Page 20 of Gypsy's Lady
Doug swayed on his knees in relief when a handcameto rest on his shoulder, steadying him. Looking up, he found Red on one side ofhim, Tugboat on the other, their attention focusedacrossthe lot to where Mason stood.
“What the hell you sayin’, Mason?” Pike had drawn himself up to his full height, hands propped on either hip, elbows out as he took up as much space as he could.Posturing, Doug thought, analyzing the movements.He’s been in this position at some point in the past, and Mason’s just reminded him of whateverhappened before. “What’s this bullshit you’re sayin’ to me?”He’s repeating himself because he doesn’t have a leg to stand on and knows it.
Eventhroughthe empty distance separatingthem,Doug heard Mason’s sigh. “What I’m saying is you need to walk your ass to me so we can have a conversation. I’m done yelling at you. Done talking to you. You need to fucking get in goddamned line, Pike. Youlike where you are and what you’ve got, and I know it. Fuckin’ suck it up, figure out how to protect what you got andcomethefuckto me.”
Pike stood for a moment, then dropped his head and shook it, playing up the attitude of a longsuffering man sorely mistreated by a friend. Then he took the first step. Mason didn’t move, waiting as Pike slowly sauntered towards him. The instant he was inreach, everything changed. Doug had never seen a man move as quickly as Mason did, arm pulled from its position across his chest and cocked back, then driven forwards, directly into Pike’s face—all within a single breath, lost if you blinked. One blow, a single hit and Pike’sbodywent loose and limp, topplingbackwardslike a felled tree. His skull bounced against the hard parking lot surface,and for a moment, Doug wasn’t certain if the man was still breathing. No one moved, no feet shuffled, no throats were cleared in unease, a stifling silence fell on the group all standing and staring at either Mason or Pike. Then one of Pike’s hands twitched, and he made a choking sound as his head jerked to the side.
That seemed to release them all from the suspended awe woven by the power andfury behind Mason’s single punch, something Doug hadn’t everseen,and knew in some part of his brain, he’d never see again. He looked up at Mason, the man’s gaze focused on him, grey eyes drilling deep. Mason’s face changed in response to whatever hesaw,and he knew Mason understood this was one encounter of dozens. Just another confrontation Doug would have let lie, as he had the other dozenso far. None of the other beatings had been as bad—Doug reached up and touched the still-bleeding gash with the tip of one finger—but just like any of the other times, he would simply have gotten stitched or taped up by someone and let it roll off him.Worth it, every drop of blood is worth the chance to be part of what Mason’s built.
Doug tried to stall whatever Mason might say, but his voicebetrayed him, coming out chopped into pieces with feelings he didn’t want to admit. “You…” He cleared his throat, leaned forwards to spit blood on the pavement in front of him, careful to keep it away from the boots of the men beside him. Doug’s throat had protested even that single wordandhe panted short breaths, pain from the movement telling him some of Pike’s blows had landed on his neck,a target with only one goal—death. “I knew what I was getting into. You warned me my prospect period would be extreme. I can handle it, Mason.” He lifted his chin. His voice was stronger when he said, “I’m good, National President.”
“Not even a fucking ounce ofgivein you, is there, Tatum?” Mason walked towards him, stepping over Pike’s legs where the man now lay on his side, retching and coughingblood out of his throat and mouth. “Told you there’d be challenges, and you’d have to work at it, but fuck me. There ain’t a man under my patch who should have to stare down death from a brother.”
Doug stared upat theoutstretchedhandand met it with his palm, clasping tight and holding in a groan as he let Mason’s strength pull him to his feet. “I’m good, Mason.” Mason’s eyes were stormy ashe stared at the throbbing places on Doug’s face that called him a liar, individual aching woundsandbruises from the beating. Stressing the words, Doug told him again, “Boss,I’m good.”
Mason’s grip tightened and released, his hand dropped as his gaze darted to the side. “Tugboat, make a note. Pike owes this motherfucker flesh, but we’ll take it in trade. Bike Tatum rides is his first love,no doubt, but damn, she’s ugly. Mark one in the shop for him and bill to Pike’s personal account.”
“You got it, boss.” Tugboat movedsohe stood at Mason’s back, facing the rest of Pike’s men. They were still in the same position, not having gone to help their chapter president up, but also not having shifted to back Mason up either, and Doug knew Tugboat had noted it same as him. “Y’all gotany business in Chicago still, I’d postpone it, brothers. Get that shit heel out of heresoPrezdoesn’thave to look at him anymore. Man’s done, at least for tonight.” The implication was there might be larger repercussions for Pike, but Doug didn’t focus on that. He was more interested in a band of men he saw approaching from the side of the lot.
“Boss, we got company.”Damn, he thought whenhis voice cracked. Doug swallowed another mouthful of blood and shifted to face the group. Not Rebels, but he recognized the leader as Bones, who was president of Skeptics, another Chicago MC who was friendly with the RWMC.
“They’re expected. You can stand down, Tatum.” Mason was still studying Doug’s face. “I called Bones earlier to meet me here. Didn’t think I’d have to deal with this beforeI even got a fuckin’ beer.”
