Page 25 of Brave as It

Dia fucking Crews is here.

How in the hell is this my life today?

EIGHT

WESSON

Boomerism: There is never a choice between friends and family. Real friends are family.

“No flightsout of Albert Ellis that can get me there faster than driving.” Karma explains studying the screen of his phone. “Checking Wilmington and Raleigh.”

“It’s over two hours either way, brother, find a flight and we’ll go from there.”

He nods still searching. “Bingo, I can get one out of Wilmington, one way, direct. Takes off in two hours. I’ll get there fastest that way.”

“Book two tickets.” I mutter, grabbing my wallet and keys off the nightstand.

“You don’t have to go, man. I’ll get there and handle my shit. This isn’t club business.” Karma tries to blow me off. “My kid, my bitch-ass ex, my problem.”

“Brother, thick and thin, shit comes down on you, it’s club business period. Your kid is family. We do this shit together. No man alone.”

He nods, “Appreciate ya. Ain’t got the time or energy to argue.”

He doesn’t have to speak anymore. No thanks are necessary. If the situation was reversed, he would take my back, no questions asked. This is what it is to be a Hellion.

“My van is out front, let’s go,” I tell Karma wheeling through the duplex.

“Thanks, brother,” he says trying to get himself under control. “I’ll update the club as we go.”

I nod and we get moving. It’s a blur as I get in my van, lock in my chair, and we hit the road. Karma is calling the brothers, getting no answer. With every unanswered call and unopened text, I can feel his tension and fear rising.

This is unusual. We all stay in communication regularly.

Our phones alert with texts at the same time a little over halfway to our destination: the Wilmington airport. Looking at the screen it has one word.

SERMON.

This isn’t uncommon, a random call out for a meeting. Our sermons are what other clubs call church. I don’t care what it’s called. That word comes up, every brother is expected in the cave within thirty minutes. Plain and simple. Except no one knows we aren’t where we’re expected to be.

We are too far out for that, and Hollis needs his dad. I need to get word back home why we won’t make church. I tap on my phone screen calling Kick. When Karma couldn’t get through, I should have called my brother, but I was more focused on getting us to the airport and letting Karma handle letting everyone know.

Each of us have a different order in which we reach out to brothers in the club. It’s not a big deal, there are enough of us to get someone somehow, just in these situations it’s better to gofrom the top down. He tried Tripp, Tank, Ruby, Boomer, BW, Red, and got no response.

“I’ll be to the compound in a minute,” he answers, “I got the text. You need Gatorade you fuckin’ lush? Your damn van is out front. I didn’t leave you stranded, even though your ass blacked out on us.”

“No,” I reply sharply. “Got a situation. Need you to loop the club in. Karma got a call. Anna has Hollis in Florida. We’re headed down to get him. Broad is tweaked. Something is wrong.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, “on it. I’ll ride out after sermon. Turn on your location so I can find your ass.”

“Got it. Gettin’ on a plane to Florida to get to them. I’ll be out of reach ‘til we land.” I tell him and click off.

Karma shoots a text to Tripp since he’s not answering calls. He might be in the cave already and that is a no phone zone. I don’t know what is going on at the compound. The mission in front of me is Hollis. Until he is back with his father, anything else can wait. Tripp will understand.

Talon “Tripp” Crews is the Haywood’s Landing Hellions president and overall, all Hellions charter pres. He took the gavel from his father-in-law Blaine “Roundman” Reklinger, Hellion original. He’s a strong leader and the club always comes first. If he’s out of pocket, there is a good reason for it.

It isn’t a second later, Karma’s phone rings. Tripp’s number pops up on the screen.

“Karma, it’s Tank,” he explains as soon as Karma answers and puts it on speaker.

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