Coyote’s boy, and Dad had saved Tran’s ass more than once and most significantly, the day of the big shootout, and he’d half raised me himself. So Tran let me go my own way on what we say is an ‘out good’ basis, meaning I’m not part of daily operations, but I’m still a full patch member of the club in good standing. I wear the cut, ride a bike, and if I need anything, I call the club. I’m still a proud member of the AzTex. I just don’t live the life. Can’t. If any those guys ever showed up needing me, I’d be there for them no matter what, but they know I’ve got a good life, teching for Myles, so they don’t involve me.”
I locked eyes with him. “Which is why you called Tran, after what happened.”
He nodded. “Tran knows people everywhere. Has connections in the Denver PD specifically. But more than that, he’s the president of my club. One of the few men I truly trust, outside of Myles.”
“And you’re out of the life, as you say, but you’re never really, truly ever going to fully leave the club.” I had to get my mind around this.
He shrugged. “I was born into the club. My father and uncle founded it. My mom was part of it. I lived my entire life, with the exception of a few months here and there, in the club, on the compound near El Paso. It was my whole world. The guys are my family, but I’ve just chosen a different path.” He held my gaze. “This is who I am, Charlie. I have a violent past. Blood on my hands. I can’t change that. When I’m faced with trouble, I’m not gonna back down. I use my fists to solve shit when I have to. I ain’t ever gonna be some tame-ass bank clerk. I don’t even have a high school diploma, much less some fancy-ass college degree.”
He held out his arms, guitar in one hand, a now-empty bottle of Johnnie in the other; his face was bruised, he still had the T-shirt duct taped to his ribs, the white shirt now red with blood; his knuckles were bloody, and blood was crusted on his nose, mouth, jaw, and chest.
“This is me, babe,” he said. “Take me or leave me, but I ain’t ever gonna be anything but what you see.”
My heart ached. He’d seen so much pain, so much turmoil. He was kind. He was gentle with me.
The sex had been…out of this world.
His kisses were a drug.
His touch was addictive.
But…he’d killed men with his bare hands. He was frighteningly capable of extreme violence.
And I just…I wasn’t sure I could get past that.
What did I want for my life? To live on a tour bus with him? Never have a home? How could I remake my career if I was on the road with him? I couldn’t. I wanted him, the man he was. I wanted the man he was when it was just him and me, alone, in bed, talking. But I wasn’t sure I was ready for the man he was out in the world—handling problems with his fists and asking questions later.
His past was past, but there would always be the specter of Yak in my mind, on the ground. Motionless. Blood seeping from his nose and a deep bloody dent in his temple, eyes open and glassy. I would never forget the men on the ground, moaning, grown men crying in agony, limbs and skulls and bones destroyed.
I couldn’t unsee all that.
I swallowed. My eyes watered. “Crow, I…”
He nodded. “Yeah. I know. I saw it the moment you looked at me when that fight was over.” He set the empty bottle aside, stood up—wobbled a little, and it was oddly reassuring to know he was mortal enough to feel a whole bottle of whiskey. His eyes were lucid, searing. “An angel like you don’t belong in the life of a man like me, Charlie.”
“It’s not that, Crow. I just…”
He took his guitar, holding it by the neck, and moved to the exit of the bus. “Rip the Band-Aid off fast, Charlie. Just go.”
And with that he was gone.
I looked at Lexie. “I need to get to Ketchikan,” I said. “I…I can’t be here anymore. Let’s go.”
Myles didn’t say anything, but his eyes widened as he turned to Lexie.
She swallowed. Hard. “Um. Charlie…I—I’m staying. With Myles.”
I felt a fist to my gut. “Lex, come on. You just met him.”
“I didn’t say I was marrying him, but I’m having fun. I like him. We’re good together.”