Page 4 of Gunner
My twenty-seventh birthday was last month, and the club threw me a hell of a party, showing me they welcomed even the newest member like family. There were a few aspects of club life that I wasn’t completely comfortable with, and for that reason, Smokey and Bullet put me in the gun store to work. It also allowed them to keep a close eye on me, making sure my temper didn’t get out of control.
Illegal activities kept the Death Hounds coffers full, but legal businesses kept us under the feds’ radar. Local cops in the cities where we had chapters looked the other way, realizing our presence alone drove out the drug dealers, wanna-be gangsters, and most importantly, kept the cartels from moving in. Growing and selling weed was legal in half the country, and no one cared that we were the supplier for most of the state. The club paid taxes on our grow operation, or at least the amount we showed them.
The Portstill chapter wasn’t the biggest, but we had a large section of the state that we patrolled, worked, and lived in. From east of Memphis to Pierce Bluff, we had just under one hundred and fifty square miles of territory. We gave back to the community, hosting charity poker runs and volunteering our time where we could. We weren’t choirboys, and we refused to live by the laws society deemed right. If someone or something needed to be handled and the law couldn’t or wouldn’t provide, we handled it our own way. I’d never witnessed the club’s wrath, but the drunken stories that were told with glee left little to the imagination.
As we left the clubhouse and walked into the huge fenced yard, I glanced at Skid and watched him slick his black hair away from his face. Cracking his neck as we walked, I observed the growth of his beard, knowing he hoped to move past the teenage look he was cursed with. He only got his club name because he loved to drift his bike around, skidding the pavement and generally being loud. He may be an old soul, but he was still a young man at heart.
The music was blaring from speakers set up near the roll-up door to the garage and the smell of weed filled the air. The kegs were flowing and brothers danced with the club sluts in the dirt yard while the party grew in intensity. It was a great time with everyone cutting loose and letting the freedom of our brotherhood fill the air. Skid and I each made a plate and sat down, digging into the tender ribs and grilled corn. Tammy, one of the older sluts, wagged her ass as she walked up, sitting her backside on the table across from us.
“You boys want some company?” she purred in a nasally tone, squeezing her naked, fake tits, trying to be seductive.
“Pass,” I replied and watched as Skid shivered in disgust.
No one touched Tammy anymore since she had been rode hard and put away wet too many times to count. She continued to hang around the club, hoping to catch a member and become an old lady. No one wants their old lady to be the doorknob of the club, so she keeps getting passed over and passed around.
She grabbed her fake tits and squeezed them together in her hands, trying to be seductive as she turned to Skid and asked, “What about you, baby? You want to have a good time?”
“Hell no!” was his reply, and she huffed before jumping down and stomping away.
Her ass jiggled in the wrong way in her tiny cut-off shorts, and I laughed as she disappeared into the crowd of leather vests.
“That was mean.” I continued laughing, and he joined in, clinking his beer bottle with mine. “You could have at least gotten some head from her.”
“Fuck no! She deserved it. Since I showed up here, that crazy bitch has been asking to ride my cock. I’d rather fuck my hand than let my dick anywhere near her nasty ass. Do you know one time I watched her fuck three brothers from Florida, and she went ass to mouth.”
I spewed my beer and nearly fell onto the floor from the look of repulsion on his face. A few brothers joined us and signaled for a prospect to bring fresh beers to the table. Kicking back and stretching my leg, I enjoyed the freedom the membership and brotherhood now afforded me.
Chapter 2
Sadie
Uncle Mick called meearly in the morning to let me know Dalton,I’m sorry, Skid, was being patched into the club tonight, and I was so happy for him. My younger brother wanted to be a Death Hound since he was old enough to walk, always imitating Uncle Mick and popping wheelies on his little bike. It wasn’t the future I wanted for him until I saw how happy being a hang-around made him.
Our uncle was a retired member of the club who left when he couldn’t ride anymore. I watched my uncle go from alive and happy to spiritless and depressed when his arthritis became too much to continue riding, and I worried my brother’s future might be the same. They didn’t ask him to hang up his cut, but his pride kept him from the runs and club events. I hoped with my brother joining, my uncle would at least spend some time with the brothers again. I knew they all missed him but respected his wishes.
Mick wanted me to know in case Dalton didn’t come home that he was safe, reminding me to keep my youngest brother, Jacob, at home. We lived in a small two-bedroom house a few miles from the clubhouse. I’d been working on my business degree at the local community college and working full-time waiting tables to make ends meet. The house wasn’t fancy, but the area was safe enough for us, and with the club protecting us, I never worried. Anything was better than the hellhole I grew up in.
