Page 1

I like to fight, and I like to fuck.

I’m a BERZERKER, that’s what I do.

I’ve had my fair share of pussy since I was an ugly, scrawny teenage deadbeat.

I’m an outlaw without a cause.

I've killed for my club, and I would die for my club.

But I never thought I would almost die at the hands of a Berzerker brother.

When I lost the votes as VP that night in the newly built Berzerker clubhouse, all I wanted to do was break Rubik's neck. He was my club brother, so it was a hard punch to the gut when he stole the VP patch from me.

Rubik went Nomad, gave up the VP patch. He came back, but he didn't deserve to wear the VP patch again. I did.

Rage and hate filled me when I took off my rags and placed them on the bar. I pulled the buck knife from my back pocket and cut the threads around the VP patch. After I handed it to my President, Stryker, I grabbed my rags and stormed out of the clubhouse.

A few nights later at Durango's, I picked a fight with Rubik, hitting on his woman, Marie. Stryker let us tear into each other outside in the parking lot. Rubik is wider in the shoulders and can pack a powerful punch, but I'm leaner and faster. We went a few rounds, landing blows to each other's faces until our knuckles were busted and bleeding. I even threw some quick jabs into Rubik's ribs, hoping I fractured a few.

But Rubik got me down on the asphalt and knocked me out cold. When I came to, I was lying on a couch in the bar's back room while Grunt tended to a cut above my left eye.

I slept there that night and the following day.

Stryker told me, "the bond of brotherhood is stronger than any family each Berzerker was born into. And brothers don't fight to kill each other. Instead, we kill our enemies for vengeance.”

He stripped me of my Baltimore bottom rocker and handed me a Nomad patch.

No vote, no choice.

This was Stryker's decision, and since he was the National Chapter's President, what he said was final.