Page 15 of Gotta Dig Deep
Horse liked how Blackie had put parameters around the process and knowing it wouldn’t run all night helped even more with his nerves. The high praise from the men he’d come to know and like made a difference too. He felt himself standing taller, shoulders shoved back just a fraction of an inch more.
“Nothing from Houston.” A dark-haired man angled towards Blackie. “If I can’t trust your instincts, then we’ve got different issues.”
“Noted, JD. Appreciated.” Blackie tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Good to see you, brother. How’s Houston treatin’ you?”
“Not bad. Not bad. Still, it’s good to be back at Mother, my friend.”
“Always better to be at Mother, brother.” Blackie turned to look at another man close by. “Denver, what does Marshall chapter think?”
“I trust you. Same thing JD said, brother. I don’t have a single problem with what you’re proposing. Old school, man. Dig it.” The man hooked a thumb in his belt as he nodded, looking casual and harmless. That façade was put to the lie by the number of weapons Horse could see scattered about his person.
“Done.” Blackie clapped once and held a hand towards Duane. Horse watched as a black leather vest transferred hands. “Been plannin’ on this for a while, brother. Mind droppin’ your vest? Duane promises what he picked out will fit. Already had one of the girls do your sewin’, this time around. We change up any plates at some point, that’ll be on you.”
Horse skinned out of his plain vest without hesitation, trading it for the one Blackie held. True to secondhand promise, it fit like a glove, settling into place as if he’d always worn it. Glancing up at the men around him, he immediately took it off again and turned it in his hands, tracing the edges of the sewn fabric patches. A feathery wheel in a center circle, the name of the club in an arc above the emblem, and below was a matching lower arc simply stating Mother. Lifting his chin, he locked gazes with Blackie as he again shoved shaking arms through the holes, letting the black leather fall down his back and sides.
Hand outstretched, Blackie took hold when Horse’s palm met his and yanked him close. Meaty fingers grinding down on his had him wincing, as did the solid pounding against his ribs and backbone.
The “Brother” muttered in his ear made it all worth it.Worth everything.
Blackie stepped back and leveled a finger at his chest, bringing Horse’s attention to the front of the vest.Gift horse.The not-unwelcome thought rolled through his head as he took in the white stitching spelling out his road name.Horse.
“Welcome, man.” Duane gripped his arm and spun Horse in a half circle, pulling him into a one-armed clinch similar to Blackie’s, if less painful. “About fucking time, brother.” That was followed by a personal greeting from every man in the back yard. The genuine emotion was enough to take his knees out from under him. None of them had dissented, and each welcome was heartfelt.
The single thought that rolled through his head the rest of the night was comforting, each time it surfaced.
I’m home.
More compliments were directed his way when they returned to the bar. Members of the community were always supportive of the club, but it was a surprise that they kept track of things like prospects and hangarounds. He heard Blackie answer multiple questions about bypassing the standard process. For all the citizens, folks not in the life, Blackie did it graciously, his tone kind.
Then Dale spoke up, emboldened either with liquid courage or from hearing the bar’s patrons as they questioned Blackie.
That little sortie went entirely differently.
“It ain’t fair” was all Horse heard before Blackie swarmed the man, taking him backwards three strides until his back hit the wall with a thud, Blackie’s hand around the man’s throat. “The hell?”
“You questioning your president,brother?”
Stillness gripped those closest, spreading in leaps and fits to the crowd nearby, conversations falling away as all focus came to Blackie. He nearly covered the smaller man, shifting so his arm was pressed tight across his chest to hold Dale into place.
“No, but—”
“Ain’t no butts gonna sit a motherfuckin’ bike with my goddamned patch on it if they don’t mind their mouths. Your mouth? Fuck, man. Mouth’s writin’ checks right here and now, Dale. You think you can cash that shit? Here? Against me?” Blackie stepped back and stood, watching Dale suck in heaving breaths. “It’s shit like this that keeps extendin’ the time I need to study you before I gift you with a patch. Shit like this makes me want to bounce you back to hangaround, pull that prospect vest off your back.”
Dale’s arms folded across his chest protectively, leather clutched tight in his fists. “Please, Blackie—”
“President. Goin’ forwards, you call me by my station, my office, my role. Not my name. Maybe it’ll remind you what I am before you mouth your ‘ain’t fair’ shit my direction.” Blackie swung half around, and Horse realized he wasn’t giving Dale his back.
No trust there, not anymore.
“Anyone else want to say anything to me, just fuckin’ don’t. I ain’t in the mood to entertain any kind of shit about any-fucking-thing now. Dale’s mouth just cost you any petition-time you might have been workin’ up to. Make sure everyone gets the message or I’ll be bustin’ more than a prospect down the ranks.”
Inclining his head towards the back of the bar, Blackie’s sudden grip on Horse’s shoulder pulled him off balance so he had to double-time steps to keep his feet underneath him. The crowd faded away from the path Blackie set, attention turning slowly back to their own conversations.
“And that shit is why I value men like you so highly.” Blackie pulled them both to a stop, his chest heaving. Lips pressed into a hard, bloodless line. The corners arched down, his grimace encompassing the whole of his features as his brows furrowed, the lines at the corners of his eyes bunching. “Because of shitheads like that who give lip service to the creed. Man shoulda been happy the club had gained a solid member today. Instead, he was caught up in his fuckin’ me-me-me shit so he couldn’t see the benefits.”
“Think he’ll give me trouble?” Horse remembered back to the first night he’d spent in the clubhouse. “Take his frustration out on my bike or something?”
“Naw.” Duane replaced Blackie’s hold on Horse with his own, leaning half his bodyweight against Horse’s back. Mouth next to Horse’s ear, he rested his chin on the broad width of shoulder covered in brand-new black leather. “I don’t think Dale’s got a death wish. He’s like Blackie said, focused on what he wants and not seein’ the whole picture yet. I’ll talk to him and make sure he understands you did your hangaround time that first night playin’ pool, and then did your prospect period in the parking lot that same night. You’ve been a fuckin’ member since then, sleepin’ on the second floor, workin’ the bar, givin’ service to the club every single day. He just didn’t catch the same clue the rest of us had.”
