Page 36

CHAPTER

ONE

Banshee

I wake up covered in sweat, my heart pounding. The same fucking nightmare that’s plagued me ever since the day Ryleigh was kidnapped dissipates as soon as my eyes open.

“Fuck,” I groan out. If only I could remember the rest of that day, but it was hidden from me. The counselor I saw right after that day said that sometimes, traumatic memories were buried so deep in order to protect the person, but I wanted to remember. No, I needed to remember, if only to assuage the guilt I’d lived with all these years.

Even though Ryleigh was now back under our roof, and she didn’t bear me any ill-will, I still felt guilty as fuck that she was taken while I was watching her.

It doesn’t matter that by the time my dad and RiffRaff burst through the doors and found me, it was evident I had fought as hard as my ten-year old self was capable of doing. It doesn’t matter that the club and the allies they had searched everywhere for her until the day those pictures arrived. It doesn’t matter that I spent a week in the hospital recovering from the injuries I sustained.

Realizing I’ll get no more sleep, I roll out of my bed then quickly strip the sweat-soaked sheets off, tossing them in the corner with the rest of the laundry that needs to be done. Walking naked into my bathroom, I turn the water on in the shower and stare at my reflection while I wait for it to heat.

“Fuck, you look exhausted,” I murmur to myself. “Pull your shit together, Ban, before you go off the deep end.”

Stepping inside the shower stall, I allow the hot water to pound down around my shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tense muscles at the base of my neck. Doing a series of stretches helps some and soon, I’m able to actually shower and rinse. A quick shave later, I brush my teeth then stride out of the bathroom with the clothes hamper and clean sheets. Once my bed is remade, I gather all the dirty laundry scattered around my room, and shove it into the already overflowing basket and put it by the door, before dressing in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Slipping on some socks, I take my laundry and head into the clubhouse’s laundry room.

“Thank fuck,” I mutter, seeing all the washing machines are empty. I fucking hate doing laundry, and most of the time, will let one of the girls do it, but lately, as out of sorts as I’ve been, I haven’t let anyone in my room and unfortunately, it shows.

With three machines now doing their thing, I walk into the kitchen to grab some coffee. It’s still early as hell so no one’s up, but I know the pot is fresh because that’s one of the things we make the prospects do. They take turns getting up every two hours during the night since coffee is one of our lifelines, so to speak. Grabbing a large coffee mug that’s more for travel than around here, I take my time getting it just right, before I gather cleaning supplies and head back to my room.

“Mom would be so pissed at me,” I murmur once I’m back inside looking around. Placing the cleaning supplies on my dresser, I tackle the floor first, sweeping all the trash into a pile before gathering it up and tossing it into the black garbage bag I brought in with me. Satisfied that a quick mop will get it back to its normally pristine condition, I move into the bathroom, squirting cleaner into the toilet and spraying down the shower, making a mental list of the shit I need a prospect to grab for me to replace the empty bottles of shampoo and body wash I’m currently tossing. After cleaning the grimy mirror, I scrub down the toilet, then the tub, throwing the used sponges and paper towels in the trash before I bag it up to put in the larger black bag still sitting in the middle of my room.

With my bathroom now gleaming, I quickly dust my furniture, toss my loose change into the giant water bottle I use to collect it, sort through the bills and get them into my wallet, then take everything back down so I can grab a bucket and mop.

“What the fuck are you doing up so damn early?” Brick’s deep, sleep-filled voice nearly scares the shit out of me, and I glare at him, while narrowly avoiding dropping the stuff I’m carrying.

“Cleaning my room,” I retort. “What does it look like?”

“At three in the fucking morning?” he bellows before guiltily looking around. “What’s going on, Ban?” His voice is now quieter, yet filled with concern.

I ignore his question and continue toward the kitchen where I put everything away then toss the full trash bag into the large barrel by the back door. One of the prospects will take care of it later. Seeing the bucket and mop, I also snag the cleaning stuff I’ll need to wash my floor and head back to my bedroom, Brick still on my heels.

Once inside my room again, after stopping long enough to swap my clothes from the washers to the dryers, I turn to him and cross my arms over my chest. He’s glaring at me, but right now, I don’t have it in me to spar with my best friend and club president.

