Page 37 of Paladin's Hell

Chapter 13

Paladin

Now

When I’d first thought of coming to Colorado with Jay, I’d visions in my head of us living together, of having the chance to become a couple. Of course, I’d recognise there were boundaries until we could cement our relationship when she reaches the age of consent. Whatever my own desires, I respect Drummer and Slick too much to do anything but wait. But I’d expected to be her anchor, as she would be mine, easing us both into our new worlds.

I hadn’t anticipated arriving alone, riding up to a foreign clubhouse found only by the guidance of my GPS.

I’m twenty-one years old. I joined the Satan’s Devils Tucson chapter when I was eighteen, drawn by my love of bikes and the camaraderie I saw existing between the men. I lost my family when I was young. Not an unusual story. Dad did a runner, Mom couldn’t cope, escaped into a bottle and a handful of drugs. Unbeknownst to her, they’d been cheap because they’d been cut with Fentanyl. Luckily my mind has blanked out the finer details of sitting beside her dead body, until someone had investigated the non-stop crying of a five year old and screaming of a baby coming from the apartment.

No family could be found, or none that had wanted me and my three month old sister. Separated, we disappeared into the system. I was one of the lucky ones and wasn’t abused, no, just taken in so the family could claim the money, thereafter to be virtually ignored. It was many years before I’d learned my young sister had been adopted. When I was old enough, I’d tried, but have never been able to find the girl who would be around Jayden’s age. All I can hope is that she’s been loved and cared for, and that, one day, our paths might cross.

The Satan’s Devils are the only true family I’ve ever known, the only place I felt I’d belonged. Now I’ve given it up to be with Jayden. As I stare at the imposing building in front of me, realising the immensity of what I’ve left behind, I can only hope I’m doing the right thing. Oh, I couldn’t leave her to come here alone, but is my path as aligned with hers as I believe?

As a prospect you know you’re an outsider, having to prove to the brothers you’re trustworthy. Your sole focus on getting that patch, working your ass off, having no time to yourself and nothing to think about except how best to convince the men around you of your worthiness to call them brother. Neither accepted nor excluded until your time is done.

Here, I won’t be a prospect. If I were, I’d know what to expect. No, here I’m entering as an equal, calling men I’ve never met brother. No guarantee they’ll accept me, they’ll be as distrusting of me as I am of them. I can see no clear path to earning that trust.

Maybe if I was older, more experienced, I’d better know what to do and how best to fit in, have the confidence that comes with the years. But I’m not. And I don’t.

A prospect has come to the gate. I put on my cut when I arrived in Pueblo, but the patch still carries the word Tucson on the back. He stares at me for a moment before sliding the barrier open. Guess I’m expected.

He waves across the parking lot to a line of bikes, I back mine in on the end. Getting off, I stretch, flexing my fingers and arching my back. That was a long fucking ride, I’m glad to have made it here, and in one piece. The doorway beckons, but before I make my way inside, I delay a second longer while I send a quick text.

Pal: I’ve arrived. Just heading in to meet the brothers.

I wait a second, but there’s no response. She’s probably busy settling in herself. Then, bracing myself, I take the first step into my new life.

The clubroom is large and rectangular, the normal bar stretching down one long side. My initial thought is how the prospects must have to run from one end to the other to keep glasses topped up. A range of tables and chairs, are occupied by a number of brothers, scary that there are no immediate faces I recognise. They’re all wearing cuts with the Satan’s Devils patch on the back, but that’s the only comforting thing that I see.

A man’s pushed away from the bar. “Well, you coming or going? You’re letting the cold air in.”

I grin, that’s not words often heard in Tucson, normally it’s about letting the cold air out, but springtime is decidedly cooler here. Hoisting my duffle over my shoulder, I step toward the man who’s spoken. “Paladin.” I hold out my hand as I introduce myself.

“Well we weren’t expectin’ the fuckin’ tooth fairy,” he responds. “Thunder. Sergeant-At-Arms.”

I raise my chin at him, “Thunder.” I repeat.

“Drink? Or dump your gear in your room?”

Feeling all eyes burning into me, knowing how important first impressions are, I decide finding where I’ll be sleeping and getting my game face on is probably the best way to start. “Drink sounds good, but I’ll get my shit sorted first.”

“Ink?” Thunder calls out.

I turn, expecting to see a heavily tatted brother, instead a man approaches whose short-sleeved tee shows no decoration on any of the skin I can see. He’s probably covered on his chest and back.

“Yeah, Thunder?”

“Take our new member up to the room we prepared for him, will you? Show him what’s what?”

“Sure. Paladin, isn’t it?”

Says so on my cut, so I just raise my chin.

I follow him up the stairs. On the way he asks the polite things about how my ride here was, how long it took. When he’s finished asking and I’ve offered answers to his satisfaction, he stops in front of a room near the end of a hallway and opens the door.

There’s a key in the lock, he takes it out and hands it to me. “Best keep it locked. Else you might find a bitch in your bed. Specially a new, young specimen like yourself. Unless you like surprises waiting for you, that is.”

---