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Chapter Fifteen

The FIGHT

O ver coffee and a few flirty glances, they agreed not to sleep together again. They agreed this entire thing was messy enough. Darrow and Mara knew they weren’t just fucking around with some people . They were fucking around with SOFRAW and Cyrus, who acted on a daily basis as though Priest were already dead and the world would burn for it. It was logical. For now, at least.

There were obvious ways—lies—that could and would stop the initial lie Mara had blurted out. To her, it all felt like bad karma. To Darrow, he felt karma could go fuck itself.

The following night, they had sex in the shower. Mara came twice and then dropped to her knees and sucked Darrow’s cock, swallowing every last drop of his warm, salty cum.

Outlaws and outlaw’s wives were known to break rules, right?

Darrow needed to go to the clubhouse. Days passed like years and he felt like a stranger to the guys he considered to be brothers. All he wanted was for them to find Fitz, cut that rat into little pieces, wake Priest up from his fucking coma, and then end everything. End the lies.

Darrow lived on edge, refusing to accept anxiety, preferring to transfer it over to anger. He could release anger. That was easy. How easy?

Watch this , Darrow thought to himself.

As he pulled into the lot, Bram moved a split second slower than Drix. Darrow parked his motorcycle and jumped off as though it were on fire. He ran toward Bram and Drix as though they were on fire too.

“Hey, Darrow,” Drix said.

Darrow pointed at Drix. “You shut the fuck up, prospect .”

Drix quickly showed his hands and stepped back. He knew something wasn’t good with Darrow. Bram, on the other hand… he was a moron. Darrow swung his hand and grabbed the prospect by the back of his neck and slammed his face off the now closed gate.

“You trying to kill someone, asshole?” Darrow growled. “Too weak to open the fucking gate quick enough?”

“No!” Bram spoke in a muffled voice. He felt like his jaw and his face were going to just shatter from the amount of pressure Darrow applied. “No! I didn’t do nothing!”

Darrow pulled Bram back. “Are you calling me a fucking liar, prospect?”

“No! Sir! No! I…”

Darrow slammed Bram’s face off the gate once more. Then applied more pressure, growling in his throat. Poor Bram had done nothing wrong. Prospects were easy targets. They had to endure. Or sometimes they just got the shit beat out of them for no reason. Truthfully, the guys already knew which prospects would make the cut and which would not. At that point, they only kept the others around for this reason right here.

“Darrow, I’m sorry,” Bram said. “Whatever I did, I’m so sorry, man.”

Darrow pulled Bram away from the gate again.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Darrow asked.

“I meant to say sir ,” Bram said. “Oh, fuck, please. All I did was open the gate. I pulled it open. I’m sorry for not being better at it. Listen, I have—”

Darrow finally punched Bram in the face.

Bram stumbled back, grabbing for his face, and Darrow reached down and unzipped his jeans. He pulled out just enough of his cock so he could take a piss. Making a large wet spot on the ground, letting it pool in some places, letting it run at the natural slope of the ground in others.

Once done, Darrow shook his cock a few times and tucked himself away. He pointed at Bram. He pointed at the piss on the ground.

“Drink up, prospect,” Darrow said.

Bram looked ready to cry.

“Did I speak another language to you?” Darrow growled. “I said to drink up. Hands and knees and start licking the ground. Or else I’m going to cut your tongue out and make you eat it.”

With blood running down the right side of his face, Bram lowered himself to the ground. He then crawled on his hands and knees toward the wet area on the ground. Darrow watched long enough to see Bram hovering over the piss on the ground and then Bram bending his elbows, leaning down, actually about to lick the ground.

He then focused his attention on Drix.

“You make sure every last drop is licked up,” Darrow said to Drix. “If he fucking stops or quits, you cut his tongue out and bring it to me. Got that, prospect?”

“Yes, sir,” Drix said.

Without hesitation, Drix produced a knife. That’s the kind of attitude that would get Drix his leather cut. You either fucked or got fucked in the outlaw world, there was simply no in between.

Darrow walked across the lot toward the clubhouse. Linc and Slade stood just outside the doors, talking.

“Feel good about yourself now?” Linc asked Darrow.

“Go fuck yourself, Linc,” Darrow said without looking at him.

Linc jumped toward Darrow. Slade got in the middle.

“Let him go,” Darrow said. “You want to do this, Linc? Right now?”

“Yeah, I do,” Linc said with an evil smirk. “Right now, Darrow.”

“Jesus Christ,” Slade said. “Fine. Pick a garage and wait for me and Cyrus to show up.”

Linc stepped back. Darrow gave a nod. This was not what the club needed right now…

… but maybe it was what was wanted.

Cyrus, Slade, and Custer all stood near the door together, arms folded, each with a bottle of beer in hand. Monte and Deed were closer to the upcoming fight, both in charge of making sure this thing didn’t end up with one of the guys dead. Virus, Amos, and Dolph were on the far side of the garage.

Out of the prospects—Drix, Stu, and Bram—Drix was the only prospect invited to watch the fight. He took that as a great honor. Cyrus pulled him aside to ask about the Bram situation at which point Drix simply shook his head and boldly told the President of SOFRAW not to worry about it. Which was the right thing to do and say, no matter how risky.

Even Muffin made an appearance, trading his apron for his leather cut. Standing there with his eight-hundred-foot-tall stature, completely unsure of what was becoming of this club. He had a pot of extra hot chili sitting on the stove. The longer is sat there, the hotter it would get. He felt bad for the prospects come tomorrow when these outlaws had to use the toilets.