“I wasn’t being loud,” I finally say when he continues to stare at me without saying a word. “Not like I’m the only one awake,” I point out, raising my brow at him.

“Ryleigh wanted some ice cream,” he admits, smirking. “Fucking cravings are going to be the death of me.”

I snicker, because he may act like he’s put out, but I know him, and he’d drive two states over to get her what she wanted if that’s where it was located. “You’re taking good care of her, Brick. But how did you know I was even up?” I ask.

“Saw you coming out of the kitchen with your arms full. Not sure how the fuck you didn’t see me.”

Snorting, I don’t respond. He’s not a small man by any means and it’s definitely an indicator as to how in my head I was if I missed him.

“You’re not sleeping again, Banshee.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I jeer.

“Want to talk about why?” he quietly asks, concern written all over his face.

Sighing, I look down, guilt swamping me once again. While Ryleigh was thankfully not sexually assaulted, she endured things nobody should ever go through, and if it wasn’t for brothers from the Ankeny chapter reaching out, she would’ve died that night, alone in a ditch covered with snow.

“That fucking dream is back,” I finally admit.

“Still don’t remember anything?” he questions. When they started, we were still kids and would wrack our brains trying to figure everything out. Since that was long before cameras were a thing, no one was able to determine what exactly happened. My injuries were extensive; broken arm, shattered jaw, fractured leg. Not to mention the bruises and gashes from the beating I took. I was told I fought back; they found defensive marks on me, as well as hair and skin under my nails.

The end result was the same; she was snatched out of my arms on my watch. That one pivotal moment changed my life forever. My parents were never the same and they died still holding out hope that they’d find her body so we could bring her home to bury her.

“Not a fucking thing,” I grind out, my jaw clenched. I was lucky that night when I arrived at the hospital. There was apparently a huge conference of some kind, and several specialists were on site and able to perform the surgeries I needed to put me back together.

I still have pins, plates, and screws all these years later. The chuckle that escapes is bitter sounding as I say, “Shoulda given me the road name Humpty Dumpty.”

He chuckles while shaking his head at me. “Swear to God, sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brother, I know that day haunts you, fuck, it haunts everyone who was around then. But she’s home, she’s whole, and most importantly, she’s happy . She doesn’t bear any ill-will to you or hell, my own pops, Ban. We’re the lucky ones because she actually came home. You gotta let it go.”

“Maybe if I knew what actually happened, I could, Brick,” I rebut. “It’s the not knowing that bothers me the most, y’know what I mean?”

“Banshee, they shattered your fucking jaw and broke your leg as well as your arm. How the fuck were you going to get help?” he whisper-yells, his hands now clenched into fists. “Fuck, they almost killed you too, you stupid ass. My old man said when they found you, that you had somehow dragged yourself nearly to the back door of the clubhouse, Brother. Seems to me you did everything in your power to try and stop them, then get help. And let’s not forget the most important part in all of this, Banshee. You were ten fucking years old, and they were adults.”

I see the sorrow in his eyes; I know from what I was told that when he got to the clubhouse after a doctor’s appointment and heard what happened, he insisted on coming to the hospital to sit with me. While it went against hospital policy, considering how young we were, they apparently finally relented because when I finally woke up after they reduced the medication they were giving me to keep me in a medically induced coma, my best friend was kicked back in the recliner, reading to me.

“Never thanked you for that,” I tell him. “Hanging with me while I was in the hospital, then when I came home and was stuck wherever I was put.”

“Wasn’t a hardship, Brother. We’ve been best friends for longer than I can remember. Besides, we managed to beat several games that year, remember?”

I snicker, because we took over the television in the main room and it wasn’t unusual to see us playing Legend of Zelda or Mario Kart. Kracken brought a shit ton of magazines and the three of us spent hours together; time they could’ve spent outside working on the dirt bikes, but Brick was insistent that until I could do it, they’d wait.

“We’ve got a helluva good family, Brother,” I reply, a slight smile on my face.

“We’re gonna figure this out, Ban,” Brick promises. “One of the brothers out in Texas can dream walk or some shit. I don’t fully understand how it works, but I hear he can sift through your memories and help bring them to the surface. But only if you want. Never gonna do anything to hurt you.”

