Page 10 of Cutter's Hope

“I suppose.”

He ordered for us from the bartender who nodded and said, “You got it, Cut.”

“What’ll you drink?” Cutter asked me.

“Water.”

“You heard her, Man; water and I’ll have another IPA.” The bartender nodded, poured our drinks and wandered off to put our order in. “Where were we?”

“Lost track.” I told him, certain he was referring to our earlier game of however many questions.

“Ladies first then.”

I pondered him in the light from the sunset blaring in from the back windows. There was something different about him this time, like he’d committed to something. He had that soldier’s resolve painted all over his face, in the set of his shoulders, which despite how he nonchalantly leaned against the bar, were stiff.

“Why Florida?” I asked.

“It was as far away and as filled with water as I could get from that crusted, dried, piece of shit country,” he said and his expression grew steelier, not less. I nodded slowly. I didn’t have much love for Iraq or Afghanistan either,especiallyas a woman.

“What about you? Where do you call home?” he asked.

“Nowhere, I have some shit in storage, but that isn’t ‘home’,” I answered.

“Why, you runnin’?” he asked. I gave him a smile.

“Not running.”

“Not runnin’?” Now it really seemed as if I had piqued his curiosity but plates were set in front of us and music started up and started up loud. I quirked an eyebrow at him and took a bite of my pasta which was creamy and delicious and loaded with all manner of seafood.

We ate in silence, or at least we didn’t talk. There was no point in shouting over the music pounding through the bar. It was a Friday or Saturday night by the looks of it, and the party started here as soon as the sun went down. We finished our food and Cutter threw down some rumpled bills on the bar. The ‘tender whisked them away, nodded, and Cutter slipped off his stool. I followed suit and like earlier he held out his arm, the perfect gentleman.

I slipped my arm through his and he led me out front, out of the blaring noise and onto a lightly breezed sidewalk. He turned left, away from my B&B and towards the marina. We walked in silence for a time.

“Believe it’s your turn to ask,” he said after the bass thump from the bar was a distant pulsing beat behind us, echoing in time with my slightly elevated pulse.

“Why’d you start your gang?” I asked. Cutter choked on a laugh and patted my hand where it rested in the crook of his arm, then left his hand covering my own. His fingers were warm, calloused and rough against my skin, but I didn’t mind. I liked a man who worked for a living and the texture of Cutter’s hands had a lot to say about that.

“The Kraken MC isn’t a gang, Sweetheart. It’s a club. A motorcycle club, or MC for short,” he explained. My face felt hot and I had to bite my lips together to stop myself from apologizing. He’d sounded genuinely offended for a second there. Cutter chuckled.

“Apology accepted,” he said simply and I felt my face crush down into a frown. I did not like how he’d seemingly just plucked that from my mind.

“Anyways, I didn’t start it. I just took over. Original guy who started it was a dude named Mac. Ran it completely different, when he died of cancer, I sort of stepped up.”

“Sorry, that sucks he died.”

“Naw, Mac was a bastard if there ever was one. This club was an anemic, half-assed version of what a club should be when I took over. Took me a couple of years but I got everyone on board with my way of thinking. It’s pretty much the brotherhood it was always meant to be now.”

“I’m not gonna lie, I have no idea how it all works,” I told him and he nodded.

“I suppose I could tell you a few things,” he said and we turned into the marina’s parking lot. He paused, steps faltering.

“The thing about MC’s that you have to understand, is that one, we don’t play by civilian rules. We make our own rules – form a bond with our brothers more profound than blood. It goes beyond honor and loyalty. I’d do anything for my brothers and they’d do anything for me. It’s the way it works.” He started us walking again and we passed the harbormaster’s office.

“A lot like the bond you share with your unit,” I said nodding.

“Stronger than even that, Sweetheart. I may be willing to die for the next man in my unit, but I’m willing to do a lot worse for one of my brothers. You get me?” he asked. He took me down one of the docks and he stopped short in front of one of the sailboats.

“I don’t think I understand that one, I mean what could be worse than dying for the next man?” I searched his face which shut down some as he searched mine. The clouds of whatever he was thinking obscured his true intentions before he flashed that blinding panty melting smile of his. I knew that was all I was going to get for now, still, some insight was better than no insight at all and he’d certainly given me food for thought.

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