Page 3 of StoryTeller's Tale

I was wrong.

How can I go back to the fucking club? Do I want to be patched in? Have to sit around the table with Custer? Treat him like my fucking brother?

Rocking on my haunches, I stay on the ground. Time passes and my distress keeps me down. I’ve lost the woman I thought I’d be with for life.We’d been planning our marriage, for fuck’s sake.And without my club, what the hell would I do? Since leaving the Navy, I’ve never considered anything else.

The sun drops behind the horizon, darkness descends on the room, but still, I don’t move, frozen to the spot, thoughts assailing my mind, coming so fast one after the other, but presenting no solutions on how I move forward from here.

Fuck knows how long it is before my door bursts open.

The shock does nothing more than make me lift my face. If death’s coming for me, I’d be pleased if he’d take me now.

But it’s not a man dressed in black, carrying a scythe. It’s the prez, Chaz, along with his VP, Dane, and there’s Bull, my sponsor, alongside them.

After the glance of recognition, I stare down at the floor once more, just wanting to be left alone.

Chaz doesn’t give me that choice. “On your fucking feet, Prospect.”

A growl enters my throat. “I don’t answer to you anymore. I quit.”

“The fuck you say?” Bull takes action, his meaty arm grabbing mine and pulling me up.

Shrugging him off, I shake myself, then stand my ground. “Kick me out or let me leave, but I don’t want to be part of the Wretched Soulz.” Them coming here, busting in, probably to give me shit about hitting one of their precious patched members, has ensured that.

Prez looks around, his face tightening slightly as they fall on the unmade bed, the site of the crime. His eyes meet mine.

“Don’t give a damn what happens in other chapters, but in mine, old ladies are off limits. Custer was out of fuckin’ line.”

Huffing, I remind him, “She’s not an old lady. I wasn’t patched, so I never claimed her.”

He waves his hand. “Fuckin’ semantics. As for your patch, we’ve already taken a vote on that. Only the formalities are left, and circumstances have expedited those.” He holds his hand out behind him, and as if by prior agreement, Bull puts something in it. When Prez again brings it around to the front, patches are resting on his palm—the full three patch insignias of the Wretched Soulz. There’s also a name patch bearing the word,StoryTeller.

I reach automatically to take them, then pull my hand back. Straightening my spine, I tell them honestly, “I can’t sit around the table with Custer.”

Bull grimaces, Dane shakes his head, but Chaz still regards me firmly. “Guessed that.” He sweeps his hair back over his shoulder. “You’ve been wronged… Brother.” The slight hesitation suggests he’s trying the new mode of address on for size. “Can understand how you’re feeling. Betrayal ain’t going to be a good start.” He raises his foot, places it on the coffee table, and leans forward over his knee. “Here’s the deal. You sew those patches on, come to the club and I’ll give you the chance to take your pound of flesh, but in the fuckin’ ring. You hear me?”

I raise my chin, but I still don’t see how letting Custer off with a beating, even if I’m the one to deliver it, will assuage my hurt.I fucking loved Fi.I trusted her.

Chaz’s eyes draw me in. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding, there will only be one man walking away from said fight. You got me? You win? You keep your patch, Brother, and won’t need to see Custer’s face around the table. You lose? You won’t need to worry about anything anymore as you won’t be breathing. Or, you suck it up, shake hands and forget it.” He pauses. “Final option, you take a beatdown and leave the club.” He places his foot back on the floor. “We’ll leave you to consider. See you at the club in an hour with your decision.”

Having delivered that bombshell, he swings on his heels, and beckons Bull and Dane to follow him. The trio walks out of the door, leaving me with my mouth open.

A fight to the death? Shake hands with Custer? Or take a beating and leave the club?Those appear to be my only options, and to my mind, there’s no fucking choice. I won’t be sent away with my tail between my legs as if it’s something I’ve done wrong, nor will I ever be able to call Custer “brother.”

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed a man with my bare hands. But before it’d been for my country, and then I’d been driven by nothing more personal than the desire to survive.

CHAPTERONE

STORYTELLER

It’s been five years since I was patched in, and in that time, the clubhouse hasn’t changed. The air is still tinged with stale beer, cigarette smoke and sex. The couch I’m sitting on has been here since I prospected. Member wise, there are a few differences. After Dane met his demise, losing his battle to a man with a knife, Bull stepped into his VP shoes. Rat and Captain were arrested and sent down, and the ranks had been swelled by Legit and Skunk. But it’s essentially the same place that holds the bad memories, the ones that keep me out on the road.

Leaving my bike engine still ticking and cooling, I’d wasted no time getting inside the air-conditioned clubroom where I could be confident there’d be a beer with my name on it. I wasn’t wrong. Said beer was put into my hand the moment I arrived, by a prospect I didn’t recognise.

This is my home chapter, but since I prospected, it’s never been my home, spending, as I do, so little time here. As I relax on the couch, stretching out my legs to rid them of the kinks caused by the long ride, eyeing the stranger and wondering whether he’ll measure up and become a Soul, I recall the time when I, too, was an eager prospect. Though it’s long back in my rearview and tainted by history. It’s hard to remember there were ever carefree days when all I wanted was my patch, and the time I was living with who I’d thought was the love of my life.

My mood sours as my thoughts turn to how it all ended. Closing my eyes, I can still see and smell the blood, both Custer’s and mine. Even now I tense, as if still feeling my body reeling from his punches. I recall him smirking, thinking I had no chance and that this affair would soon be over. He’d toyed with me at first, showing off to his brothers.

With my desire for revenge, I, on the other hand, was all business. Being a SEAL, fighting was about survival not giving a show, and Custer’s expression quickly changed from sneering to worried. Weight wise, we’d been even, skills wise and stamina, I’d had the edge. I’d like to say it was over in minutes, but it took quite a while, pain inflicted on both sides, movements becoming frantic as we both fought for our lives.

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