“Gotta do something, Brick. I can’t keep going on like this, it’s affecting my whole fucking life. It’s why I’ve been avoiding Ryleigh as much as possible,” I admit. “I know she’s forgiven me because as she said, there wasn’t anything to forgive, but I just feel so fucking guilty.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Banshee. The fault and blame lies solely on the bastards who thought it would be a good idea to fuck with the club,” he insists.

Something comes to mind, and I ask, “Why are y’all here instead of at the house?” The club and when I was old enough, me, kept up my parents’ home, which Brick and Ryleigh are now living in since it was so close to the clubhouse. Actually, it and several other homes are on the property itself, but far enough away to give them privacy. If I ever find an ol’ lady, I’ll build something but right now, my suite of rooms in the clubhouse is sufficient.

“Ryleigh finally decided on the colors she wanted for the rooms. Prospects started painting yesterday and I didn’t want her breathing in the fumes,” he replies.

“Makes sense. Did you bring the two troublemakers too?”

He chuckles while nodding. “She wouldn’t leave her ‘babies’ to breathe them in either.”

Of course, she wouldn’t. I’m more of a dog person but I had to admit, her two cats, Calvin and Hobbes, were hysterical. She had had them microchipped since they roamed around the clubhouse when they were living here full-time, but both of them followed her around like little puppies. They also had a penchant for sleeping on the shelves behind the bar. The first time Stormy was making drinks and turned to get a bottle of tequila to pour out some shots, she screamed like she was being murdered because she came face to face with one of the little shits.

“Better tell Stormy,” I advise, smirking.

“Fuck. Yeah, let me take care of that when it’s actually daylight. Try and get some rest, Brother. We’ve got church at nine.”

I nod, suddenly weary down to the marrow of my bones. “I’ll try.”

Surprisingly, once I got the floor mopped, then brought my clothes back upstairs, folded them then put them away, I was able to crash for a few more hours. Thankfully, the nightmare didn’t show up again, allowing me to get some much-needed rest.

Getting up, I dress in my daily wear; jeans, black T-shirt, socks, boots, cut. Running a comb through my hair and beard, I grab my phone, keys, and wallet then head down to grab some more coffee before church. I see one of the women, probably Ryleigh, made muffins so I snag two of them and head into the room where we have church.

“Glad to see you could make it, Brother,” Kracken jeers, surprisingly already in his seat at the well-worn table.

I glare at him before sitting down on Brick’s right. “Fucker, we haven’t started yet,” I retort, before demolishing the first muffin in three bites. Damn, I’m hungry.

Brick looks around and satisfied that we’re all there, nods to the prospect at the door who closes it. He then bangs his gavel and yells, “Shut the fuck up, we’ve got shit to discuss!”

“Rainman, give us a financial report,” Brick instructs, looking at our treasurer. As the man in question discusses profits and what that’ll mean for all of us, I briefly wonder if Brick was able to talk to the club in Texas.

Because something’s gotta give. I need to be on my toes at all times and lack of rest makes that nearly impossible. One wrong move, one lapse in judgment, and we could find ourselves in trouble as a club.

Not that we have many enemies or issues these days. While the club wasn’t totally into illegal stuff back in the day, Brick has completely legitimized all that we do. Well, except the gun parts we transport up to the coast. It’s a sweet system that our Louisiana chapter implemented once they started manufacturing them with a 3D printer system. Still, we were taught to always expect the unexpected, and right now, my mind’s not fully in the game.

“Now that we’ve taken care of that, got a call from Wrecker out in Cedar Creek this morning,” Brick announces. “Dragon, had him start calling as they need some brothers to come out and help them with a fucked-up situation they’ve found out about. It’s bad, they’ve got women, men, and children there for some seriously screwed up shit.”

“What do you mean?” I question.

“They’re trying to breed women so they can build up their commune or some bullshit,” Brick bites out. “Cedar Creek’s president, Dragon, is inside right now, along with Wrecker’s ol’ lady’s sister, who is being used in that capacity.”

“What the fuck!” Scythe, our enforcer, bellows. “That’s just fucking sick! Didn’t they learn anything from World War II, for fuck’s sake? Hitler tried that and look how well that played out for over six million Jews!”

