Page 26 of Rags's Awakening
“Quick and quiet,” Rags said. “We scope it out. See what’s going on. Count bikes, check the setup. No contact.”
Diesel nodded. “You think they’ll have lookouts?”
“They’re trying to act like a real club,” Puck said. “So yeah, they’ll have someone outside.”
“They’re probably not that smart,” Tank said.
Rags grunted. “They won’t know we’re there. We know our shit.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. For a second, he thought about checking it, but he didn’t. Megan had said her piece earlier, and she knew when to back off. He’d read her last text hours ago and left it unanswered.You should call her. It’s time.Yeah, well, he had no intention of calling her. The past was done.
Diesel handed him another beer. “You look like you could use this.”
Rags cracked it open and took a long pull. “Appreciate it.”
Puck stretched his legs then threw back a shot of Jack. “You think these dipshits are gonna try somethin’ at the festival?”
“They’re dumb enough, so I wouldn’t put it past them,” Rags said. “They want attention, that’s their kind of thing.”
Smokey snorted. “They’ll get attention, all right.”
Diesel grinned. “I hope they bring their own stretchers.”
That got a few rough laughs, and Smokey grasped Diesel’s shoulder. “That gets you another shot.” He looked at the other guys who nodded, except for Rags. “You don’t want a shot, dude?”
“Nah, I’m gonna get some fresh air,” Rags said and threaded through the crowd to the back door. The afternoon sun hung low, flinging bands of gold across the yard. He walked to the river, his boots sinking in the soft grass, the water flashing in the light. For a minute the noise of the clubhouse receded. He stood at the bank, listening to the rush and the soft hiss of the wind through the pines. For a minute, it almost worked—the quiet, the open space—but then the past started creeping in.
He thought of Julie. They used to come down here, years back. She’d laughed at the way he skipped rocks, said he threw like a drunk ballplayer. He could still see her smile, feel her hand hooked in his back pocket, the warmth of her pressed against his side. Then the image snapped, and the next memory came hard and clear: her car parked outside his buddy’s house. The sound he heard when he walked in. Rage had taken over before thoughtcould. He’d left his friend bleeding on the floor, gone home, and called his brothers to help him move his stuff out. Throttle, Diesel, and Smokey came without question. By sundown, he was gone. New number. New rules. No looking back.
He worked through the hurt by keeping it shallow. Club girls, one-nighters, nothing that meant a damn thing. All the women since then were for pleasure only. No emotions, no drama. That was just the way he wanted it.
But then, there was Casey.
She’d somehow managed to slip through a crack in his self-imposed barricade without even trying. There was something about her: those eyes that hid more than they said, the way she carried herself like someone who’d been hurt, too. He could feel it, the same scar inside her that ran through him. The way she pulled toward him then recoiled as if afraid made him wonder who had hurt her so deeply.
He bent, picked up a stone, and flicked it into the river. It skipped once, twice, then disappeared beneath the surface. He didn’t want to care. Didn’t want another woman invading the parts of him he’d sealed off for good. But there she was, lodged in his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to shake her loose.
He watched the ripples fade, the water smoothing out like nothing had happened. That’s how it was, no trace, no sign of what sank beneath the surface. Rags blew out a breath, dragged a hand down his face, and forced the past back down. Enough of that shit. He’d buried it once, and he sure as hell wasn’t digging it up now.
He turned from the river, the light catching on the patches stitched across his cut. The sound of voices carried from the clubhouse: laughter, a shout, the clink of bottles. Life went on, same as always.
By the time he reached the back door, his face was calm again, the past locked back where it belonged. Rags steppedback inside, the heavy door shutting out the sound of the river. The music and voices hit him first: rough laughter, the scrape of chairs, the thump of boots against the floor. The smell of beer and smoke wrapped around him, familiar as breath.
Diesel spotted him and lifted his bottle. “You good, brother?”
“Yeah,” Rags said, sliding into a chair. “Just needed a minute.”
Throttle caught his gaze. “You buried that shit a long time ago, bro.”
“I did, and there’s no fuckin’ way I’m bringing it back.”
Throttle clasped his shoulder. “You know we got you.”
Rags nodded.
Throttle raised his beer bottle and tipped it toward Rags. “Fuck, we’re brothers to the end.”
Tank came over, grinning. “Tomorrow night starts the nails in their fuckin’ coffins.”