Maggie took charge of the bar, making sure Skylar and Bee hustled their asses back and forth to keep the outlaws hydrated with all the necessary alcohol their bloodstream and livers required to function.

Linc tossed his leather cut to Virus. Darrow placed his on an old workbench. The two stripped themselves of any rings on their fingers, along with any chains on their jeans, wallets and whatnot. It was then two men wearing dirty jeans and T-shirts. Linc in a black T-shirt. Darrow in a white one.

Now why exactly were these two outlaws ready to knock each other to pieces?

Who knew.

There was tension, worry, fear, doubt, and a shit ton of anger. And sometimes you just need to fight someone to release it all.

Darrow didn’t appreciate Linc’s judgmental bullshit attitude and Linc hated the fact that Darrow fucked another table members wife. Yeah, Fitz was a filthy fucking rat, but Darrow fucked up big time. The club could have kidnapped Mara and tortured the shit out of her for information. Her death would have been some sense of relief for a second.

But nope. Darrow got involved…

And for that matter, Linc knew something was going on. Even a fucking blind person could see the way Darrow and Mara had been looking at each other.

“Go for it, VP ,” Darrow said to Linc with a nod.

Showing respect for the order of command in the club, Darrow knew there was no chance of him throwing the first punch. Linc didn’t mind that at all. He tossed a quick punch, hitting Darrow on his upper lip, splitting it open. Darrow shook his head and growled loudly. He spit some blood on the ground.

“Now we’re talking, VP !” Darrow screamed. “Fuck yeah!”

Darrow returned the punch with one of his own, breaking open Linc’s nose with ease. The two outlaws then went punch for punch, as though it were some wildly choreographed stunt for an action movie. But it was far from it.

Each punch landed with a hard thud. Blood squirted and sprayed all round. From Darrow’s lip. His mouth. A cut under his left eye. From Linc’s nose. His right cheek. Both outlaws’ knuckles were torn up, raw and obviously bloody. Darrow’s white shirt was stained a red wine color from his blood and Linc’s.

“Come on!” Cyrus called out. “This isn’t some boxing match! Go for it! Get it out of your system!”

“Rip him apart, asshole!” Warren said, cupping his hands around his ancient mouth.

Darrow dropped his shoulder and went for Linc, picking him up and driving him into one of the benches. Linc reached to his left, grabbed a hammer and smashed it against Darrow’s right shoulder blade. For a second, Darrow couldn’t breathe and dropped down to one knee.

Linc swung his foot, hitting Darrow in the jaw. Stars appeared from nowhere as Darrow hit the ground. He blinked a few times and saw Linc standing over him with a hammer in his hand.

Linc swung and Darrow rolled out of the way. The hammer hit the concrete floor with a spark and a loud ping sound. Darrow jumped up and grabbed a chair and spun around, swinging it, hitting the front of Linc’s body.

“ Prez ,” Slade said. “Come on, brother. We don’t fight like this.”

“Today, we do.”

“Someone is going to get really hurt. Do we need another empty spot at the table right now?”

Darrow ran toward Linc and clotheslined the VP of SOFRAW to the hard, concrete floor. He then thrust his hand out and nodded at Linc to take it. Darrow pulled Linc back up to his feet and the two outlaws held up bloody fists.

They went back to throwing punches. Going punch for punch once again. All Darrow could taste was the iron flavor of his own blood. He returned each punch from Linc with one of his own, feeling his knuckles throbbing more and more.

Finally, both men threw a punch at the same time, hitting each other at the same time. They both froze in place for a second. Then they stumbled toward one another and collided, looking like two drunk dudes trying to hug. Their arms tangled up, Linc punching Darrow in the ribs, Darrow throwing his right shoulder up into Linc’s jaw.

“Okay, now they’re just dry humping each other,” Monte said.

“Stop the goddamn fight,” Cyrus said.

“Come on, brother,” Deed said to Linc, patting his back.

Monte pushed between Linc and Darrow and kept a hand at Darrow’s chest, making sure he backed off. The two outlaws stared each other down. Bloodied. Tired. Sweaty. Their hearts pounding inside their chests. It wasn’t like in some movie or TV show where the guys were clean-cut and ready to lift weights. Fighting drained a person. Every ounce of energy used up to stay alive.

Cyrus stepped forward and now stood between his VP and the guy who handled all the tech stuff for the club.

“That’s the end of it,” Cyrus said. “Got it? No more fucking around with this shit. This club needs everyone as one. We have a bigger picture here, brothers. You good, Linc?”

“Yeah,” Linc said. “I’m good.”

“Darrow?” Cyrus asked.

“Yeah,” Darrow said.

“Good,” Cyrus said. “Prayer. Right here.” Cyrus turned his head. “Everyone not praying, fuck off right now. Shut the door behind you.”

Everyone except Cyrus, Linc, Slade, Darrow, Custer, Monte, and Deed exited the garage. The last to go was Drix.

“Prospect,” Cyrus barked at Drix. “You stand guard at the door. Do you have a gun?”

“No, sir, I don’t,” Drix said. “I have a knife.”

Cyrus reached behind himself, pulled out a handgun and flicked it like a toy at Drix. Without an ounce of fear, Drix caught the gun, held it tight, and nodded.

“Drix,” Darrow said. “Did Bram lick up all the piss?”

“Of course he did,” Drix said with a smirk.

Drix shut the door behind him.

“Might be time to take a vote on him,” Slade said. “He’s tough. And evil.”

“First things first,” Cyrus said. “We need to find the fucking rat…”