He’s not wrong, and sadly, there are people who don’t believe the Holocaust was real. Dumbasses, all of them. I may not be the world’s best scholar by a long shot, and I still remember that part of my history lessons. No amount of sanitizing can change the fact that millions of innocents died at the hands of a fucking mad man. And now, there’s apparently a cult or something of that sort trying to do the same thing?

Yeah, no. Not as long as the Royal Bastards are breathing. Especially since it sounds like an ol’ lady’s sister is in their clutches. She may not be part of our chapter, but by proxy, she’s RBMC family and nobody fucks with our family and lives to tell the tale.

Scythe got his road name because of how he mows down the enemy. He cuts a swath through them and barely breaks a sweat, and right now, he’s so livid, I can see a vein protruding in his temple. It’s not a good look, but I like my jaw right where it’s at, so I remain silent. Not too sure it could be rebuilt a second time, since a lot of the hardware I got years ago is in my face.

“Yeah, and from what they’ve been able to figure out so far, if the ‘subject’ isn’t compliant, they kill them,” Brick states. “It’s well and truly fucked up is what it is, and I told him, since Banshee was going to be coming, I’d see if anyone else would like to join in.”

Scythe and Kracken both yell out, almost in unison, “I’ll go!”

I smirk; having the enforcer and the SAA, or sergeant-at-arms, at my back isn’t a hardship. Both men are big, with bulging muscles, and the force behind them to cause major damage. I’m no slouch myself, but these two are almost poetic when they have to use their muscles.

“Then that’s settled,” Brick decrees. “Anything else? I’ve got more painting to supervise. Y’all will head out in the next hour. No detours, no wasting time because it’s of the essence. Gypsy, you work on the route so they’re able to ride wide open with no issues.”

“Got it, Pres,” Gypsy, who is our tail gunner, replies. He also does our routes much like a road captain would if we had that position, so I’m sure we’ll be covering some ground in areas no one would consider driving through.

It’s okay, though, because our girls are built to ride hard. All of us have taken our Harleys and customized the hell out of them; some are chromed out, others have fancy paint jobs, but each one has an engine designed for speed.

As I stand to leave with the rest of my brothers, Brick grabs my arm. “Hang back a sec, Brother.” I nod and retake my seat, wondering what he’s going to say.

Once the room is clear, I look at him and say, “Spit it out, Brick.”

“Wrecker said as soon as y’all deal with the fundamentalist fuckers, he and his ol’ lady, Harper, will help you,” he quietly says. “Thinking maybe I should come too.”

I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “No. My sister is pregnant and doesn’t need to be traveling, remember?”

He snorts. “Yeah, she’s been a little stressed since getting that call from Madame Laveaux, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe if she wasn’t so damn cryptic with her messages, it wouldn’t be so bad,” I retort.

“This is the truth. Hell, Voodoo wasn’t able to offer any clarity at all. Now I feel as though I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for hidden danger.”

“We’re always doing that,” I remind him. “But we haven’t had any issues since we wiped out the fuckers who started all of this.”

“Hard to find evidence when the Tonopah Reapers came in with their own brand of assistance,” he wryly replies.

I nod because by the time they’re done reaping the souls of evil fuckers, there’s nothing left except maybe a little bit of ash. Everything else ends up in the pits of Hell, just where they’re meant to be. “Still, I’ll have Scythe and Kracken with me, along with any of the brothers from other chapters who come in to assist. I’ll be fine, Brother.”

“You better be. Don’t want to have to explain to your sister what happened.”

“She won’t take the club business party line, huh?” I ask, chuckling.

“No. Reminds me of how your mom used to be whenever your dad would say that.”

At that, I burst into laughter because my mom was a loving, caring woman, but she was a biker’s ol’ lady and as such, she was able to bust his balls without breaking a sweat. I’m pretty sure she knew more than she ever let on because there’s no way she would’ve been content to stay in the dark.

“Yeah, I think she takes after our mom in that respect. But the brothers and I trust you’ll never share anything that would get her into trouble.”

“You got that right. Okay, go pack, Ban. Keep me apprised of the situation and if you think I need to send more men out y’all’s way, let me know. Hell, if you need me, I’m there.”

“Got it, Pres.”