Page 2

TICK TOCK

2 005

The clubhouse sat at the edge of the bayou. It looked decrepit and had seen better days. As if some gator had dragged it in from the depths of the swamp. It was nothing like the clubhouse we’d had up in Washington. Why Bulldog had decided to move down to this shit hole was beyond me. He’d wanted to grow the club name, needed more land for his family, and instead he brought us out here. To the middle of fucking nowhere.

The house was half hidden, half forgotten, and half leaning on itself. Recently, it pulsed with the kind of energy that could burn a man down if he wasn’t built for it. Cypress trees loomed around us like sentinels, Spanish moss hanging down like nature’s noose. You wouldn’t find us on any map and you’d have to bleed to earn your way in.

Inside, the place was alive with chaos. Booze flowed like water, smoke curled toward the ceiling, and music pounded from the jukebox, old eighties classics with an occasional punk or grunge song. It drowned the shouts and threats being thrown among members. The sounds echoed across the property, from clinking glasses, to a fight breaking out and then there was the darker aspect and the white dust that snorted constantly off tables and bars. It was all loud and lawless.

Barrel and I sat in the back corner, nursing our drinks and watching the shitshow unfold.

Barrel, as usual, looked half amused, half disgusted, leaning back in his chair looking at the scene as if it were some suspense-filled movie where you’re just waiting for shit to hit the fan. He seemed to fit right in but I knew better. He always had somewhere better to be. He just didn’t talk about it.

“Club’s changing,” I muttered, eyes locked on the scene ahead. A couple of new Prospects were trying a little too hard to stand out with their obnoxious arrogance and desperate moves on the club’s Sweetbutts. They were too quick to flex their colors as if they meant something. But they didn’t. Not yet.

Barrel gave a grunt that could have meant anything.

“Bulldog wanted to grow the club,” I went on, voice low. “Now we’ve got this Rancid motherfucker struttin’ around like he owns the goddamn place.”

Barrel’s lips curled slightly. “Name fits.”

I drained the rest of my whiskey. “He ain’t a brother. He’s a parasite. And the type of shit he’s patched in? Hell, I’ve seen better discipline in street gangs. No respect. No code. No creed. Just chaos.”

Barrel shrugged, eyes flicking toward the pool table where Elrik, Bulldog’s seventeen-year-old son, was surrounded by hang-arounds. “Maybe Bulldog’s losin’ his edge.”

“Bulldog’s gettin’ older,” I said. “He’s earned the right to slow down.He has his Old’ Lady to take care of. Besides, Elrik’s followin’ in his footsteps.”

Barrel scoffed. “Yeah, but Elrik? He ain’t his old man. Kid’s got a temper, no patience, and too many people blowin’ smoke up his ass.”

“He’s next in line.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s ready.”

I turned to look at him, jaw tightening. “Doesn’t matter what we think. We’re sworn to our Prez.”

Barrel gave me a sidelong glance, then smirked. “Maybe you should think about settlin’ down. You’re what? Forty now? Bones start creakin’ yet?”

I barked a laugh. “Thirty-six, and you should talk, old man. You’re not gettin’ any younger yourself.”

“Yeah, well…” He took a slow sip from his bottle, eyes distant. “Maybe I did once. Maybe there’s a tiny Barrel runnin’ around somewhere. Poor bastard.”

I looked at him then, really looked. I’d known Barrel for years, rode with him through hell and back, but never, not once, had I seen him with a woman. Never mentioned a family, never brought one around, not even in passing. He lived off the bayou, disappeared for days, sometimes weeks, and came back with more silence in his eyes than when he left. It was all a joke to him. Or maybe just armor.

Before I could say anything else, the mood shifted. Snake slithered into our corner, the stench of cheap cologne trailing behind him making us both grimace. He was one of Rancid’s picks. Slick, ratty, always smirking like he knew something worth knowing.

“Didn’t know this was the old-timers’ table,” Snake said with a sneer, nodding toward me and Barrel.

I ignored him. Barrel didn’t. “Go slither somewhere else, Snake,” Barrel said lazily.

Snake smirked. “Just makin’ conversation. Heard Bulldog’s Old Lady was in earlier. Didn’t recognize her at first, looked all pale and sickly. Thought maybe he picked her up from the morgue.”

I didn’t even feel myself move. One second, I was sitting, the next my fist was wrapped around Snake’s throat, and he was pinned to the wall, boots scraping for traction.

“You ever speak about Aiyana like that again,” I growled, pressing my forearm into his windpipe, “and I’ll break your fucking spine in two.”

His eyes bulged. He choked out a weak gurgle of a laugh, trying to play it cool. “Easy, brother…”

“She’s our Prez’s woman. She’s family. She’s earned more respect than you could ever understand.”

Aiyana had been with Bulldog through thick and thin. Ex-FBI, tough as nails, smart as hell. But she’d been sick lately, something she didn’t talk about. And even in her silence, even in her pale skin and haunted eyes, she still carried herself like a queen. When she’d walked into the clubhouse earlier, she tried to put on a brave face. But the filth around her, the things this club had become, it shook her. She’d disappeared within minutes. And no matter what kind of vile escriment was brought in here, she didn’t deserve that kind of disrespect.

I let Snake drop to the floor, gasping, face red and twisted with hate. Barrel didn’t say a word, just sipped his drink like he’d seen it coming.

“Club’s fallin’ apart,” I muttered, backing off and fixing my cut.

Barrel nodded. “And nobody’s stoppin’ it.”

We watched the room in silence. Rancid held court near the center, like some back-alley king. His crew laughed too loud. His recruits pushed boundaries too far.

And Bulldog?

Bulldog just looked tired.The kind of tired you don’t come back from. The kind that made me wonder if the torch was already passed and we’d all missed it.

And if we did…Who the hell would carry it now?