“Dinner and a show, Mason?” Bones called as he bent an elbow to lift one closed fist, drawing his troop to a halt. “I am sorry indeed I missed the opening act. It must have been something to see.” He angled his head towards where an unsteady Pike was being steered towards a group of bikes on the edge of the lot. “Not that I expect anything less of you.” Doug felt theweight of Bones’ gaze,andeven though it went against everything inside him, he dropped his shoulders, trying to visibly relax, not willing to risk offending a man who was a good ally to the Rebels. “This is the LEO of which I have heard so much.” It wasn’t a question,andDoug wondered for a moment how Bones had known him out of the other five prospects the Rebels had in Chicago. “He looks differentfrom how he has been described.”
“What’s that mean?” Mason laughed as he reached out to grip Bones’ hand, pulling him in for a one-armed clinch.
“I had heard he was big, which he is, and fierce, which he also looks to be, but I had also heard he was politically astute, sidestepping many of the traps most prospects find themselves falling afoul of.” Bones tsk-tsked and shook his head. “At themoment, he looks as if he ran headfirst into several fists, which would only happen if he had miscalculated greatly. That means his political sense is less than advertised.” Bones tsk-tsked again, then grinned. “This makes mehappybecause LEO should not be so smart.”
“Hate to burst your bubble, Bones, but Tatum here is as good as you’ve heard. This”—without turning, Mason gestured behind himtoward Doug—“was a mistake on the part of another member. Not Tatum’s gig.”
“That is too bad.” Bones shook his head, then grinned, his teeth startlingly white against his dusky and tattooed face. “But perhaps it is good for you. If a man is smart enough to cross the divide from his past life to a new one offered by a club as honorable as the Rebels, then he should also be smart enough to holdhis place. Tell me, friend, why it is the RWMC always scoops up the good ones?”
“Because I’m smarter than you are?” Mason laughed, and the two men turned, walking towards the bar and passing out of earshot in moments.
Tugboat turned and stared at Doug. “You gonna come in?”
Even before he finished his question,Dougwas gingerly shaking his head. “My assignment, until relieved, is this pole.”
Red scoffed,andDoug twisted to see him rolling his eyes. “You need stitches, Tatum. Come inside. I got a kit in the back. You stand out hereandyourface’llswell,andthen I can’t fuckin’ stitch your shit up. Let’s get this over with.”
Doug took in a breath that hitched with pain and then angled his head, asking, “That an order, patch holder?”
“Jesus, kid. Yes, you need it to be, it’s afuckin’ order.” Tugboat chuckled as he gestured towards the bar. “Ain’t anyone gonnabotherRebel shit onthe lotof the Rebel’s main bar. Now Bones—” He paused and pointed towards a man standing near a cluster of bikes parked in one corner. “—is smart. He ain’t on his patch, so he always decides to leave a man out here. Don’t need to, but he does it because some of the clubs here ain’t friendlywith his crew. Rebels? Worth a man’s life fucking with our shit here. So yeah, it’s a fucking order.”
“In that case, think I can manage walking inside.” He took a step and wavered before catching his balance. “Only just, but I can manage.”
***
“I know what I said, Tatum.” Mason shook his head, the smallest quirk of his lips giving thelieto the terse tone he’d adopted the moment Doug had triedto argue with him. “And I know what I’m fucking saying now, brother.” The warmth that word carried crept up Doug’s chest, heating him from inside how a man like Mason could call him family. It was something Doug had needed for so long, and these days, he cherished it every frequent time it came.
Doug had spent ten months as an RWMC prospect, and it had been a long time since the day Pike haddragged his ass back to Missouri, tail between his legs. Doug had no illusions that would be his last encounter with the man, but at least for the time being Pike had his hands full. Conducting a defense of his territory against encroaching clubs meant Pike was spinning round and round trying to keep his shit together. The worst news from the region had been the sheer numbers of men petitioning toleave the St. Louis chapter. Probably not something Doug should even know about, but Tugboat had been free with the updates he’d shared, clinking bottles with Doug more than once about how yet another chapter gained a good, solid, and loyal member while Pike was left twisting in the wind. Seemed Doug wasn’t the only one who didn’t like the man at all.
Healing from Pike’s beating took longer thanhe’d wanted, the slow recovery of fractures of his ribs and cheekbones plagued him for weeks before he could eat or breathe without discomfort. Mason had ruled on the altercation in a closed church to which Doug was not granted entrance, and the verbal reports that came out of the room that day had noted the depth of his trust and belief in Doug. Those words had helped more than anything withhealing,because hurt or not, prospects drew the shit jobs. Still, the shit jobs assignedafterwardslooked easy when compared to what had come before. No more cleaning the head after a club party, and no more toothbrush rim polish parties. No, since then he’d been tending bar at the clubhouse and running security at Tupelo’s, another of the Rebel bars in town. Easy jobs, all of them.
What meantso much more than the jobs themselves had been the chance for Doug to get to know even more of the Rebel membership. Every week Mason paired him with a different crew, admonishing him to watch and learn, and he had. Chapter officers, roaming members, support clubs, friendly clubs—he’d studied everything put in front of him even more avidly than he’d applied himself to the online classwork Myronhad hooked him up with. Mason wasn’t happy with him having half an MBA, something he’d half-assed his way through after coming back from California so long ago. At the rate Myron shoved textbooks in his hands, he’d finish out his degree within the year.
And now Mason was sitting across from him at a table in the Jackson’s telling Doug he wanted him back in Fort Wayne. A place where his face wastoo well known by LEO for all the wrong reasons, but also a place where he’d built a tight friendship with the Rebel chapter.On the one hand,it made the mostsense,but on the other…
