Page 2 of Being Lost

“Ask,” Dart instructs, turning his head the other way, facing Niran head-on. My VP had gotten us all relaxed before addressing the issue that had brought us here. Something Niran hadn’t wanted to bring up in front of the club.

Niran was the first black member of the Satan’s Devils MC in any of our chapters. As well as being responsible for the Satan’s Devils acquiring a new lawyer, Dart had also brought the club into the twenty-first century. When he had gotten together with Alex and had adopted her son as his own, he’d raised the question, what happened if Tyler grew up and wanted to prospect? We’d been a whites-only club up to that point, mainly as no one had ever brought it up. Faced with that query, it hadn’t taken long for our outdated bylaws to be changed. Niran had been brought on board as a prospect shortly after and had been patched in after he served his time. He’s been sitting around the table for a couple of years now. He’s serious, always thinks before speaking and is a fuckin’ good man to have at your side. Dart had done good when he encouraged him to join.

I look around Dart, casting my gaze on Niran for a moment. He’s been spending time with the sergeant-at-arms, proving like Grumbler, his foremost thought is keeping the club safe. A few months back when Grumbler had landed dirty side down, Niran had done what needed doing without being asked and took over for a while as Grumbler’s proxy.

He finally addresses the question he brought us here to ask. “Who was Shark?”

“Shark was one of Snake’s men,” I tell him, my jaw clenching.

Niran nods. “That’s what I thought.” He considers his next words carefully. “I wasn’t here at the time, but I’ve heard his name mentioned as if he was fuckin’ Satan himself. Didn’t want to dredge up what went down, not in front of the club, not without cluing you both in first.”

“Appreciate that, Brother.” It’s never going to be easy to do the unmentionable—bring up names of men who betrayed us in the past. Bringing things thought lost in our rearview into the present is always going to be hard.

Three years ago, the San Diego chapter nearly ceased to exist when it came out that Snake, the president at the time, had persuaded eight other members that the drug trade was lucrative, even though the Satan’s Devils had decided years back they didn’t want to touch it. Not only that, he’d painted the prez of the mother chapter in Tucson as weak and ineffective and had formed a plot to kill Drummer. Snake’s plan—having disposed of Drummer—he himself would have then taken his place. It wouldn’t have been a change for the better. I shudder even thinking about it.

Such a mutiny couldn’t go unpunished. Snake and his sergeant-at-arms, Poke, had been dispatched to meet Satan, and the other members were sent out bad. Almost half the fucking club lost in one fell swoop. I’d put my hand up expecting to lose my patch. I was guilty, I hadn’t seen what was happening, hadn’t had a clue how Snake had turned. That I was left wearing my colours was a surprise and one I didn’t deserve. And the shocks didn’t stop there.

While I otherwise respect the hell out of Drummer, he’d ignored my past, both recent and history, and proposed my move from the VP spot into the prez’s seat. Drummer’s proposal was met with approval by the decimated club and they voted me in. I suppose there was little choice at that point. Dart, initially only here to support me temporarily, had gained the confidence and respect of the club and he took over my old position as VP.

Dart had been invaluable in keeping this chapter going at a time when I wasn’t certain we could survive. The remaining members had nearly chosen to walk away from the club. No one, including me, who wasn’t in Snake’s inner circle, had had a clue anything was wrong. Until the betrayal came to light, all of us would have pledged our lives for the men we’d ridden beside.

Just surviving those first few months had been hard. The remaining chairs around the table far too spaced out for anyone’s liking. Though they’d been tested harder than ever before, our prospects at the time, Al, Lloyd and Dave, had all proved themselves and joined us, taking the road names Deuce, Reboot and Keeper, respectively. Then, a year later, Niran had moved from prospect to member and was brought to the table as well, strangely enough without picking up a road name. Fuck knows why, but none have fallen into place which suit.

Eight men out, four new bloods in. Slowly we’re regaining our strength and the trust which had been lost.

But a reference to Snake was enough of a reminder that could threaten to send men’s minds back to that dark time, and how the certainty of life continuing without huge potholes in the road couldn’t be guaranteed.

“It was a bad fuckin’ time.” Dart voices my thoughts. “Thought we might lose the club. Even Drummer had had doubts we could pull through. Each man who stayed had lost brothers they trusted with their fuckin’ lives.”

“Prospects don’t know shit, but it was easy to tell the mood of the club at the time.” Niran jerks his chin toward the VP. “Wondered what I’d stepped into if truth be told. But everyone pulled together and got there, which is thanks to you, VP, and you, Prez.”

I go to refute it but shut my mouth. It’s still my view the VP had the most to do with forging a cohesive unit out of the men we had left. Men who were and remain fiercely loyal to the chapter and our way of life. It took more than a moment to stop silently questioning each other as we made sure we had all the bad apples out. We’d taken time to heal, and from the reaction around the table when Shark’s name was mentioned, are still healing. It had been Smoker’s mention of him at last night’s church that found us taking some space to discuss it today. Niran had judged it right—old history was best not resurrected in front of the whole club.

Smoker had simply reported seeing Shark in our town. A man whose presence wasn’t wanted or desired, and who had been banned from ever showing his face in this part of California for the rest of his life. Just the mere mention of the sighting had caused the table to erupt. It wasn’t time for a reasonable conversation.

“So a man’s back in town who shouldn’t be here,” Niran sums up. “What’s your gut feel, Prez? He here to cause trouble for us?”

“I can’t rule it out.” I stare out over the ocean for a moment. “A sensible man, out bad with our club, would never show his face in San Diego again.”

“You want us actively looking for him?”

I think before I reply to Niran. Do I want to waste club resources searching for a man who might already be gone? A man with any brains in his head wouldn’t linger here long, however important the reason that brought him back.

“I think it’s better to have eyes out and be wary. If he’s found, I want to bring him to the compound. Need to have words and find out why the fuck he’s returned.”

“For a start, I’d like to get up close and personal with him and make sure he got that tat blacked out.”

I raise my chin at the VP. He’s right. The traitors kept their lives only on the basis they got their Satan’s Devils tattoos covered. They’d cried and begged when their cuts, their colours, had been destroyed in front of them. With a blacked-out tat, no club would give them a home, knowing they’d been disgraced and kicked out of their last, except if they were an enemy of ours. As far as I know, we’re mostly on the right side of everyone, but there can always be an unknown we are ignorant of.

“If he’s still wearing our patch, then he’s a dead man walking.” Dart bows his head for a moment. “He got family here he could be visiting?”

“I’ll get Token to have a sniff around. See if there’s anyone still here who’s close to him.” Hard Token is our computer guy. What he can’t find isn’t worth knowing. “We’ll get Shark checked out, see if we can find a trace of where he’s been or what he’s been doing.”

“Who he’s here with or who he’s visiting would be useful,” Dart agrees. “The man must have a fuckin’ good reason to show his face.”

“I’d like to know all of that,” Niran states. “The club’s in a good place now, and if Shark’s got some idea about begging to have his patch restored, I’d like to head him off before he causes upset.”

“No fuckin’ chance of that,” Dart growls.

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