Page 4 of Broken

“He may not be with us in person, but his wallet will be,” Phoenix jokes to take the edge off the atmosphere.

Sumner cheers. Shane isn’t legal yet, but it hasn’t stopped him. The pub they frequent down the street is owned by friends, and they have no issue with serving him.

“Fuck off,” I mumble, knowing I’ll give them enough cash for at least a couple of drinks each.

I am making plenty of money from the shop, and my side jobs when they come up, so it is no skin off my nose. I don’t want for much, I’m not a materialistic guy.

I live in an apartment above the shop. Most people don’t know I own the building and have no neighbors. I have a very specific use for the second apartment.

Everyone shuts up. Lucky goes to deal with a walk-in, who Sumner takes to his station. Shane goes back to his own small area and sits drawing. I instilled in him when you’re not tattooing, you’re drawing. He is an exceptional artist. I have high hopes for him translating his art into tattooing. His parents have no clue about his talent, but I’ll do everything I can to nurture it.

I check in with Nina to make sure she is still okay with the pain, and she assures me all is well, so I carry on, ignoring all distractions.

I don’t know what Nero wants. He never gives me details over the phone. Calling me in means something is up. I do my duties, but most of my time is spent here. Nero expects me to drop everything when he needs me. And I always do.

There is no way out of this.

Nero is the President of the Blackhawk Disciples Motorcycle Club. And I am his Ghost.

Chapter Two

Garrett

The Blackhawk Disciples clubhouse is in Locust Point, close to the rail yards. It’s an industrial area, but there are homes and businesses, and a park and elementary school, nearby.

It’s not what most people think of as a typical biker hang out. The actual building is small and doesn’t have anywhere for people to live on site. All the brothers have their own houses or apartments throughout the city. There are a couple of bedrooms for people to crash in, or use for other recreational activities. It isa gathering place for members, and where Church meetings are held.

There’s a bar attached to the clubhouse, owned and run by one of the brothers. They’re happy for members of the local community to hang out there. There is also a sizable piece of land with a warehouse unit next door, where the brothers park their bikes to keep things out of sight.

Nero makes a concerted effort to keep the eyes of everyone in the area away from the truth. They work to be part of the community, holding events they invite locals to. They run food drives, donate to charity. Generally anything to make people turn a blind eye.

There is no rowdy partying. No women walking around half naked offering blowjobs to anyone who casts an eye their way. And no groups of men on bikes hanging around outside. Nero cultivates relationships with the Homeowners Association and local law enforcement.

He even has the local pastor at the church eating out of the palm of his hand. He’s that good.

The parking lot outside the bar is full. I would have parked there if I could, as I don’t intend to hang around. Nero will have my balls if I leave my bike in front of the clubhouse. I pull up to the gate surrounding the warehouse and put in the code. The lights are automatic when the door opens, and I navigate to an empty slot.

The last thing I want is to walk in here tonight. It’s nearly eleven thirty. I told Nero I’d be here by ten, but got caught up at the shop. Nina was willing to stick it out longer than we both originally planned. I got in a fair bit of shading before we gave in and called it a night. The others had already left to go to the bar an hour before I finished up.

I could have made it here for ten, but chose to clean up the shop, cash out, and take the books and money upstairs. Phoenixhates the business side of the shop, only wanting to tattoo. That is fine with me. We agreed he’d be a silent partner with minimal involvement.

It’s quiet tonight. Most of the brothers are at the bar. There are two guys in the room. One looks up at the sound of the door opening.

Off the street leads straight into a large common room, a set of stairs to the far right leads to the first floor. Up there are a couple of bedrooms, and a large room where Nero holds Church, the meetings where the officers discuss club business.

I’ve never been to those meetings. Although I’m a member of the club, I’m not active. I am more like Phoenix is at the shop, a silent partner, with a very specific skill set Nero utilizes.

I lift my chin at Zephyr, who is watching a football game, a remote control resting on one meaty thigh, and a beer in his hand. He wears a bandanna around his thinning gray hair and has a long, scruffy beard.

One of his legs is a prosthetic after an IED attack in Afghanistan when he was serving in the military. He doesn’t let it stop him from riding his bike and being part of the club. He is right there doing what needs to be done. I’ve seen him take the leg off and beat the shit out of a guy once. For the most part, he is quiet, unassuming.

Until he isn’t.

“You’re late.”

“Had a client,” I say to the other man, who is sitting at one of the dining tables with papers spread out on the surface.

He hasn’t looked up, focused on something on his phone. I pull out a chair and sit down. I take no interest in the papers as I wait for him to finish what he’s doing.

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